[Aethel]
"And what is it you want… for immortality?" Aelfric's voice was measured, steady—too steady. But the moment pressed against his bones, his skin, his being.
The Bringer of Death did not hesitate.
"Your soul." The words were not spoken as a demand. Not as a threat, yet Aelfric's fingers twitched, but he did not move.
"Clarify."
The dragon's lips curled. Its eyes remained unblinking, and then it spoke again, in that chorus of many voices, all and none.
"Not much will change. You will remain as you are—whole, untouched, unchanged. And yet you will not be your own. You will be bound to me, eternally—a servant for eternity"
Aelfric's breath did not hitch, did not waver, yet inside, deep within, something trembled. He had expected something worse, he had expected oblivion. But this—this was something else. Not a stripping away of self—but a chain.
A cage he would carry within himself forever, he could already imagine it—feeling its gaze upon him always, a presence lingering behind his every thought, a shadow never too far.
For all eternity.
His eternity.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, could he bear it? Could he bear servitude to Death itself, knowing he would never be free? Would that be his sacrifice—so that they could live? So that they could be eternal?
Aelfric exhaled slowly, his next words—careful.
"Then I will serve you." He paused, s flicker of something in his eyes. "But not just for me." The Bringer of Death said nothing, Aelfric's lips pressed into a thin line. "My wife. My daughter." The words came slower now, heavier. "I want eternity for them as well."
Silence.
The dragon's abyssal gaze narrowed, not in anger, not in amusement. But in something that almost resembled curiosity.
"And only you will serve me?" The voices shifted, layered over each other. "You would bear this burden alone? You would become mine, and mine alone, for all eternity—while they remain free?"
Aelfric did not hesitate.
"Yes."
Silence once more, the dragon's eyes closed and when they opened again...the abyss was deeper, a pulse of something unfathomable and absolute rippled through the area.
"Then bring them to me." He had expected resistance, yet it had accepted the terms so easily, yhat alone—unnerved him. He did not let it show, instead, he nodded, ever so slightly.
"Understood."
And with those words, the deal was sealed, the air pulsed. An invisible weight settled over Aelfric's existence. There was no build-up, no grand spectacle, no violent display of power.
There was only Death and when Death moves, it moves absolutely. Aelfric's body stiffened, his breath caught—no, not caught. Stolen.
A force beyond comprehension gripped him—not physically, but existentially, it was not magic, it was not a spell, not a ritual, not a binding incantation. It was simply a truth being rewritten. And within the next fleeting instant—
Aelfric saw it, a small, faintly glowing orb of white. His soul, torn from his being without resistance, without struggle. It did not rip, it did not fray, it did not fight.
It was simply taken. Freed from him as though it had never belonged to him in the first place. It floated before him, delicate, fragile in its beauty, pure in its essence. There was something deeply, profoundly wrong in the sight of it.
Aelfric felt a hollow pull deep within his chest—not pain, not agony, but an absence.
A wound with no sensation.
His body had not changed. His mind had not fractured. And yet, something fundamental was no longer his. It drifted lazily, as if savoring its brief moment of freedom, before it was drawn—inevitably, unstoppably—into the abyssal eyes of the Bringer of Death.
It simply—vanished.
And in that moment—
Aelfric changed.
His eyes widened ever so slightly, his breath returning, his fingers twitching at his sides as if to confirm he was still there, still whole.
No pain. No suffering.
Just—difference.
A shift so subtle yet so all-encompassing that it defied description. Aelfric blinked, that was it? That was all it took? No torment, no trials, no upheaval of his being? Just a seamless transition into servitude? His thoughts moved in rapid succession—an internal dialogue so fast that even he struggled to grasp the depth of what had just transpired.
This—this was Death's true power.
Not to end.
Not to destroy.
But to define.
To claim, with absolute authority, the very concept of existence.
Aelfric clenched his fist, he felt… the same, his body still responded. His thoughts remained intact. And yet—he knew. He was no longer his own, the abyssal gaze of the Bringer of Death did not waver, did not blink.
