Noah stood before a majestic stone arch.
After studying the Chamber of Death, he discovered that this stone arch was a portal connecting the material world with the afterlife.
Noah didn't hesitate. In a clear voice, his words echoed in the chamber.
"I summon you, Mortem Veritas Annwyn-Dael-Khur."
The air around him trembled slightly. In the realm beyond, Death felt the summons. Mortem Veritas Annwyn-Dael-Khur, her true name, stirred in her consciousness, and for a moment, everything stopped.
Death opened her eyes on her throne, and at once, she knew the source of the fear growing within her.
For someone to know her true name was fatal to her existence. But fortunately, the laws of this universe were not so flexible.
She could not leave the afterlife, as she was bound to it. Ironically, the shackles that had restricted her for all eternity now protected her from becoming a slave to some sorcerer.
Death considered sending an avatar with a fraction of her power to interact with the summoner. But even that avatar, though weaker, was still tied to her true name. That meant Noah, by knowing it, could have complete control over Death's manifestation—something she could not allow.
With cold and calculated resolve, she decided to seal herself away. For the next few centuries, she would isolate herself in her domain. It was the only way to ensure the sorcerer wouldn't gain power over her.
But her patience wasn't infinite. When the sorcerer finally died, Death would seize him. She would take his soul, uncover how he had learned her true name, and torture him—not just for the knowledge, but for the audacity to defy her.
Noah frowned. For a moment, he thought the divination spell had failed, that the orb had given him a false or inaccurate name. But he quickly dismissed that possibility and began to consider other causes. The most likely, he concluded, was that the barrier between planes—and the world's own rules—acted as a form of defense.
Death, as an entity anchored to the beyond, was protected against direct forced summoning. The universe's fundamental laws acted as a shield, preventing beings like her from being dragged out of their domain without a price.
Noah closed his eyes, letting his mind analyze the possibilities. A minute later, with a clear idea in mind, he exited the Chamber of Death and stepped into the time machine, arriving in the Middle Ages.
He infiltrated the era's circles of sorcerers, posing as a wandering alchemist, gathering information on his next targets. He soon discovered the location of the Peverell bloodline, a family of some renown among practitioners of ancient magic. However, his true targets—the legendary three brothers of the Deathly Hallows tale—had not yet been born.
He returned to the machine and advanced the clock by a century. This time, after some days of investigation, he discovered the Peverell brothers were just children. Unsatisfied, he adjusted the time again, this time more precisely, advancing thirty more years.
At last, he settled in a nearby village, hiding his presence. Over the following months, he watched the brothers silently.
A year later, the event he had been waiting for unfolded.
The three brothers decided to leave the village for an unknown destination.
After hours of travel, they reached a wide, raging river. Recent rains had turned it into a violent current, foaming and full of broken branches. There was no way to cross without risking being swept away.
"How annoying," Antioch remarked, not bothering to stop.
With a flick of his wand, the earth trembled slightly. Instantly, stones from the riverbed rose and assembled themselves. In less than a minute, a dark stone bridge connected both shores.
The three crossed without hurry. Upon reaching the other side, a tall figure awaited them. She wore a black cloak that did not stir with the wind, and her face was hidden beneath a hood.
"Interesting... Hardly anyone crosses this river alive. Technically, I was owed your lives. But I suppose you can count this as a win."
The three brothers halted at the sound of her voice.
"Who are you?" asked Cadmus.
"Let's say I'm Death," the figure replied casually. "And since you've won this time, I'll give you a reward. One each. Choose whatever you want."
Antioch didn't think twice.
"I want a wand more powerful than any other. Something that cannot be surpassed."
The figure nodded. She approached an old elder tree near the river, broke off a branch, and transformed it into a black wand with a rough texture.
"Here you go."
Cadmus was next.
"I want something that lets me speak with the dead. Not just see them. Really talk."
She gave him a dark stone that didn't look special.
"If you turn this stone three times, you'll see those you've lost," the figure explained.
Ignotus shrugged.
"I'm not interested in fighting or talking to ghosts. Give me something that lets me live in peace, unseen. Something that lets me walk unnoticed—by you or anyone else."
