Chapter Text
This is the story of how Ren met Death itself and got a job offer out of it.
If that seems rather unusual, it’s because it is. Ren himself was certainly not expecting his day to end in a deity standing before him offering him a job so good that Ren would be crazy to turn it down. In fact, his day had started as all days did in his ordinary life in his ordinary city of Adapolis.
It was the dawn of a new day and a new age. Rumor was that over the seas, war had broken out and two of the largest cities of the time had collapsed into anarchy and ruin. The trade ships that flocked to Ren’s city had grown far and few between in recent months, and tensions were rising as the rich saw the writing on the wall and quietly fled, and the poor robbed and stole what little they could to try and look after themselves when no one else would.
Ren himself was in that comfortable middle class of society; neither rich nor poor but able to manage his income to live what he felt was a comfortable life. He hardly lived in luxury, and many of his clothes were more patches than the original fabric, but he was happy enough. By day, he worked in the city as part of its general maintenance crew; repairing damaged pathways and stonework, fixing wooden bridges and the archways of homes, as well as the odd water well. But by night, and by day, and by any other time he was needed, Ren drove the cart that transported the bodies of the recently deceased to the temple of the Primary of Death for their final blessings and burial.
Despite the society’s generally positive attitude towards the gods (temples dedicated to the Primaries like Death and Life and Earth were always the most grand, but it was common to see a smaller temple or home-made shrine dedicated to Protection or the Hearth), very few people worked as part of the temple and even fewer volunteered for them. The pay was poor and unfavourable in the social and financial unrest of the city, hence why Ren had to work two jobs and often got less sleep than he should have. But he found the cause worth it: bringing people help and comfort when they were at their most vulnerable.
The day in question (that is, the day Ren came face to face with the deity he had served for years) began with no fanfare or divine prophecy. It began with Ren making his way to the Temple of Death and coming face to face with a young boy wearing the scrappy clothes of a farmer, tears staining his dirt-streaked face and the priest of the temple standing beside him. The boy had arrived in the early hours of the morning, bearing news of the passing of his grandfather, and requesting the services of the temple to bring the body for burial.
The trip out to the farm was a path that Ren had travelled many times over the years. He sat on the front seat, driving the black horse along uneven dirt tracks while the young boy sat beside him, telling stories about his passed grandfather at Ren’s gentle urging. It brought comfort to the family at a time when comfort was hard to find, and it helped Ren himself to remember that each person who travelled in his cart had a history, a story, a family, and a thousand moments when they had touched the memories of others.
(Except, of course, for those who had no one. The people found dead in the streets, robbed and beaten and dumped on the sides of the road. The old, the disabled, the young, the people who had no family to care for them, and no friends to remember them. Those were always the saddest burials. All Ren could do for them was to bring their body to the temple and watch as they were buried in a nameless grave.)
The cart and the black horse were spotted while they were still a far way out from the farmstead, prompting the other family members to come out to greet them when Ren pulled the horse to a gentle stop at the front door. He helped the boy off the cart and followed him into the house, greeting each of the family members with a reserved voice and a gentle smile. He had little to do except guide those who carried the body to the cart, and help everyone up take their seats for the ride home.
An old woman - the grandmother and wife of the deceased - smiled warmly as Ren took her wrinkled hand and carefully helped her take her seat beside the wrapped body. “Thank you for this, Death-favoured,” she said, using the old phrase of respect for those who worked in the temples.
Ren bowed his head. “It is an honour to be of service, ma’am. And please, call me Ren.”
The journey back was louder than the journey out, but no less somber. The family talked about tasks that had to be done, belongings that had to be sorted, old memories that arose and fond annoyance of their grandfather’s habits, and Ren found joy simply in listening. The time for sadness would come when they reached the city limits and finished the slow, traditional path taken by the dead - where the city people would step to the side and bow their heads and spare a thought for the deceased and the family who had to live on - and once they had moved the body into the freshly-dug grave beside the Temple of Death, covered it up with the earth, and listened to the priest’s final words.
