I had heard death, or near-death, described many times. The flash of your life's moments. A light of guidance and purification. A horde of crows descending to collect your soul for the next life. An endless shoreline. A boat carrying you forward. The descriptions were as diverse as the spirits.

  I had none of those.

  One moment I was feeling the pain of being buried by a mess of bricks and the next I stood beside my impromptu cairn. My sister was screaming, but the noise sounded like it was coming from several rooms away, muted by the walls and open space. Workers were pouring in, trying to pull the bricks away, but I already knew it was too late. Death had come for me, and as much as I wanted to be frustrated at the suddenness of it, I could feel nothing but peace.

  “That’s your mind trying to make the transition easier for you,” spoke a soft voice to my right.

  The woman who stood there was as pale as a blank scroll and dressed in a white funerary kimono, her moonlight locks blowing behind her in a wind I couldn’t feel. Most concerningly, she had no fur and her ears were small rounded things on the sides of her head instead of pointed and atop it. Some part of me wanted to be afraid of this clearly alien entity, but instead I felt calmed.

  “Oh,” I managed.

  She nodded, motioning to the scene. “Death is often a violent experience. Your mind, knowing that it’s dying, decides that it would rather be peaceful in its last moments than panicked, and makes it so. It’s also why you’re at a loss for words. Too much energy spent on being calm, not enough to form coherent thoughts.”

  I nodded numbly and she motioned with her arm away from the screaming workers. Without another real option, we walked away in silence at first, her patiently waiting for me to be ready to talk.

  “Why?” I eventually managed.

  She gave me a once over before nodding, “Well, I suppose that’s the most relevant question, but I will admit it’s the most common one too.”

  One benefit of the serenity of death? I couldn’t bring myself to be embarrassed. Might as well get as much out of this as I could. Unconcerned with my emotional turbulence, she continued on, her voice concise but not clipped.

  “To answer your question most literally, the rope holding the bricks was old and wasn’t inspected before being used. The strain of holding the bricks aloft broke one rope, and the rest followed. But that is rarely what people mean when they ask ‘why?’. It would be far more accurate to say that you died because of a combination of events, most of them completely out of your control, that lead to this specific situation of you being underneath the bricks when they began to fall. There are literally an infinite number of things that had to go right, or wrong if you prefer, for you to die today.”

  There was a momentary pause where she looked me directly in the eyes. It was hard, matching her gaze given how odd her eyes were. I wasn’t sure if her eyes lacked an iris or it was the same color as her pupil, but regardless it made me uncomfortable. Or the echo of uncomfortableness blocked by the forced serenity of death. “Quite simply,” she stated, “on a cosmic scale, you lost this roll of the dice.”

  It was mildly insulting to hear the entirety of my life had ended because of a bad happenstance, but I didn’t have time to process the ramifications before she spoke again.

  “Now, that normally doesn't merit a personal visit from me. Thousands of people die every day. And though it’s my job to handle their transition from this life to the next, or at the very least inform the appropriate envoys of their God or Gods, I don’t go talk to them personally. I have people for that. I’m here because, when confronted with death, you acted heroically; selflessly, and - most importantly - decisively. And that deserves recognition.”

  Well that was all kinds of interesting, but my brain couldn’t string the words together to make a question more involved than, “Recognition?”

  The woman rocked her head slightly, weighing her words. “That is the word my compatriots insist on using, but it feels imprecise. I prefer to think of it as an opportunity to be what you were meant to be.” There was a momentary pause that I might have tried to talk in, but before I could gather my thoughts she carried on, “To clarify, this would give you the magical power that has been taken from you and give you a chance to use it. There are still those alive who remember that the People were the sorcerers and sorceresses of the world. None dared approach your homeland uninvited due to the immense prowess of your blood. Granted, those who do remember are few and thought of as senile which is why there has been an increase in slaving raids of your coastal villages.”

  I stopped, awash in the sweeping implications of that statement and not knowing where to start. I - we - were supposed to be magical, that much was known. But something had happened to that natural talent? And slaving ships? We were several days from the coast, but I thought I would’ve heard of that. And what did she mean by a chance? Compatriots? Did she mean the Gods? Did that mean she was a God? The kitsune weren’t particularly religious and tended to think of Death as a force instead of a deity. Though given the current circumstances, I supposed that distinction might be overly pedantic.