The figure observed him for a moment.
"Curious request," she said, pulling a cloak from her own mantle. It was as thin as air, weightless to the touch.
"It will hide you completely. Not forever, but close."
And with that, the figure began to leave—but then, she stopped.
A shiver ran through her. For a moment, her entire being tensed, sensing a threat that wasn't physical—but existential.
Before she could react or even retreat, a voice echoed with glacial calm from behind the three Peverell brothers.
"Mortem Veritas Annwyn-Dael-Khur."
Noah stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the being now trembling in silence. In his right hand, a parchment made of skin and inscribed with blood burned with a silent blue flame.
"I command you to serve me. From this moment, you are mine."
The parchment flared brighter and turned to ashes a second later.
A terrible silence fell over the place.
And then, the unthinkable happened: Death fell to her knees.
She had appeared this time in her true form—something she didn't do lightly. But this was a special occasion and she had a plan: to manipulate the Peverell brothers, give them the objects, and then vanish, letting her gifts wreak havoc on the world. She only intended to stay in this world for a few minutes.
But now, trapped in her true form—bound by her true name—Death could not escape.
Even if she returned to her realm, the bond was already sealed. Like a brand etched into the very fabric of her essence, Noah's will bound her.
"Stand," Noah ordered, his voice calm.
And she obeyed. Not by choice, but because she had no choice.
Opening a portal, Noah left the place, followed by Death.
They appeared atop a lonely mountain.
He sat on a rock and observed Death in silence for a long moment before speaking.
"I want answers," he said at last. "Let's start with the basics. What is the afterlife?"
"A metaphysical dimension. It's the place where souls go when life ends. There are no judgments or punishments—just a cycle. Souls rest for a while… and then dissolve. They become pure spiritual energy. That energy is the raw material for new souls."
"A kind of recycling?" Noah murmured.
"Exactly. There's no heaven or hell. Just a natural process."
Noah nodded slowly. Then he asked the next question:
"What do you know about magical bloodlines?"
Death hesitated before replying.
"One hundred thousand years ago, this world was not alone. There were many worlds, all connected, each inhabited by powerful races—creatures who mastered the laws of reality. Each race ruled its own domain...
But then war broke out.
No one knows who cast the first spell, but the races began to destroy each other. Entire worlds were consumed. The strongest perished… and the survivors were mutilated, forced to flee, to hide, or to adapt."
"And Earth?" Noah asked.
"Earth was chosen. The ancestors of those races selected this world as a sanctuary. A young, fertile planet—still untouched by magic. Here, they brought their youngest descendants, in a desperate attempt to preserve what they had been."
"And humans?" Noah asked.
"Humans were already here. They are the original natives of this world. At first, magical beings didn't care about them. They were simple—disconnected from magic. Rational animals, nothing more.
But time... changes everything."
Death's voice grew softer, as if recalling something long ago.
"For millennia, Earth and its humans began to adapt. The prolonged proximity to magical creatures slowly altered the world's spiritual structure. Human souls became receptive. And..."
Noah closed his eyes. The puzzle was beginning to take shape.
"And what happened to the monstrous traits?"
"They faded. With each generation, they became more human. The blood of the ancestors weakened. The bloodlines degenerated. Today, what you call wizards are nothing more than distant shadows of those original hybrids. Creatures of diluted lineage, heirs to a forgotten history."
"And you… what exactly are you?"
Death watched him without moving.
"I am the last of the Reapers. A race that existed to guide souls between worlds. I was born in the afterlife, long after the war. Everything I know I learned from the remnants of my kind. I am alone. And trapped. I can only manifest for a few minutes every century."
Noah frowned at those answers.
"Who confined you to the afterlife?"
Death looked up, as if seeing something beyond the physical plane.
"The eye."
"The eye?"
"During the war, when destruction reached its peak, a massive eye appeared—formless, yet visible to all. It opened in the sky… and from it, a beam descended. It was a sentence. The most powerful fell. And after that, everything changed. The bloodlines began to weaken. As if a higher will had rewritten the rules."
Noah fell silent, absorbing all this information.
"A force that imposes balance. That destroys what is too strong. That watches from above… The universe will?"