In front of the dark throne, the two figures knelt in absolute stillness, their forms shrouded in an unsettling elegance.


    The first figure, d in shadowy armor that seemed to drink in the faint light of the chamber, carried an ominous, curved scythe that rested lightly against their back. A crimson hood concealed their face, leaving only a sense of unyielding purpose radiating from them.


    The faint flutter of a tattered, blood-red cloak was the only motion, whispering ominously as if alive with its own will. Even in submission, they held an aura of silent menace, a storm waiting to break.


    Beside them knelt the second figure, her dark wings folded neatly behind her, their sheer expanse nearly brushing the edges of the chamber. Her armor was intricate, every curve and te more like a masterpiece of art than battle gear. A ck hood obscured her face, but stray strands of long, silver hair fell loosely across her shoulders.


    She exuded an aura that was less about intimidation and more about unwavering control—a stillness that made her seem untouchable, like the eye of a hurricane.


    Both figures were motionless, their heads bowed in reverence. Yet even in their submission, their presence was suffocating—heavy with power, purpose, and the unspoken promise of destruction.


    The throne itself loomed over them, its upant hidden by shadow, save for the faint screen of energy hovering before it, disying the image of Alera.


    Whatevermand had been given, it was clear: they weren''t just servants—they were weapons.


    The silence stretched until the voice from the throne, cold andmanding, cut through the air, shattering the stillness like ss.


    The figure on the throne leaned forward, their form barely discernible in the oppressive shadows. The energy screen flickered, briefly illuminating their presence. Their voice, cold and absolute, resonated through the chamber,manding the very air around them.


    "It is time," the figure intoned, their toneced with an edge of finality. "You will descend."


    The two kneeling figures remained motionless, but the air around them seemed to shift, charged with purpose.


    "You will meet the Death Immortal," the figure continued, their words sharp and deliberate, cutting through the silence. "They will guide you to the path to the mortal realm. There, you are to retrieve my Champion. No mistakes, no dys."


    The first figure, gripping the base of their scythe, finally raised their head slightly, the gleam of the crimson hood catching the faint light. Their silence spoke volumes—unyielding obedience and readiness.


    The second figure, wings still folded but trembling faintly as though responding to the sheer weight of themand, tilted her head just enough to show acknowledgment.


    "Go," the figure on the thronemanded. "The Champion is the key. Bring them back, or let your existence mean nothing."


    The words echoed like a death knell, and the chamber was plunged back into silence as the two figures rose in unison, their movements fluid and precise, as if rehearsed for millennia. Without a word, they turned and vanished into the shadows, their departure as haunting as their presence.


    The throne room fell silent once more, save for the faint hum of the energy screen, its disy of Alera flickering as if in anticipation of what was toe.


    The Death Realm was silent, heavy, and endless. At the center of it all loomed the Death Immortal''s mountain, a jagged spire wrapped in swirling shadows that whispered secrets only the dead could understand.


    ____


    Inside the mountain, the air felt alive with pressure, like the world itself was holding its breath. On her throne of dark obsidian, the Death Immortal sat, her form an ever-shifting silhouette.


    Suddenly, shadows erupted at the entrance of the throne room, spilling forward like living things. Two shadowy figures rushed in, their movements swift, almost desperate, as they knelt before her.


    "The Death Path has been activated," one of them reported, their voice a low hum that resonated through the room.


    The Death Immortal''s figure flickered, shifting in and out of form, as though the news itself had shaken her. She nodded slowly, her presence seeming to weigh heavier with each passing moment. The Death Path—a link forged between her Death Realm  in the Immortal Realms and the Death Deity''s—was no trivial matter.


    Its activation meant one thing: the Harbingers were on their way.


    A few years, they had said. To mortals, that might sound like forever, but to beings of their magnitude, it was barely a blink. Just enough time to prepare.


    Raising one hand, the Death Immortal conjured a swirling screen of light and shadow. The image on it flickered into view: avish room bathed in faint light, where Alera slept, her now white hair spilling across the bed like a soft cascade.


    Around her, other women rested, their presence irrelevant to the Death Immortal.


    Her gaze, however, froze when itnded on one of them. A young woman with sharp features and an unmistakable aura, even in sleep. Her ck hair seemed to swallow the faint light in the room, but it wasn''t her beauty that caught the Death Immortal''s attention. No, it was her eyes—or rather, the power behind one of her eyes.


    "Eye of Death," the Death Immortal whispered, her voice barely audible, yet heavy with realization.


    That eye... It was unique, terrifyingly so. A force capable of bending death itself. She knew it''s worth. Whoever this Aurelia was, she wasn''t just powerful Obsidian in making—she was a rarity in a way that made even the Death Immortal pause.


    Her decision was instant.


    After securing the Death Deity''s champion, there would be no hesitation. She would im Aurelia for herself. The Eye of Death wasn''t something to leave untouched.


    What would she do if she discovered there was another being with that same Eye? Pyris hadn''t just granted his sister her greatest desire—he''d taken it back, stronger and deadlier than ever. So powerful, in fact, that he dared not use it unless absolutely necessary—not even when he stood face-to-face with Darkness Infernum.


    Even then, Pyris refused to unleash it! Enjoy new stories from My Virtual Library Empire@@novelbin@@


    _____


    Her flickering form steadied, resolve solidifying around her like an iron wall. The shadows in the room seemed to thicken, responding to her newfound purpose.


    "Prepare the descent," she ordered, her voice sharp and unwavering. "And when the harbingers arrive... we will not just deliver to the Death Deity. We will take what should be rightfully ours too."


    The figures bowed lower, their shadows melting into the floor before vanishingpletely.


    The Death Immortal sat back, her gaze still fixed on the screen as it dissolved into mist. Time was short, but she was ready.