Jasper was honestly surprised at how little people actually confronted her. Even the people she fought—the thieves brave enough to step into battle, or the murderers who didn’t hide their crimes well enough to go unnoticed—fell fairly easily. Elionor noted several times that it felt like a massacre. There wasn’t even resistance coming from official people of Cheryn; Jasper assumed she was doing them a favor, for now, so perhaps a kingdom based on peace had to rely on outside sources to rid their own problems. She’d get to them soon enough.

Her group was moving particularly haphazardly; they went south, but they had to go back north again and from there it became a matter of whatever was closest whether it was north, south, east, or west. Jasper wanted to handle Cheryn first—leave the places she had the most memories in for last just so she wouldn’t have to think about it as much. Next would be Letrela, then Relan; those nations were the largest known, and most of the others wouldn’t take very long to reach and take care of in comparison.

She opted to let them stay at a village they had killed a majority of the population of—those remaining had fled, but likely wouldn’t last beyond that. Jasper didn’t bother going inside to feign sleep; the whole place was surrounded by forests, so she wasn’t in the mood to stare at the wall or trees. She could still pretend to sleep outside—it was warm enough, at least.

Jasper noticed someone coming closer, and stood up so she could greet him. It was one of the people she had assigned to watch for Iztris. “Do you have any reports on the group?” Jasper asked.

“They left for Letrela a little while ago,” the man reported. “Two others are with them now.”

She was confused, for a moment, before she remembered something. “Tell me… Is it close to the end of summer? Late August or September?”

“It’s still July,” the man replied.

It was close enough for her to make a guess—they always planned their visits a bit early—and she laughed. “And they called me sentimental! Wanting to visit your own grave… That pretty much confirms it.” Jasper took a moment before she addressed the man again. “Wait for the others to come back, and tell me if the group ever comes close to us. There’s someone there that I won’t see until my time here is almost over.”

The man nodded and left, leading Jasper to think about it for a few moments. She remembered, all that time ago, when she first met them—something that never would have happened without their ascension to these kinds of beings. The only god that could control life and death was the only pure being among them—the only one to never experience humanity and its troubles. As such, Elsyn and Iztris hadn’t been taken before they were sorted into heaven or hell—they were taken in their very last moments.

She couldn’t help but entertain the guise of sleep so she wouldn’t be interrupted in her reverie.

——

He had been very, very aware of the pain in his bleeding chest and his shortness of breath. He no longer heard Zanna’s voice trying to keep him awake—instead, there was someone to his left that was violently coughing. When he glanced over, he saw a Letrelan’s face, panic mixed with regret and fear. That same person glanced at them as both of their feature’s faded into vague forms; as their forms changed, so did their remnants of death.

The Letrelan stopped coughing just as Iaspis realized he was no longer bleeding; the Letrelan started taking breaths that got gradually steadier until they were soundless, and Iaspis no longer felt pain. They retained no features now, only their voices remaining of their former humanity. They hadn’t known it at the time.

That was when the gods spoke to them—gave them their jobs and their new names. They were sent with a god as an escort to witness their own funerals, both of them wanting to know if they were truly dead. After that, they were given time to adjust…and the two ran into each other rather often by sheer coincidence as Iaspis grew curious about what was outside of Relan and the Letrelan, called Iztris in this form but having introduced himself at Matali, stayed close to his family.

Iaspis found him staring at a house in the middle of a Letrelan forest. “You probably shouldn’t be so close if you died around here,” Iaspis said simply.

“I just want to make sure they’re not upset,” Matali muttered. A dog wandered outside the house, noticed them, and started barking with its tail wagging; Matali took a few paces back when someone came out.

“…There’s no one out here, bud,” the person said quietly. You have to stay with me for now; Matali’s…not here anymore.”

Iaspis noticed that Matali stepped forward again, and he stopped him. Iaspis waited for a moment, aware that Matali seemed to be younger than him, and cautiously asked, “Was it sudden for you, too?”

Matali nodded quietly. Iaspis looked back at the house, where the dog and person had gone back inside, and tried to figure out how to continue the conversation. “I died in an attack on Relan; I bled out.”

“…Smoke,” Matali replied silently. “I suffocated and choked to death.”

Iaspis fell silent, figuring that was enough talking for now. Still, Iaspis fell prey to the sentiments a few times—Jasper did now, at any rate, visiting the Lorenzi house whenever she feels the need to. Even then, until the gods got needy, the two often traveled together; they knew each other by their mortal names for the longest time. Every year in mid- to late-summer, they would visit Matali’s family—they visited the Lorenzi house at least once a year, whenever Iaspis wanted the reminder.

At least knowing a Letrelan made Jasper sure about how she would kill the rest of them. Unfortunately, if Iztris had to fall, she couldn’t abide by that old belief; you kill someone in a fire if they don’t breathe—not that Iztris would appreciate dying the same way twice anyway. She was able to chuckle in her sleep-like musing, thinking of how they’d react. If only she didn’t retain the happy memories, this could go by much easier.