Senescence paddled across the vast ocean, slowly drifting forward as his small wooden boat caused little ripples to dance across the calm black waters. His top hat was fashioned out of the essence of an undying soul and the webs of Alantakun, the spider that weaves the fate of demons and corrupted souls; the dye was gotten from the blackness beneath the river of time.

  Senescence fancied the hat a lot; it was a gift to him from one of his secret admirers. He gazed at the black waters as he paddled, multiple skulls floated just beneath the surface, they never popped out of the water because they would have disturbed the peace. It was wrong to disturb the peace.

  His reflection glanced back at him and he shook his head, denying what he saw. It was a pale looking human– he fancied the human form a lot, the elves were not bad but they appeared way too arrogant for him, the human had a pale white face, with red eyes and cracking lips.

  He wondered why mortals usually viewed him as such, he wasn't a particularly violent being, in fact he avoided conflict a lot. All he did was carry out his duties as safely as he can without crossing into anyone's threshold for too long. The others were very active, they viewed every event as an excuse for confrontation, he wasn't like them, yet he was feared among mortals.

  The ocean changed, its current shifting from the pure blackness into crystal clear waters.

  “Senescence, is that you?” A voice said in a language long forgotten by mortals and abandoned by gods. This particular entity, a nameless slave, tethered to the river of time by a dead god.

  “Slave,” Senescence replied, his voice raspy like a breath of frost.

  “How many cycles has it been?” the voice demanded.

  “Thirteen.”

  Senescence only heard the slave speak, they didn't have a physical body anymore, so they cannot be named. Even so, their consciousness faded from reality every passing second and is glued to it again and again. A painful ordeal of course for a mortal but since they have been doing this for more than a million cycles they have become used to the pain.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “So I will forget again?” they spoke as if in self realization. However, they do not have self nor are they prone to realizing. They just know or do not know.

  “Yes.” Senescence replied and the voice went silent. It was a painful existence for the slave, their sole existence was to serve as a string attached to manifestation so that a god who is dead may never truly die.

  Gods were inexhaustible entities, even in death, their effects on the machinations of the realm is undeniable. The wooden boat floated through the river of time and soon enough the river changed once again and Senescence had arrived at the river of souls.

  The river was transparent and almost non-existent, its surface was covered with a thick fog and the howling of souls filled the entire expanse with the symphony of Other. The one whom Senescence symbolizes.

  Due to the amount of authority he held over the river, he left it in the blink of an eye and arrived at the river of manifestation. This was his destination. He was about to witness multiple events that would soon spiral into the proceedings of an important era.

  It might not be an obvious fact to most that walk the realm but everything within it is dying and breaking apart. Once every era, figures of importance will appear to keep the realm together and hold it from shattering under the weight of its own constitution. Normally all the paragons usually appear for such events but this time only the grim reaper rows his lonely boat across multiple planes to witness the event.

  The others were preparing, scheming because this time, the realm is really going to die and rot before the eyes of all that can witness it and only those who hold enough authority will survive the eventual collapse.

  Senescence did not care for such, end was inevitable, even his own. Fighting the inevitable is what mortals do because of their limitations but for a being such as him, it was just futility.

  He arrived at a very large kingdom. Egrimorth is its name. He watched in silence as a ruler tossed her own father from the height of an ancient castle. The soul of the man danced around for a while, fighting the shrieks of the long dead but soon enough it dissipated.

  It would find the river of souls soon enough and it would continue the howling.

  Not far from this castle, a young lady was carrying a frail child wrapped in a bundle of loinclothes. She was running from soldiers, trying desperately to protect the child in her arms. To her the baby is merely the daughter of a scorned princess but Senescence could see the blood flowing in her veins.

  Senescence turned around and to the west, he could see a woman holding her protruding belly, glancing at the unborn child. An unholy union that the world would frown upon.

  Finally, at the base of a rock, not far from these separate events sat Erous.

  Senescence turned back, he’d seen enough. It wasn't in his place to affect the tapestry of fate. He climbed into his boat and a young lady whose eyes were not of this world yelled to her mother.

  “I can see him!” she yelled, excitement causing veins to pop in her neck.

  “See who?” The elderly woman asked in a friendly tone, already tethering the importance of the girl's words to that of a playful child.

  “The Withered Ferryman!”