Walter ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Look. I’m glad that you’re trying to be a good father and all… but at some point, you have to let them fend for themselves. The prince has an entire entourage of guardsmen looking out for him.”

“You would have my son, barely three winters, fend for himself?” Garegom asked.

Walter froze. “He’s three?”

“Four winters soon,” Gom chimed in.

Walter threw his hands into the air. “God. Fucking. Damnit!”

The god of Death stomped across the small infirmary, pushing past the wooden chairs and over to the curtains. He ground his teeth as he stared out the window, not wanting the others to see his mounting frustration. Of course his next outing would involve another child, and of course they would be a toddler’s age.

It was as if the universe hated him. The first time he tries to actually act like a god of Death, do his duties correctly like Davy asked, and there’s a child about to be assassinated. Assassinated for political reasons as well.

Davy, I need your ear for a moment, Walter thought.

It took a moment, but soon Walter heard the unmistakable sound of Davy’s gruff voice.

Run aground again, lad?

Walter huffed. Something like that. The soul Flipper couldn’t collect is the freaking Beastman emperor. And he won’t come with me until he’s sure his child is safe from assassination. Which before you ask, is very much a real thing.

Lad. At some point you’re going to have to learn how to say no.

Walter shook his head. I would’ve, if the child wasn’t three years old. What kind of person am I if I let this happen?

Davy sighed, the sound passing softly to Walter. Lad, you already know my answer. It hasn’t changed. Why even come to me?

I need to vent. Walter admitted.

To what?

Walter groaned. I need to talk about it to someone! I know what your answer is going to be but I still need to complain. Just once, I’d like something to go smoothly.

Davy laughed. The wish of all the gods, lad.

The god of Death stared out the window at the kingdom, taking in the amber sights. People of various shapes and sizes milled about, and Walter couldn’t help but think of what would happen if the kingdom fell apart.

I could always make another deal. Walter mused.

Lad, you can’t make a deal every time you meet a problem, Davy answered.

And why not? Walter asked. Everyone tries to bargain with Death. What’s wrong with Death making a bargain right back?

Because you bind yourself to things that way, lad, Davy answered. It makes you vulnerable. One wrong deal and you could find yourself usurped, no longer a god of Death.

I can be careful, Walter said.

I’m just worried lad. Davy said.

I know, alright? Walter answered. But you know that I can’t leave things as they are, not when I know I can do something about it.

I know, Davy answered. Just… Make sure the deal is in your favor this time.

Walter smiled. Don’t worry. I think I’ve got an idea.

The god turned back to Garegom and the guardsman, the two standing at the doorway. Gom had one hand on his sword, ready to defend his emperor’s soul if it came to it. The other held the torch where Garegom had housed his soul, the flame flickering dangerously.

Walter shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve got an idea that should make us all happy.”

“Then, speak it,” Garegom said.

The god of Death walked back into the room, sitting on the bed. He picked Flipper up, scratching the turtle’s shell absentmindedly. “Look, I know you said you’ll come with me once your child is safe, but I also know that ‘safe’ is a relative term. There’s never a guarantee that the kid will be safe, even with your protection.”

“If you are trying to convince me, this is not the way to do it,” Garegom answered.

“I’m getting there,” Walter said. The god moved his hand off Flipper, animating what he said with his hands. Flipper frowned at the loss of attention, giving Garegom a blaming look.

“As a god, I have certain privileges,” Walter started. “One of those is that I can recruit helpers. I can give you until your child’s death to be his protector. Then, you shall work for me as my protector, keeping my domain safe from anyone who would attempt to harm it.”

“You want him to trade one hundred years for ten thousand!” Gom argued. “That can’t be a fair deal!”

“It’s not supposed to be fair,” Walter said with conviction. “This is a concession. This is me, the god of Death, not wanting to take an unwilling soul. This is me unwilling to see a soul barely four winters old wandering into my domain. Fairness was never a part of it.”

Gom’s hand squeezed the hilt of his sword. “You would bind our emperor to servitude? Our leader and lord? Who showed us that beastmen could be more than dregs of society?”

Walter stood, drawing his energy together. His eyes, already dark pools, sank deeper into the inky blackness of his domain. His hair, once a lighter shade, lost all light. “What use is an emperor to Death, guardsman? What subjects can he rule? What power can he hold? No, his title only meant something while alive. All the soul has to offer is itself, nothing more, nothing less.”