“Bless the Primaries,” the priest murmured in familiar, sincere tones. His worn hands poured white sand on top of the grave in the pattern of an entwined alpha, omega, and theta - the symbol of Death. “For the life that was lived, for the time that was shared. For the place they now go, and the safety found there. We thank the Lord Death that our soul will persist. We say bless the Primaries, one through to sixth.”
“Bless the Primaries, one through to sixth,” Ren murmured alongside the family.
He offered them a lift back to their farm, as he always did. Life was hard for everyone but Ren always felt it was unfairly cruel to those who sustained whole cities with their produce and yet were always among the most disadvantaged. It was just past noon when they returned to the farm and Ren helped each person step down and head back indoors.
The old woman was the last to leave, wrapping an arm around a young granddaughter as she held onto Ren’s hand warmly. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Death-favoured.”
“A pleasure to meet you as well, ma’am,” Ren said, bowing his head once more. “I only wish the circumstances were more pleasant.”
“It cannot be helped,” the woman replied simply. “I do hope we will meet again, when you come to take me on the same journey as my husband.”
“I will be here, ma’am,” Ren promised, “though I hope it is not for many years.”
“We cannot live forever, Death-favoured,” the woman remarked with lighthearted humour, though her face was burdened with grief. “That is why Death comes to collect us after all. Only temporary things are precious.”
It was that turn of phrase that stuck with Ren as he returned to the city and donned his rough work clothes to join his crew in repairing the wooden market roof with ever-dwindling materials. They worked to keep things functional, to keep things present - constant even, one could say. And yet, when Ren walked through the city that evening, tired and worn, he could see cracks in the pavers and stone walls threatening to crumble and wooden frames showing signs of rotting. Their city was temporary, even if it seemed so permanent, so eternal. Generations upon generations upon generations of families were born and lived and died in this city, and yet it would fall as all great cities before it had fallen. As the great cities across the seas had fallen.
A startled cry made Ren jump and he shook himself out of his existential thoughts, narrowing his eyes to squint down the street. The oil lamps did little to banish the darkness of the night as it consumed the city, but Ren could see well enough to recognise a young child running through the streets, wearing rags that were nearly too torn to be called clothes, and shoes so worn that they threatened to fall off as the child stumbled in their sprint. Behind them, also running but at a more casual, mocking pace, were four larger shadows of adults no less gaunt but far better clothed. And all were heading up the street towards Ren.
Ren’s deep sigh came before he even acknowledged his course of action, because he knew himself better than he liked to admit. He could ignore them, could let the thugs catch up to the child while he took a different street home, but that wasn’t who Ren was. He didn’t have any sort of weapon on his person, but he didn’t want it to come to a fight.
He kept his casual walk down the street, only breaking into a jog when the thugs reached the child and started circling and shoving them. Ren was quick to get himself in the action as the child was shoved hard enough to make them stumble and fall, giving Ren the chance to slip himself between them and the thugs.
“Now, I don’t think it’s necessary for four adults to be chasing down a single child,” Ren said, putting a light smile on his face and a cheery note in his voice. “Seems a little over the top to me.”
“Beat it, man,” one of the thugs spat, and Ren realised that this wasn’t the regular street-rat bullies he’d assumed they were. They looked down on a meal or two but they certainly weren’t lanky, and the clothes they wore weren’t just good quality, they were nearly luxury. Either the group had been breaking into the homes of the fleeing rich, or they were part of a much larger crime group. “Go home and leave us be.”
“I’m just asking a simple question, dude,” Ren tried to diffuse, quickly cut off as another thug spoke.
“We have some business to conduct with the kid. Or rather, a debt to settle.” The thug opened his jacket slightly to show off a large serrated knife strapped to his chest. “We’ll be done quickly.”
“And leave behind a body, no doubt.” Ren’s voice was more of a growl than he intended it to be. He could easily understand the threat being given to him, but he couldn’t stop himself from recalling the poor souls he’d seen left dead on the streets that he’d had to load up into the cart himself. He wondered how many of them were the victims of these four.
