Eight moons into the Ruin.

*

THERE WAS AN unending sadness that came with waking up in a dying world. Yet Eris Oslow always smiled.

Some days were easier than others; just like some smiles came about more naturally, inspired by a bird in the sky or the distant snort of some giant forest beast. Other days, it felt odd to smile, the movement of her lips unfamiliar, almost forgotten. Like the touch of rainwater on her tongue, or fullness in her belly.

Eris awoke, smiling, before slipping her feet into boots, slinging a bag over her shoulder, and heading toward the valley. She took only what she needed - a waterskin, her mother's best healing salve, and a book full of sloppy note taking.

After the valley, she planned to go to the east and west rivers (the small brook north, and the lake in the south had dried up two moons ago) and check their water levels. Then she'd go to the sea and do the same.

As she walked, the ground beneath her feet crunched more the usual.

More brown than green.

She'd add a note to her book.

The sky was a smoky blue.

No clouds again.

Another note to make.

Eris continued toward the valley, the sun roasting her neck and back, and worsening the thirst she felt gathering at the back of her throat. She had little water left in her waterskin, and was rationing it out for as long as she could. In the meantime, she'd taken to drinking the sap of the Orimsi palms, but that wouldn't sustain her for much longer.

She needed to find fresh water, and soon. Hopefully, the east and west rivers would have plenty.

Come midday, she had arrived. The valley no longer smelled of fresh flowers and rain-soaked soil, but of rot. The ground had grown soft, the plants had turned to mush, and now the trees in the surrounding forests were beginning to blacken and wither. Taking shallow breaths to keep the rot from burrowing inside her, she went into the valley, the ground giving away beneath her boots, until she came upon her parents.

They laid upon the ground, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in linen shrouds. Eris had used the kitchen tablecloth for her Papa, because he was always brewing the evening teas they shared around the table. She had used the bedsheet for her Mama because some of Eris' fondest memories had been of those times she'd crawl into her parents' bed, slipped beneath the covers, and listened to her Mama read from her favorite books.

"Mama. Papa." She knelt before them, undid her pack and pulled out two paper flowers she had folded the night before, made from pages of one of her mother's herbalism books. She set the flowers on their bodies, above their hearts. "Please don't be mad that I used your book, Mama. It collects rot now, like most things."

The frayed edges of her mother's shroud, fluttered.

Eris's smile faltered. She closed her eyes. Breathed out. And when she reopened her eyes, her smile felt much more solid. "I hope you're doing well." She stood and slung her pack back over her shoulder. "I hope you're all doing well."

She glanced up. Beside her parents, in shrouds of sun-bleached colors, rested all one hundred and six of the other people from Eris' village. She had spent an entire moon, cleaning their bodies - oiling and perfuming the skin, dusting the hair-- and dressing them in shrouds made from fabrics she found around their homes, before she carted them all there. Some place quiet, where they could finally rest.

I'm sorry I couldn't bring you all flowers, she thought, but I'm running out of pages.

And the world is running out of flowers.

Promising to visit again tomorrow, Eris turned away and set out toward the forest.

*

East River - dried up.

West River - sour water.

723 steps taken into the ocean. 478 more than last moon's trek.

Eris finished scribbling her notes, and then closed her notebook. She tossed it onto the ground, next to her boots. She leaned back on the fallen log, relishing the shade provided by an Orimsi palm. She stretched her legs, wiggled her toes. Breathed deep as the air around the hills reeked less of decay.

With a dirty hand, she pushed back the hair that sweat had stuck to her face. With the other, she removed her waterskin from her pack and frowned. She'd need to leave her village, the valley, leave her parents behind, if she was to survive.

A sigh fell from her lips. Surviving. At this point, was it even worth it?

A sharp crack of wood sounded from the forest. Eris bolted from the log. Through the trees, a shadow swayed, growing larger as it headed in her direction. Another twig snapped. Leaves crunched. Eris didn't dare breathe out of fear she'd alert the creature to her presence. Then came a sound, muffled but distinct. A swear word.

Eris threw on her shoes and tossed her pack over her shoulder. A human could be a friend, or they could be trouble, but she had no intention of waiting around to find out.

But just as she turned to leave, a man burst from the trees, panting. Eris couldn't make out much about him, except that he wore a cape over a long robe. A hood obscured his face.

"Wh-who are you?"

Eris never thought she'd need a weapon. It'd been eight moon cycles since she last saw anyone alive. She gripped her bag, her throat tight. How she wished she'd brought along her Papa's hunting blade.

The  man huffed as he ambled toward her, one hand resting on his chest. It rose fast, as though he needed far more air than the world could supply. "I am..." he said, between breaths. His voice surprised Eris. It was smooth and put together, and very much unlike his outfit of frayed edges and patchwork fabrics. "Tired," he finished.

He ambled over to the log Eris had been sitting on, making no move to go for anything that might have been concealed beneath his cape. He appeared harmless, but appearances were meant to deceive.

