Chapter I-I: Apologue
Untold was the wind, in all its fury and might lay a quiet strength. Chained to no one, its power could not be overcome with the meagre flights of fancy which were characteristic of man. Neither thoughtless mistakes, nor vice could bring about the downfall of a god. But what of gods risen from man itself; do they possess the same affliction to undoing?
A biting chill ran through their spine simultaneously. It was their time.
One stepped forward, a single pace closer towards the estuary of Styx. The other held fast, but winds of change always blew one towards their fate, regardless of a mere individual’s wish. Cocytus raged and cracked against the shore of dusty debris. Only three remained in the confines of perpetuity. The boundary between life and the underworld.
“There is no rush.” Truly, time here did not pass as easily as it flowed above. It was barred against its will at this juncture. Nothing could pass without the permission of this place’s overseer. Whether it be mortal or the fabric of nature itself.
The others accepted, resigned, fought. Did it matter? Acheron, Lethe, and Phlegethon converged where it was always meant to converge.
In this place and time, all were offered the same choice.
Here, at this crossroad, or cross-river, was where something ended and something else began.
“This is truly the bane of my existence,” They complained loudly.
“Don’t you feel shame at using such mortal colloquialisms?” The blue flame bounced in agitation. “In the first place, your very existence is to uphold this tradition of leading souls into the afterlife. There is nothing banal or of bane in your duty.” All fires burned out eventually (though there existed quite a fair number of exceptions). It was Their charge to ferry souls as they extinguished.
“Try doing this job your entire life with no end in sight, you’d think it dreadful in no time at all,” They retorted back.
The flame flickered in irritation, “Again with your very human expressions. Time does not pass here and you do not have a life.”
“Tell me about it!”
“Enough!” He burst, “I cannot stand your ceaseless whining even a second longer!”
“Seconds,” They paused for emphasis, “Now who’s speaking in mortal terms?”
“You may think yourself of wit, but although you are millennia in the making, you act as juvenile as a mortal child!” Azure flames flared, the tendrils scattered in all directions. Indeed, the spirit guide had had enough with Them and went to go cool off.
When the last vestiges quivered gone, They picked up their scythe. “Finally, some peace and quiet,” The harbinger of bereavement twirled in Their hands as easily as rain danced upon pools of water. “What a nag.”
Quickly, They made preparations, driven by the covet of being left alone by the aforementioned nag. Mares of shadow neighed against the backdrop of a crackling storm which was steadily brewing. Darkness swept over the skies as Death rode their chariot towards the mortal realm.
Wherever They went, plague, war, and chaos did not fall far behind. In more apt terms, each time They decided to play hooky, great destruction rained upon the human world.
A great and terrible lesson was learned during 1250 BC. To the chagrin of the gods, Death managed to evade Their duties for ten years. So now, They had to be babysat, lest the Fields of Asphodel become overwhelmingly crowded yet again.
Back to the present, it was thus that such an oversight brought five particularly unfortunate souls here. They converged at this boundary due to mere whimsy.