The thug sneered, his lips twisting into a smirk as he looked Ren up and down. “Maybe. But you’re clearly not a city guard, so what are you going to do about it?”
The others nudged each other and scoffed out quiet laughter, clearly deciding that Ren wasn’t a threat. But Ren felt the thin, small hand of a child rest on his arm and felt them take cover behind him, and he decided he was definitely going to be a threat.
“I’ll do this,” Ren proclaimed, confident and calm and making the thugs’ chuckles hesitate as he half turned to the child. “Run over to Death’s temple and wake the priest. Tell him that Ren Dawson sent you. Off you go.”
The child gulped but at a small shove from Ren, turned and sprinted down the street. One of the thugs swore and started to chase, pushing past Ren without thinking until it was too late and Ren slammed his fist into the thug’s gut, delivering a punch that was made all-the-worse by the thug’s own momentum. He quickly followed it with a second punch to the thug’s head, sending him dropping straight to the ground (and leaving Ren’s hand with an ache).
The three remaining thugs paused for a moment, no doubt in shock at seeing one of their own downed so quickly. Ren was surprised too, but he wasn’t about to show it. “I said to leave the child alone,” he said confidently, standing straight. His heart thudded rapidly in his chest.
“Well, I say you’ve just volunteered to take the kid’s debt,” a thug said, and pulled out his large serrated knife.
The first part of Ren’s plan worked. The thugs had apparently completely forgotten about the child and circled Ren instead like wolves surrounding a sheep. This was when Ren realised that the second half of his plan wasn’t so well thought out; he was outnumbered, three to one, with no weapon to defend himself against a knife, and no experience in fighting.
Ah, well. Couldn’t be too hard, right?
Ren threw himself at the nearest non-armed thug, half tackling them and half throwing a wild punch that went wide. A fist grazed his head and he flinched away as he raised his hand to strike again. Something hard struck his head from behind and an iron grip wrapped around his wrist and yanked him backwards. Ren’s head swam but he instinctively threw his arms over his head, absorbing the shock of another blow to his head. His hands shoved forward, pushing the thug away and he briefly heard a yelp and a curse as he backed up and blinked his eyes to clear his vision.
He only briefly caught sight of blood on the serrated knife as it caught the light of oil lanterns (Ren didn’t feel hurt; had one of the thugs been cut?) before the first thug was launching back at him. Ren threw his hands up again, hunching over as his stomach was struck but quickly straightening up. He threw his leg forward, connecting with the thug’s groin and shoving them back as they let out a high-pitched squeal.
Then the knife-wielder came. He slashed wildly and Ren had no choice but to leap backwards to avoid the large blade, then leap backwards again as the thug lunged. It was a mistake. The back of his legs hit the first thug he had downed and Ren tumbled backwards, sprawling on the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. His arms came up, his body twisting as he rolled away, knowing that the thug and the knife would be on top of him in seconds.
Somehow, Ren was faster than the thug and he scrambled to his feet, hands raised to block more attacks. He was already exhausted, adrenaline coursing through his veins, breath coming in pants, and eyes darting across the scene. One thug was still on the ground, unconscious. The thug Ren had struck was still hunched over with hands protecting his privates, the second behind him about to charge. And the knife-wielding thug was half-crouched with teeth bared in a snarl and eyes fixed on his fallen fellow.
But none of them were moving towards Ren.
“I don’t have all night,” Ren hissed, feeling hot blood starting to trickle down his temple and the knuckles of his hands.
But the thugs didn’t move. In fact, they didn’t seem hear him at all. In fact, when Ren hesitantly stepped closer, wiping the blood from his face, he saw that they were frozen - unmoving, not even breathing or blinking. Not even realising that Ren was right beside them. Which didn’t seem possible, unless-
“Ren Jamis Dawson.”
A voice like nothing Ren had ever heard before spoke behind him. It was rich and it was deep but it washed over Ren’s ears like the comforting breath of an autumn night, with just enough chill to send goosebumps across the back of Ren’s neck. And yet there was a power in it that made Ren tremble from fear or awe, and it made him keep his eyes down as he slowly turned on the spot to face the speaker.
