“Now we can finally have a proper conversation with this one,” Acher said.

  That was the spirit of an old, skinny woman, so thin that she was almost all skin and bones. Her arms and face were marked by rotting black sores where the flesh was decomposing. The once modest brown nightgown she wore was now torn in several places and riddled with holes. Her hair was sparse, thin gray strands clinging to her scalp as though ready to come loose at any time, and her eye sockets were nothing but deep, hollow voids.

  “She has lost her mind. But at least she hasn’t turned into an evil spirit. Seems like her final wish was something simple and ordinary, not rooted in hatred,” he observed.

  “Why turn into … an evil spirit?” Luther asked.

  Acher explained:

  “When someone dies while still holding onto a powerful regret or obsession, that fixation can cause them to resist the call of the Flow and linger in the human realm. Most of the time, they stick around for just a few days, or weeks at the longest, unless they happen to die in a special kind of place.”

  He pointed to the ground beneath them.

  “This land here is soaked in a strong, stable source of dark magic. Beneath the ground here lies a mass grave that dates back several centuries. This kind of environment can make it easier for a soul like hers to stay well beyond the usual limits. But it’s nothing to celebrate. The longer a spirit stays behind, the more it begins to lose its reason and sense of self. Eventually, it might even corrupt and become a malevolent spirit. Now, you can open a gate to the first layer of the underworld and guide her through. That would fulfill this mission.”

  “That easy?” Luther asked.

  “For other messengers of Hell, it’s much more complicated,” Acher replied. “They’d have to first capture the soul, then take it to one of the transfer stations in the living realm and send it down. Or worse, they’d need to escort it all the way to Limbo personally.”

  “Can I. Ask. Her something?” Luther said.

  “What is it? Don’t tell me that you are planning to help her finish her last wish?” Acher raised an eyebrow. “That might get tricky.”

  “I want. Try,” Luther said.

  “Alright then.” Acher shrugged his wings. “If that’s what you want, the first step is to restore her awareness. Just place your hand on her forehead and say ‘Egeirophōs!’ That should do it. Good thing you’re a reaper because reviving the consciousness of a deteriorated soul isn’t so easy for anyone else.”

  Luther reached out from beneath the folds of his raven-feathered cloak and pressed his palm against the old woman’s forehead.

  “Egeirophōs!” he called.

  As soon as the word left his mouth, a gust of wind swept in through the front door, which was left cracked open since Billy and his crew fled earlier.

  The breeze circled around the old woman’s form, giving her a faint shudder, and then her appearance began to shift from that of a withered, eyeless spirit into the image of an old woman, perhaps in her eighties, with long, white hair and gentle, clear eyes.

  As her mind returned, she looked around in confusion, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  “Even though she’s a soul now, you still need to draw back the cloak so she can see you,” Acher reminded. “For most reapers, the cloak just hides their identity and protects them from attacks. But your cloak even erases your very presence. Keep the hood on, though. Don’t let your face be seen.”

  Luther pulled back his cloak bit by bit until only the part above his shoulders showed.

  “What’s going on?” Anna murmured.

  Her brows knit together as her memory returned bit by bit. She recalled becoming a wandering spirit after death, and her mind faded away over time, leaving her in a state of emptiness.

  Then she realized someone was standing before her: a figure both eerie and strange, but also amusing in some way.

  He wore a thick men’s coat and long trousers. His face was hidden beneath a hood lined with black feathers that draped all the way down to his shoulders, where a black raven sat perched. A large silver scythe gleamed behind his back.

  All in all, he looked like a mismatched character thrown together from different stories.

  “Excuse me … are you the Reaper?” Anna asked.

  “I am,” Luther replied.

  The cloak distorted his voice, transforming it into a raspy blend of tones, as if countless men and women of all ages were speaking together in unison.

  “Were you the one who brought me back to myself?” she asked.

  Luther nodded.

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  “I’m truly grateful. Before you helped me, I could feel something inside me getting angrier and thirstier for violence. But I didn’t know what to do. If it weren’t for you, I might have done something terrible.”

  “No. No problem,” Luther stammered.

  A warm smile appeared on Anna’s face.

  Such a polite reaper, she thought to herself. Must be an apprentice.

  “You’ve come to take me to the afterlife, right?” she asked. “I know I’ve lingered far too long in this world. Let’s go.”

  Her tone was calm and serene, without the slightest tremble of sorrow or regret.

  Luther tried to find his words. He asked:

  “Why. You want. To stay?”

  Anna paused for a moment, surprised by the question. After a short silence, she answered:

  “It’s just a small thing, sir. I had something I left for my daughter. But my death came too suddenly, and I didn’t get the chance to give it to her. She’s come back to the house a few times since I died, but she never noticed it.”

  “What. Was it?” Luther asked.

  “It’s inside that cabinet,” she said, pointing. “If you lift the wooden panel at the bottom up, you’ll find six thousand four hundred and fifty-eight dollars hidden underneath. It’s the cash I saved up over many years working part-time as a cashier. I was planning to give it to her.”

  “Good grief, I thought it was something serious,” Acher grumbled, and only then could Anna see the raven perched on the reaper’s shoulder.

  She was startled by his words. She bowed her head:

  “You don’t have to worry about it, sir. Just leave it. Let whoever discovers it make use of it. I’ve already taken up enough of your time.”

