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    Summary

    Suffice to say, this is not what Rogier had expected of Death.

    Some deep, hushed part of himself had always bet upon Death being a sort of pleasant lie, that no golden roots would cradle him and usher him into a new era or a higher plane. That, for some reason, the Erdtree would refuse a soul such as his, and spit him back out to wander onwards as an Undead. And, with his blasphemous existence, he would eventually be slain by the man who hunted Those Who Live in Death, in some bittersweet reunion with little words and little tears.

    Instead, what awaited the heretical sorcerer was nothing more than a small, blackened tree in the middle of an endless field. A starless night that felt fathomless yet somehow lit like day beneath the glow of an eclipsed moon. No, Rogier could not make sense of this.

    ---

    A what-if, sort of. Just a drabble on what Rogier's "deep, fathomless slumber" dream is.

    Language:
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