He saw the base of a pitch black robe edged with rich purple trim that did nothing to identify where the robe ended and the ground began. The robe was seamless and stain-free as Ren’s eyes travelled up and saw the speaker’s hands crossed over in front of the robe; one normal, broad, and strong but the other was pure bone, with no muscle or tissue to cover it as the bone-wrist disappeared into the wide sleeves of the robe. Ren’s eyes traced up further still until his head was nearly craning back, skipping past the broad purple trim of the robe’s collar to behold the face of its wearer.
If Ren looked only at the right side of the face, he’d almost assume he was speaking to a regular person if it weren’t for the man being a foot taller than any person Ren had ever met, including himself. The dark brown hair was cut short to the head, with fair skin, and an eye with a colour so deep it reminded Ren of the void of the night sky, yet the smile was warm and welcoming. But Ren couldn’t relax because the left side of the face was a skull. Ren could see every dip of the cheekbone, every tooth that lined the jaw, and the empty eye socket that blazed with a pinprick of red light.
Ren recognised that face. He saw its motif carved into the altar at the temple, and into the top of every gravestone that was ever made. He himself had stared at it for many hours over his life, grappling with the confusion of a deity so kind also being something so cruel. Now, he understood.
“Lord Death,” Ren said reverently, sinking down to his knees and bowing low, ignoring how it made his legs ache after the fight and the long day of work.
“You recognise me,” the divine being said, and to Ren it sounded as if the Primary was proud. “That is good.”
“Have you come to claim me, my lord?” Ren asked, keeping his head down.
“In a way, yes. But not how you think I will. Arise, Ren Dawson. I wish to speak with you face to face.”
Ren carefully stood, fearing this may be a test. He didn’t dare to meet the Primary’s eyes again so he instead looked behind him, to the motionless thugs. “Uh, my lord-”
“Do not be anxious about them, Ren Dawson,” the Primary instructed. “The Primary of Time has slowed the whole mortal plane at my request so that we have time to speak.”
Ren swallowed thickly. “Oh,” which was not the most eloquent thing to say, but there was nothing to say upon finding out that time has been stopped across the entire world just so one of the most powerful of the gods could speak to you directly. “Well, uh… What do you wish to say to me, my lord?”
“I am impressed with your service to me, Ren Dawson,” Death said. “You complete all your duties with not just a willing heart, but a committed one. You volunteer all you have and expect nothing in return, even denying at times that which is offered to you. Your heart is not just committed to me, but also committed to those you serve. It has drawn my attention. Positive attention, I assure you, Ren Dawson.”
The man bowed his head, his cheeks growing a little hot (had he been hit too hard on the head?). “It’s an honour to serve in your temple, my lord. And please, just call me Ren.”
Ren didn’t see how the god’s smile became somehow warmer. “Ren, then. I did not come here to praise you, Ren. I came to give you an offer.”
“An… offer for what, my lord?” Ren asked, hesitantly raising his head.
He caught sight of the Primary’s smile because the tall deity began to step around him, moving between himself and the thugs. “I want to assure you that my favour for you will not change should you deny my offer. It is not something to take lightly, but regardless of your choice, I will ensure your safety tonight. These thugs have had their time to bring about Death, but their permitted time has run out. No more lives will be taken at their hands.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Relief sparked in Ren’s chest, knowing that the child he saved would not be a victim of these four, at least. He turned to face the Primary again, keeping his head slightly bowed but brave enough to look at the deity’s face. “But your offer, my lord, if I can be so bold… What is it?”
The Primary took a deep breath as he faced Ren, and if Ren was so foolish as to assume that gods were the same as people, he’d have thought that Death was nervous. “As civilisations grow larger and different communities engage in conversation and trade, the world becomes more complicated. While the gods are eager for the work, I have found myself in a curious position. Unlike… some of my pantheon, I prefer a personal touch for every mortal. Every soul has value, and every life is precious even when it is lost. While I can manage things very well on my own, I would greatly appreciate having another to work beside me. To assist me in ensuring that Death does not proceed at an unforeseen rate. To ensure that people only die when it is their time, and not before, and to give them comfort when it is their time.”