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  The outsider stood and waited, without judgment, for me to collect my thoughts and process. However, chains of logic proved increasingly difficult to forge let alone convey in an intelligent manner, which I was certain I would eventually look back upon with frustration even if I couldn’t feel it now. I eventually settled on a question.

  “Why?” I asked again, followed by the hasty clarification, “Why give an opportunity at all?”

  She smiled slightly, seeming impressed, “Again, the most relevant question. You have a knack for those. Look over there,” she said pointing in the distance.

  I had the presence to demure under the complement of whatever she was but made sure my vanity was short-lived. My gaze followed her finger to the edge of the Refrectory’s courtyard. Where there should have been a village square there was instead a great white void. It stretched in all directions, leaving us on an island of monochrome pavestone. I noticed the lack of colors for the first time before pushing it aside and focused on the white. There was a significance to this, and she wanted me to figure it out. Our religious history might be lacking, but the divine didn’t have a monopoly on magical theory. And I was good at that.

  Or at least I was when I was alive. Here? The drudge of death made it very hard for the necessary thoughts to come together. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t. My mind felt alive and awake again and connections started to form, chasing down the theory. And idle thought started to form about why I was able to think before being rapidly pushed aside to focus on the problem before me.

  There was a void and it was somehow related to the need for me. Which meant it wasn’t caused by me or limited to my existence. It was a larger issue. The Gods were, in theory, unbounded by restriction. Death happened everywhere, so there should be no reason for the void to exist to her. Well, that only made sense if...

  “You’ve been contained in some way,” I declared instead of asking, before clarifying, “Restricted to pieces of the world, like around the recently deceased for you.”

  Her smile widened, “Oh, you are quite exceptional. The Youngest does have quite the eye for talent.” I smiled victoriously, idly curious at who the Youngest was, but kept quiet as she continued.

  “Yes, we are ‘locked out’. In fact someone, and it has to be someone given the deliberateness of the entire affair, has taken great pains to corral and limit our influence on the world and that is unacceptable. For me alone it means that many souls go unferried to the next life, whatever that might be. The others are similarly stymied, unable to do the tasks necessary for the world to function the way it has for millennia. I’m sure you can imagine why that might cause issues.”

  I couldn’t, given that the entirety of the Wyrvwood seemed to work just fine without direct divine influence. But before I could even contemplate how to ask that question, she continued on.

  “As we are all quite invested in making sure this world continues to function, we need envoys to act on our behalf and remove the ‘lock’.”

  “We,” she declared with a formality that had been previously lacking, “would like you to be one of those agents. Send you back with the full might of what you should be, to help you help us. And when it’s done, you’ll be free to live your life.”

  I almost scoffed, before remembering who I was with. Laughing at what was probably Death herself seemed like a bad idea. Instead I cleared my throat, trying to cover the building laughter. “Forgive me if I don’t sound gracious, but aren’t there better options? I’m barely able to weave simple spells. According to Mother, Sage Vinollo is one of the most powerful mages in the world, why not her?”

  She rocked her head again before responding, her voice clear of the uncertainty of her body, “There was a prolonged manner of debate about that, but ultimately the Nameless One made a compelling argument. The old and accomplished are set in their ways and ‘know’ what they can do. You, however, are young. Young enough that you don’t know what your limits are. Young enough that a sudden change in ability could be adapted to without having to waste time or ability having to unlearn a lifetime of habits and limits.”

  That… I think that made sense? The stifling fog of calmness had settled back in once there wasn’t a problem to solve, making the chains of thought still, but I couldn’t see any issues with it. Nothing blindingly obvious at least.

  “I have some questions I’d like to ask,” I stated as politely as I could.

  “You’ve got time for only one,” she replied with a sad shake of her head and pointing to the nearly cleared cairn. “As much as I want you to be fully informed when you choose, the moment you are confirmed dead the window of opportunity closes. The ‘lockout’ is clever and its loopholes are narrowing every day.”

  I nodded and pushed aside dozens of minor questions that weren’t direly important, instead focusing on the job ahead. While there were numerous curiosity pieces and concerns about costs, the stones would only take so long to shift and I had already decided I was going back. Adventuring and risking the magical unknown was a small price to pay so that my sister didn’t have to light a funeral pyre.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Her smile was wide and genuine as she reached out and laid her hand on my shoulder, thumb stroking my collarbone, much like Mother did when she was trying to be comforting.

  “Well, the first thing I need you to do is breathe. The rest will follow.”

  Visions swam before my eyes and as breath filled my lungs, color returned to my world.