Its many voices resonated once more, layering over themselves in a sound that was both overwhelming and impossibly clear.
"It is done." The deal was sealed. Silence the stretched on.
The Dragon of the End snapped back to reality.
Its gaze locked onto Aelfric, the man standing before it as though nothing had changed—when in truth, everything had. The dragon inhaled slowly. The crisp air of the forest flowed through its nostrils, laced with the faintest trace of something off. A wrongness that was neither scent nor presence—but inevitability.
Aelfric was no longer the same, he still looked the same, moved the same, breathed the same.
And yet…
The Dragon of the End could see it, Aelfric's soul was gone.
Not shattered. Not torn. Claimed.
An irrevocable tether now bound him to something far beyond the cycle of Life and Death. No magic could undo it. No power could sever it. The Bringer of Death did not take lightly to relinquishing what it owned.
And Aelfric was now owned, the dragon's expression remained neutral, its body still. It did not let its thoughts slip through—not yet. Instead, it simply watched, Aelfric, standing tall, exhaled.
Then, he turned, his movements were steady, measured—not weighed down by hesitation, but rather an unsettling certainty, he had done it.
He had taken the first step toward eternity, toward his eternity. His hands tightened into loose fists, his jaw tense just slightly. He could still feel the warmth of Calliope's touch, the weight of Aviva's small arms around his neck when she clung to him.
They were waiting for him, they would have forever. His fate was sealed, but so was theirs. Aelfric took a slow step forward. Then another. Then another.
He did not look back.
He did not hesitate.
And the Dragon of the End watched him leave.
Its azure gaze tracked Aelfric's retreating form as he strode through the dense foliage, the shadows of the great trees swallowing him piece by piece, his presence fading into the living forest.
And then the dragon closed its eyes, a deep, rumbling exhale left its throat.
"Fool." It was not spoken aloud, yet the word reverberated through the dragon's mind like a tolling bell. Aelfric thought he had won, thought he had secured his eternity, his happiness, his unshakable future. But he had only ensured his downfall, a mistake—a grave mistake.
The Dragon of the End had seen many men chase eternity. None of them had ever found it the way they had hoped. The dragon closed its eyes for a moment, listening.
The forest had shifted. The natural chorus of chirping critters, rustling leaves, and distant howls had begun to creep back—hesitant, wary. Fear still lingered.
And why wouldn't it?
Something profound had changed.
Something irrevocable.
Even now, The Bringer of Death's presence still lingered, its remnants soaked into the very fabric of this place. Though unseen, it was felt.
The dragon inhaled deeply.
It had seen many creatures of many ages—beings who lived for mere heartbeats and those who stretched across millennia. It had seen kings and tyrants, Gods and mortals, legends and phantoms.
It had seen desperation before and desperation… it always made fools of men. The dragon's lips curled slightly in an almost imperceptible grimace. He had hoped Aelfric would walk away. Had hoped the man would hesitate—would falter. Had hoped he would recognize the weight of what he had just done.
But men in love were blind.
And men who feared Death were blinder.
He does not understand yet, not yet.
But he would.
Oh, he would.
Because there was no such thing as eternity without a cost. There was no such thing as immortality without consequence. The Bringer of Death did not grant gifts, it did not offer freedom, it did not bargain, it only collected.
And Aelfric—Aelfric had just given himself away, he had surrendered.
He simply did not know it yet.
The Dragon of the End opened its eyes once more, the deep azure of its gaze glinting with something unreadable.
"He will learn." It was not a thought, nor a whisper. It was a certainty. The dragon exhaled, allowing its body to relax once more. The small creatures that had once surrounded it—now scattered in fear—began inching their way back, their instincts still sharp.
They were wiser than men, for they understood what Aelfric did not: When Death comes to you in any form, you do not shake its hand.
You run.
You hide.
You pray.
But Aelfric had done none of those things, he had walked into the abyss willingly. And the abyss had welcomed him, The Dragon of the End had seen this before.
It had seen men take this path.
It had seen what became of them.
None had ever found what they sought.
Not once.
Not a single time.
And Aelfric…
He would not be the exception.