A man sat on a throne of yellowed bone. Skulls and horns adorned the top while ribcages, arms and legs awkwardly fit together to form the rest. Of the remains were sentients and beasts alike. Humans, Raykin, Elfs, Stalkers, and countless other species. From the half-fish people in the dark depths of the oceans, to the feathered tall folk of the highest of heights. They all seemed to be the same skeleton in death.

Besides for the extravagant sitting arrangement, there was nothing else of note in the room it resided in. A small square space of dark stone. A wet, earthy smell permeated the area. Torches on each wall shone enough light to show the moss erosion in the corners. No exit, no ventilation was etched into the stone. The left and right corner from the throne was filled with a small bed and bookcase respectively.

As it was, the old man had his eyes closed. Around him were hundreds of black disks floating in the air. They moved around each other in a pattern of strained chaos. Each fragment of darkness stretched as they shifted, shrinking or enlarging. A dark violet glow clung to their edges. In a similar fashion, his clothes were blacker than black. Like a deep void of nothing as it sucked in light.

He was ripped from his deep meditation from a sound that came and bounced off the walls. The reverb was here, just beyond his senses and inside his mind. But the source was far and boundlessly distant.

The man opened his eyes. A shade of void as his optics held no comfortability with a homogeneous black. A vibration deep in his skull spoke. “Reaper.” The deep baritone, grating voice of it came. “Another. The Ninth”

In response the man grunted. A wave of his hand made his dark fragments fracture into nothing. With another quick groan he stood. Black and violet clinged to his body as he took credit from his magical prowess. In another snap of mana, a scythe formed in his hands. A third use of power shifted the shadows in the room. Each grew and elongated to rise and devour his person. When the torches flickered, he was gone.

***

“Kenan is asleep. For the love of the gods, finally.” Tyris whispered as he opened the door. With as much dexterity as the mountain-man could conceivable conjure, he closed the passage. Tyris tensed, so did Ava. They waited, baiting their breath for the wail that never came. “Geia’s embrace I want to sleep.”

He joined his partner on a makeshift mattress of bedrolls, blankets and anything soft in between. Ava had been put to bed for two days now. Waiting for her energy and strength to rise. Thanks to Doco’s and Tyris' diligence, she didn't need to get up. With the only exemption of exertion being to feed the ravenous babe. “He would sleep easier with a crib.”

“We all would, love” Tyris finished wrestling off his shirt and pants before he crawled under covers. “The basics will finish arriving tomorrow. Including his crib and our beds. The rest will be picked up at the village.” His words slowed to a calm drawl as the exhaustion of the day rapidly caught up to his dwindling energy reserve. With the callus of his hands, he snuffed out a candle. Ava followed him under the blanket.

The lack of comfortability was a concern, but far from the most pressing. Each of her worries had been building and compounding off another for the past few months. Not too mention of ever present mental motherhood tribunals looming around the corner. And before the night took her conscience, her anxiety built too much for the silence. “Was it smart? To move now? With Kenan? I just think…”

Like the flames he had just silenced, her roaring mind was cut off in a similar fashion. His rough hewn hands roamed past onto her back. Tyris brought her to his chest in a familiar bear hug. “We left disaster love. Shio? Who knows what they would have done.” The deep vibration of his voice further dissolved her stress. “Now? A few nails here, some wood there, a good amount of patience, we could have what we knew. It'll take time, and hard work. Neither things were afraid of.”

“You're right. It’s just…” She was caught off by the rhythmic caphcony of Tyris’ snore.

***

A moon showed its azure light through the covering clouds, and past a window to illuminate a babe in a scarce room. Kenan. He had struggled loose from his wrapping and was content to feel the plush like hay underneath. His eyes were dark, and short black hair jutted from his skull. Scrunched in the way of newborns, he wiggled violently as a scream escaped his lips.

The dark of the room enlarged and willed itself towards him. Like glue, the shadow was pulled and peeled from a man that appeared. It seemed that a mass of blackness carried along with him in his inky robes. This aged man carried a long stick with a half as long curved blade at the top.

He took slow, deliberate steps towards Kenan and leaned over. For moments, excruciating long moments. The old man shared a stare with the crying babe. “I am sorry. I am… I just…” He stood with a face of contorted conviction. He pulled a tiny pebble from his robe. “Let only hate fuel you.” The shadows in the room started to boil. The tendrils of missing light flickered rapidly. “Let deceit destroy you. Let sorrow morph your morals.” The darkness wrapped around the pebble and started to push the now floating black rock towards Kenan. “Once nothing is left. Then let your convictions stand tall, let them purify in the fires of adversity.” As if Kenan's chest wasn’t physical, the pebble was forced into his ribcage. “When every source fails, when everyone else gives up, Let your will be stalwart. Let it fight. Let it free.” The babies crying ceased. “Let go.”

In simultaneous actions. The door opened, and the man standing before Kenan disappeared into nothing but the tiniest of shadows as the darkness was corrected to its natural state. Doco came through and stopped as he passed into the room. He looked up and down, left to right. With a dismissive grunt, he walked over to Kenan and scooped him up. “I thought you were crying.” Doco stopped, froze, and looked behind him. Nothing. “The Five play tonight.” He mumbled.

He worked to coax Kenan back to sleep. Exhaustion or the odd form of paranoia. Either way, he failed to notice the decrepit cold of the baby. He missed the sickly complexion and didn’t feel the lack of heartbeat.