She took a step back, fingers tightening around her bag. "I was just leaving."

"Yes, of course." He slumped onto the log and lowered his hood, meeting Eris' gaze. His eyes were gold. Deep and rich. Burning like suns beneath a thicket of dark eyebrows. A tangle of hair as dark as night fell to his waist.

"I saw the bodies."

She froze.

"In the valley." He stared straight ahead, though Eris knew the horizon held nothing but death. The crumbling mountains and withering forests. The empty riverbeds and craters where the lakes used to be.

When she didn't answer, he cast her a sideways glance.

She took a cautious step forward. "From my village." The words felt as thick as tree sap, and equally as bitter.

"You adorned them with flowers."

"Paper ones, yes, since," Eris's eyes rested on the hill, behind which there had been a field of wildflowers. When she was little, she had picked flowers there with her Mama, collected roots. They carried them back the hut where her Mama would mash and boil them, making potions and balms for the other villagers. She healed people, and Eris had loved being a part of that. When the disease struck, Eris' mama starting making other potions. Ones that eased pain, ended suffering. Eris had been a part of that too, but it brought her no joy. "You can use your eyes. You must have noticed the waning color in the world these days."

"Clever then," he responded. "Your use of paper."

Eris had not felt clever in a long time, had not heard the words uttered since her papa had been alive, but hearing them again, even from a stranger's mouth, reignited a warmth inside her she had thought permanently subdued.

"I thought no one observed the ancient rituals of passing in this age." Eris's brow crinkled. The man chuckled. It was both light and airy, thick and dark all at once. Sunrise and sunset. "Flowers are a gift to the deceased. It helps them in the afterlife. They can take the flowers and offer them up to Death. And in return, Death provides them with eternal peace. He ends their suffering, all for some measly flowers." A chuckle fell from the man's lips, his eyes brightened by good humor, but then he lurched forward, and his chuckle grew pained. He coughed, blood staining his lips.

Eris rushed forward, arm outstretched, offering the man her waterskin. "Here." He eyed her curiously. "Take it. Drink."

"It's nearly empty."

She shook her head. "I'll fill it up later. There's a river to the east of here. Go on."

Without taking his eyes off her, he took the waterskin and brought it to his lips, drinking deep. After wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his cape, he turned to Eris, offering the waterskin back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." A heat rose to Eris's cheeks as she put it back in her bag.

"Now tell me." The man stood, a golden hue settling across his skin. "What can I do to repay your kindness?"

Eris shook her head. "There's nothing–"

He stepped toward her. "What is it you wish for most?" He watched her with glittering eyes, his gaze gently goading her to speak aloud her heart's desire.

She pursed her lips, hands curling into fists.

"It can be anything," he added with a smirk.

Eris's eyes flicked back in the direction of the valley. "A family."

He stood. Taller, straighter. "It is as you wish, then." He was before her, grinning. "You shall be my bride and I your family."

"Wh-what?" Eris shook her head in disbelief. "You are..." She stumbled backward, slamming into the rough bark the Orimsi palm. "I don't even know who you are. You don't even know who I am."

"I am," he said, slowly undoing his cape. It fell to the ground, and he was suddenly in immaculate black robes, his hair bound at the nape of his neck, and trailing over one shoulder, "Akul."

Eris did not believe it. Would not believe it. "You can't be."

"But I am. Akul. God of Death." He leaned forward, grabbed a strand of her hair, and let it fall over his fingers. "And I, Eris Oslow, know you. I have been with you since the moment you were born."

He stepped back and raised his hand. "It's strange," he flexed his fingers, a wrinkle settling between his eyebrows, "I've offered my hand millions of times to mortals, but this is the only time, I've truly wanted one to take it." His gaze flicked up to meet Eris'. "All the happiness I'm capable of will be yours. I promise. And know that a god does not break his promises."

Eris stared at the hand. The long, tanned fingers. The golden luster playing across his skin. The veins beneath that glistened black.

"But I have no flowers," she said.

Akul laughed, and the sound permeated the air, and filled Eris' heart, and all the sadness she had felt, all the misery that had festered inside her, for every day she woke up alone had been chased away. An ugly, wretched sob fell from her mouth. Another. On the hill, in front of a god, she cried and raged until her stomach hurt and she felt like she'd break apart.

"Being alone has hurt. I thought I'd always hurt."

Akul shook his head. "You will never suffer the weight of that loneliness again."

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Do you promise?"

"Yes."

Eris searched his face for a hint of the lie, a sign of a not-so-distant betrayal, but she saw only Akul, felt only his warmth.

She stepped toward him and took his hand. She marveled at how easy it was, slipping her fingers between his. Like they were always meant to fit, pieces of a broken world, brought together to create a whole new one.

Eagerness filled her heart, at having exchanged one death for another.

There would be no suffering. Just happiness. And she would never be alone again. 

Author's note: Don't know how I feel about this chapter, but oh well. *shrug* Just gotta keep writing, I guess. 3,000 words shy of that 8,000 word milestone.