The Reaper’s Rest, gentle Grim Reaper surrounded by the spirits of animals he once guided—dogs, cats, horses, birds—glowing softly in a gold...

For the first time in eternity, the scythe felt light in his hand. He walked through silver mist that slowly blushed into gold, each step guided by soft paws, fluttering wings, and distant song.

Around him gathered every creature he had ever guided — dogs with bright eyes, cats shimmering like moonlight, horses snorting softly, birds singing in the dawn. Their love glowed brighter than any sun.

“You brought us home,” they whispered. “And now, it’s your turn.”

He knelt, the ancient weight slipping from his shoulders. The scythe turned to wildflowers. His cloak unraveled into light.

And where Death once stood — only a soft breeze remained, carrying the laughter of every soul he had ever set free.