  “It’s alright. Your daughter. Where is. She now?” Luther asked.

  “Before I passed, she was living with her husband and children in Ozone Park. But I’m not sure if they’re still there,” Anna replied, with a faint glimmer of hope returning to her eyes.

  “You really plan to help her? This is going to be such a hassle,” Acher muttered, flapping his wings in frustration.

  “If I can. Find her. I’ll deliver it,” Luther said.

  “And how do you plan to do that? What if she’s moved away?” Acher asked.

  Luther didn’t respond, but his stubborn expression said enough.

  “Sighhh …” Acher let out a long sigh. “Fine. Open the Book of Fate, and just focus your mind on her.”

  Luther followed the instructions. After a few moments, glowing letters began to appear on the stone pages.

  Anna Dixon.

  Born: April 12, 1935

  Died: November 5, 2018

  …

  Husband: Jason Moore

  …

  Daughter: Lillian Moore

  ...

  Living at 3201 Cedarwood Drive, Ozone Park, NYC.

  …

  “She’s still there!” Anna exclaimed in joy.

  Luther moved toward the cabinet, but Acher stopped him.

  “If you just deliver the money anonymously, she might be doubtful and refuse to accept it. Are you planning to tell her straight that it’s a gift from her dead mother? I’ve got a better idea. Let’s head to her place first.”

  And so, the three of them, or, to be more accurate, one person, one raven, and one soul, began to go to Ozone Park.

  “I can’t leave this house,” Anna said. “Ever since I died, it feels like some invisible force has kept me trapped here.”

  “That’s a natural seal created by this area,” Acher explained. “Use your scythe. One swing should break it.”

  Luther lifted his weapon and struck downward.

  Slash!

  The sound of a thin layer of something being sliced rang out, and Anna found she could step out through the front door at last.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  Luther once again took a bus toward Cedarwood Drive, then walked the final stretch to reach the house at number 3201. Anna stared at him in surprise when he paid the bus fare himself, but she said nothing.

  The house was dark, its lights off, and the doors locked tight.

  “What next?” Luther asked.

  “I can help her enter her daughter’s dreams,” Acher said. “That way, she can explain everything herself, and her daughter will then know where to find the money. It’s the best way for everyone involved. Now you wait here while we go in. She and I can pass through walls, you can’t.”

  With that, Acher and Anna drifted into the house.

  Luther remained outside, looking up at the night sky. Among the shimmering stars, the Flow of Destiny stretched across the heavens, winding its way through countless worlds.

  So beautiful.

  Even though several days had passed, Luther still found himself awestruck every time he looked up at the Supreme Circulation.

  After a while, a light flicked on in one of the upstairs rooms, followed by the sound of someone sobbing.

  “Lily, what’s wrong?” a man’s voice called out.

  Acher flew back out through the wall and landed on Luther’s shoulder. Anna followed right after, her expression more peaceful than ever.

  “Thank you both for helping me fulfill my final wish,” she said. “I hope we will meet again in another life so I can repay your kindness. Mr. Reaper, I wish you strength and wisdom to protect yourself. If I’m not mistaken, you’re still quite young, aren’t you? Please listen to Mr. Raven’s words. This world is full of dangerous people, and you must always be vigilant. Thank you again.”

  As soon as Anna finished speaking, she floated upward and then transformed into a glowing light, drifting toward the Great Flow.

  “When you encounter a soul trapped in the human world due to an unfulfilled desire, helping them complete their wish is the most direct way to finish the task,” Acher said. “But not every wish is simple. And not every desire is noble. Most messengers of the underworld would choose the easier route: just send them down and be done with it. You’d better learn to toughen up. A soft heart would make many things much more difficult.”

  Luther gently stroked his feathers.

  “Don’t think I’m doing this because I’m going easy on you,” Acher muttered, though he tilted his head back to enjoy the affection. “Oh, right, it’s time to collect your reward. You just need to open the Book of Fate.”

  When Luther did so, two white crystals the size of thumbs formed in the air above him and floated down into his open palms.

  “As I mentioned before, these are crystallized magic, also known as etherstones,” Acher said. “They’re compatible with all types of magic and can be used in many fields: alchemy, spellbook crafting, potion-making, magical plant cultivation, etc.”

  He picked up one of the crystals, made a quick inspection, then gave a nod of approval.

  “Pure-white etherstone. This is top-tier stuff. Even in a mid-sized ether mine, finding a few pieces like this would be a big deal. Reapers already earn the highest pay among Hell messengers, but you, the Flow is biased in your favor, plain as day.” He chuckled.

  Luther, however, seemed a little distracted. He wasn’t paying attention to what Acher was saying.

  “That night. Was it. You who. Helped me?” he asked.

  He meant the night he fell gravely ill on the third week after his grandpa died, and a dream helped him to recover. Just until now, seeing what Acher was capable of, he had at last put the pieces together.

  “Of course it was me. Do you think I’d just sit there and watch you torturing yourself to death like that?” Acher grumbled.

  “Thank you,” Luther said, giving the raven gentle strokes on his soft feathers.

  “No need to thank me. Just cook me something tasty tomorrow,” Acher replied.

  “Alright.”

  And so, the boy and the raven walked down the dimly lit street.

  Far off in the distant sky, the first light of dawn began to rise on the horizon, marking the start of a new day.