As you fall, the sensation of speed becomes overwhelming. The shock of your new, disembodied state fades as a new question emerges: Will this fall ever end? Faster and faster you plummet, the world around you blurring into streaks of light. Your form becomes a glowing streak of blue, tearing through the void like a comet.

Then, like a predator lurking in the night, it sneaks up on you—the ground. It appears suddenly, an unavoidable end to your descent. Standing there, cloaked in tattered robes, is Death itself, silent and still. You crash into the figure with an earth-shattering force.

Everything goes black. But there is no pain.

Slowly, you rise, disoriented but whole. As you move, you realize the heavy fabric clinging to your body isn’t your own. You pull the cloak from around your face and stare at it in disbelief. You’ve hit Death with such force that you’ve merged with it, becoming Death itself.

Next to you, its iconic scythe lies on the ground, gleaming with an otherworldly sharpness. As you reach for it, a voice echoes softly, yet unmistakably, around you:

“My beloved…”

You freeze, turning toward the sound.