“Do you know why I’ve brought you into my office today?”

  There was a slight delay to Death’s voice that echoed, not because of the cavernous chamber they were sitting in, but because of something else. Something deeper.

  Ever sat—hovered—above the seat across from the aeons-old usher of the underworld. He looked down at himself, seeing nothing but the nucleus he was: a green flame, suspended in mid-air, wrapped in a smoky gray cloud.

  Death stared at Ever cryptically with those unreadable, hollow eyes.

  “You’re going on a vacation!” he exclaimed, arms rattling as he threw them wide.

  Ever’s form pulsed. “Va-cation?”

  Death straightened his robe and scooted his chair back in.

  “Ah, of course. Such a concept would escape a soul who has no memory of work.”

  Ever regarded his mentor solemnly. He didn’t remember much; he had been floating among the billions of other souls for what felt like forever. Then one day, Death had swooped in, plucked him from the masses, and taken him under his wing.

  “Have you been reading up on the reaping process? How it works? Why I do what I do?”

  Ever bobbed once in place. “Yes, Mentor.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Of what?”

  If Death could have raised an eyebrow, he would have.

  “The reading.”

  Ever searched the recesses of his memory. He recalled Death’s role in shepherding souls stuck on Earth, how they clung to ideas of “unfinished business,” and the method of helping them find peace—by briefly reconnecting them with human senses, allowing them the closure they sought.

  “Good,” Death grunted. “But not good enough.”

  He pushed back from his desk, stood, and laced his fingers behind his back.

  “Mentor? Have I done poorly?”

  “No, no. It’s not you at all,” Death said. He turned to the window, gazing out at the swirling pits of the Underworld. “I’ve spent millennia perfecting the art of reaping. I’m old now, and frankly… I’m done.” He turned back to his protégé. “I’m ready to retire, Ever.”

  The smoke within Ever swirled rapidly, his green nucleus shuddering.

  “Now? I’m not ready to succeed you, Mentor.”

  “I know.” Death sighed, a gesture he’d picked up from weary humans.

  He crossed the obsidian floor to the scythe resting in the corner. With a flick of his bony wrist, it rose, wrapped in faint blue light.

  “To Ever,” he commanded.

  Ever watched as Death’s scythe floated lazily across the room, settling softly on the table before him with a gentle clatter.

  “I know you’re not ready. That’s why you’re going on vacation to Earth. You’ll stay there for 365 days, living among humans. You’ll put to use everything I’ve taught you so far.

  “But the goal isn’t leisure. You’re there to accelerate your learning, to understand humanity and what it means to be human. That understanding is what’s made me good at this job for millennia. You’ll need it before you can wield the scythe full-time."

  In a blink, Death was suddenly back in front of Ever.

  “Any questions?”

  Silence settled over the chamber as the master regarded his apprentice.

  “…What is a ‘day’?” Ever asked, hesitantly.

  Death chuckled, raising a hand.

  “To Earth!”

  The scythe flew into Ever’s form, and the soul vanished with a blip.