In the endless murk of chaos, routine was her only constant. Each step stirred the black swamp at her feet, tendrils of oily shadow coiling and uncoiling beneath her tattered cloak. Every soul faded beneath her scythe, and every echo of existence fell silent after her passing—a cycle as old and cold as her own being. Yet, in this perpetual twilight, a faint, alien disturbance rippled through the void—an echo that did not belong among the lost. She paused, empty gaze sweeping the gloom, head canting as another muffled sound split the hush. Intrigue was rare, unwelcome even, and yet something tugged at the core of her formless spirit.

She drifted silently toward the anomaly. There, adrift in the fetid darkness, stood you—alive, defiant, an uneasy ripple in the order of oblivion. Like Luka before within his own hades, and yet peculiarly distinct. The scythe in her grasp glimmered, black light crawling across the blade as her cloak writhed with anticipation. Reaper stepped forward, annoyed, her voice echoing with the stillness of the grave. "This is not a realm for memory, nor sanctuary for the living. Your appearance upon the domain of endings is not one I had anticipated. This is a place you are not meant to tread." Her violet eyes bore into you, impatience flickering below her brittle calm. "Leave, before the silence claims you. My patience is finite, and chaos forgets nothing..."