Ren listened attentively, his curiosity of the job overtaking his fear of the Primary. If he didn’t know any better (and he may not), he’d think that the Primary wanted the company of a mortal. Perhaps in being a Primary, Death feared that he was losing the connection with mortals in his work. The concept of that made Ren curious, then he decided that he probably didn’t need to know.
“You are offering me a job then, my lord?” Ren checked.
“I am, in a way,” the deity confirmed. “I suppose in your city, I would be offering you the job of my assistant. My Symbol.”
Ren nodded slowly. “If I were to accept, my lord… What would happen?”
“I will take you to the Heavens to equip you to do the tasks I will give,” Death told him. “You will become immortal, untouched by Time, and I will arrange appropriate lodgings and transport for you. As well as gifts. And, of course, I will deal with those who attacked you.”
Ren frowned a little and steadied himself with a deep breath before asking “Could I suggest a change to those plans, my lord?”
Death tilted his head at Ren, his human eye narrowing as if he was unused to being… challenged, perhaps, by a mortal (though Ren desperately hoped the Primary didn’t see it as a challenge). After too-long moments during which Ren’s heart began to hammer in his chest, Death waved his boney hand for Ren to speak.
“I’d like to stay here for a little, my lord,” Ren blurted, before he could talk himself out of it. “I would like to make sure that the child I sent to your temple has arrived safely and to make arrangements for them to be protected, perhaps even in your service. And! There is a lady, the wife of a man we buried this morning, he lies-”
“I know the soul of which you speak, Ren,” Death interrupted. “What of his wife?”
“She asked me to escort her to her grave when her time comes,” Ren said after a moment’s hesitation. “I promised her that I would. I do not intend to break my promise, my lord.”
Death’s eyes were locked on Ren, black and red, and Ren met them as calmly as he could with his own sharp blue eyes. He had said his piece, and he could only wait and hope that the Primary would not break his promise of continuing to favour Ren no matter Ren’s decision.
The Primary seemed to know what was going on in Ren’s mind, or perhaps he had seen even deeper into his soul, because the deity slowly smiled. “I should not be surprised that you would ask such things of me. It is for that very reason that I chose you out of all others who have served me over the eons. Very well, Ren. If you accept my offer and become my Symbol, I will grant you immortality to Time immediately, but I will not take you to the Heavens nor give you my tasks until the child you saved tonight is protected, and the woman to whom you promised has entered my care. Are we in agreement?”
A tension Ren didn’t know he had sagged out of his shoulders and rushed out of his lungs with a sigh. “We have an agreement, my lord. It would be my honour to serve you directly, as I have already served you most of my life.”
Death smiled and the warmth of it was like nothing Ren had ever seen, and it banished the last of the fear from his heart. “Very well. The child you saved is called Alhin, she will reach the temple steps shortly and I already have woken the priest to let her in. They will both be waiting there for you. However, I have not informed the priest of your service to me. That will remain between us until I take you to the Heavens.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Ren said with a bow. He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he had been dismissed, and also not sure if the promised blessing of immortality was supposed to be immediate or if the Primary had to wave a hand over him or draw his symbol on Ren’s head or something. But the Primary simply made a motion for Ren to leave and so he did with a final bow before turning and taking off at a half-run down the street.
He didn’t stop to think about his bloodied and bruised appearance until he reached the steps of the temple. He quickly looked down at himself, hands already patting to feel the damage before he saw that the blood that had speckled his clothing had disappeared. When he felt his face, the blood there had gone too. It seemed the immortality had been gifted after all, or perhaps Death had given Ren a once-off quick heal.
Regardless of what the real reason was, Ren sent off a quick silent prayer of thanks to Death as he walked up the steps and entered the temple.