Chapter 24 Rhianelle
Idon’t know how long I’ve been walking.
Hours? Days? Years?
The realm of the dead is not what I expected.
I thought there would be darkness. But instead the sun beats down mercilessly from a colorless sky.
Beneath my feet, sand stretches endlessly.
It’s different from the sand of beaches or deserts I’ve known.
It’s gray and ashen here, like the remnants of something burned long ago and never swept away.
I walk.
And walk.
And walk.
My legs move without conscious thought. One foot in front of the other in a mindless rhythm that becomes everything. Time doesn’t work here. I know that. But my body feels every endless, aching step.
There’s no horizon. The desert just continues, fading into a haze of heat and emptiness. Distance means nothing in this realm. Time means nothing.
I’m not alone.
There are others here.
They walk too, scattered across the boundless gray expanse. An old lady passes me, her face slack and expressionless. Her dress is from a different century. She doesn’t bother looking at me.
Another one stumbles by, his eyes wide and frightened. There are many like him. Hundreds with that same desperate, panicked look. The figures walk in straight paths, heading toward something only they can see. But I notice there are others who wander in circles, lost and confused.
The dead.
These are the dead.
The frightened man keeps looking around. His head whips from side to side, searching for something.
He won’t find it. Not here.
Searching only makes it worse.
I want to tell him to stop looking, but I can’t. Because I’m searching too.
“Svenn,” I whisper.
No one responds. Not a single soul turns to look. They’re too lost in their own endless quests. I look at each figure crossing the gray desert.
A woman in a wedding dress with empty eyes.
It’s not Svenn.
An old man, bent and shuffling.
Not him.
A warrior in rusted armor.
Not him. Not him. Not him.
“Svenn!” I call louder now, my voice cracking with desperation.
My heart pounds in my chest, or does it? I wonder if hearts pound here in the realm of the dead.
Am I even truly alive in this place?
I don’t know. All that matters is finding him.
“Svenn!” I scream now, running between the wandering dead. “Svenn, where are you?”
Nothing but the silence of the ash-sand and the oppressive weight of that empty sun.
“He’s not here.”
The voice comes from beside me. I spin to find him walking alongside me.
One of the Un. Death.
He must have been there for a while, walking in step with me and watching my futile search.
Death takes a young form this time. His hair is dark, falling in careless waves around his face. He wears a simple black cloak.
“You’re wasting your time, Rhianelle.”
“He has to be here,” I say and I don’t stop walking. “You took him. I saw you take him. He’s here somewhere.”
I remember it. The moment Svenn’s eyes went empty and Death claimed him.
“The realm of the dead is infinite,” Death says, keeping pace with me effortlessly. “Endless. Countless souls arrive every second from every world, every realm. What makes you think you’ll find one specific soul in all of this?”
“Because I have to,” I say simply.
Death laughs. It’s not cruel. He has seen this determination before and knows exactly how it ends.
“They all say that,” he says, gesturing at the wandering dead around us. “The ones who come here looking for lost loves. They all think their love is special, strong and powerful enough. That one has been looking for her husband for three hundred years.”
I look where he points and see her. The lady is desperate and eternally hopeful.
“Jameson,” she rasps over and over. Her voice is hoarse from centuries of calling.
“She’s been walking for three hundred years?” I whisper. The horror of it settles in my chest.
“Time is different here,” Death says, looking at me with his pale blue eyes. “It could be three hundred years or it could be three seconds. But yes, she walks and she searches. She never finds. Just like you won’t find your vampire.”
“His name is Svenn,” I say fiercely. “Arescaine Darian Andras of Morsvyenn. I will find him.”
I have to believe that. If I don’t believe it, there’s nothing left.
Death stops walking. He turns to face me fully and something in his expression softens. “Rhianelle, I let you into my realm to show you the impossibility of your request. You can’t bring him back. You might end up getting lost here.”
His eyes are genuinely concerned now.
“I don’t care,” I say.
He steps closer. “You should return home.”
I notice for the first time that Death casts no shadow.
“This is the realm of the dead,” he says. “It’s my domain and the rules are simple. If you find him, then you can take him back. But if you fail...”
If I fail, I stay here forever.
I will become one of those empty-eyed souls who wander for centuries and never find what they’re looking for. I’ll become her. The woman calling for her husband. Forever searching. Forever lost.
“I won’t fail,” I say.
Death studies me for a long moment. Then he smiles.
“We’ll see,” he says, before vanishing.
I’m alone again. Alone with the endless gray desert, the wandering dead, and the impossible task before me.
The silence rushes back in. I take a breath, and I start walking again.
“Svenn,” I call out, softer now. Saving my strength. “Svenn, I’m coming. I’m coming for you. Just wait for me. Please wait for me.”
The dead walk past, unseeing and unhearing. They don’t care about my quest. They have their own.
I don’t stop walking.
I won’t stop, not until I find him. This is my purpose now. I will bring him home.
I walk past a group of souls clustered together, past an orc who’s carved names into the sand, past a weeping fae.
None of them are Svenn.
A figure ahead turns at my voice. My heart leaps but it’s not him. It’s just another lost soul, confused by the sound of their own forgotten name.
I keep walking.
My feet start to hurt. How strange. I didn’t think I could feel pain here. But each step becomes harder. The sand seems to grab at my boots, trying to hold me in place.
I push forward.
“Svenn!”
My voice is getting weaker.
The sun doesn’t set in Death’s realm. It looms in that empty sky, draining everything beneath it.
“Svenn,” I whisper through my dry throat. “Where are you?”
No answer. But I don’t give up.
I know he’s here somewhere.
And I promised I would never stop fighting for him.
In life and in death.
That’s what he said.
So I walk.
And walk.
And walk.