The January wind blowing through Godric's Hollow at night was mournful, like the wheezing sob of a dying leper.
The cold slipped through the courtyard of the old Potter house and stabbed straight into the living room.
Afu watched as white frost crept over from the window frame. Some invisible field of extreme cold was approaching. The wolfhound barked in terror.
The potion inside the cauldron was boiling. The Celtic mythological reliefs carved into its surface also gave off a faint spiritual glow, forming a field of life that resisted Death's shadow. It held the white frost three feet away, creating a clear boundary, and Skyl stood on this side of that line.
The wizarding world had an old story known as The Tale of the Three Brothers. It told of three wizard brothers who reached a raging river and used magic to conjure a bridge, allowing them to cross safely. Death was furious, believing they had cheated Him of three offerings. So He pretended to congratulate the brothers for conquering death and allowed each of them to choose one item as a reward. That was how the famous Deathly Hallows were born.
Before seeing Death with their own eyes, no wizard would ever believe such an extraordinary being existed.
Even Voldemort, who had conquered death by creating Horcruxes, had never imagined he might one day stand face-to-face with Death Himself. He had also thought The Tale of the Three Brothers was nothing more than a dull bedtime story for young wizards.
But this was not Skyl's first time dealing with Death. When he resurrected Lily, Death had merely stood on the bank of the Styx and watched. When he resurrected James, Death had tried to hook the soul away with His scythe. Now, for the third time, Skyl had used a resurrection ritual to trample on the sanctity of death.
Death finally could not take it anymore.
The last time He had been this unable to endure it was when Lady Moonshadow had resurrected the dead without restraint.
But those resurrected people had all died recently, and their souls had not drifted far, so Death could deliberately look the other way.
This time was different. The Potters and the British wizard had been killed by the Killing Curse, and their souls had already dispersed, entering the void of the dead. That was Death's eternally silent world, with a boundless river of blood flowing through it and a plain covered in asphodels.
After ghosts died, they entered the underworld. There, they had no memories, and a single instant was no different from ten thousand years.
Skyl had used the Resurrection Stone to call back souls that should have been completely scattered. Death was very stingy with His offerings, like a Gringotts goblin unwilling to part with even a single copper Knut from his vault.
After having His property stolen three times in a row, Death had to come to Skyl for an explanation.
Compared with Marvel's Lady Death, the Death standing before him was much duller and more rigid. He did not have many personal emotions or strong desires. He merely acted according to the great eternal rule that ran through the universe, all mortals must die.
Returning from death was a great adventure, but only a very small number of souls could accomplish such a feat. The three people resurrected by Skyl clearly did not meet that standard.
And Skyl's method had been so direct and crude. If he had altered the timeline instead, Death would have been unable to interfere, because He was only a projection of the concept of extinction within the soul of the universe. He could not transcend time.
The barking stopped. The air grew still. Moonlight seemed to flow like mercury. Death's voice drifted out from beneath His hood, like the voices of thousands of men, women, elders, and children overlapping into one murky, sorrowful tone.
"Wizard, why did you resurrect these mortals?"
"I resurrected Lily Evans and James Potter to watch a good show. I resurrected this innocent Mr. Pierman because his death was my fault. Originally, he should not have died. I simply failed to warn Afu in time, allowing its accomplice to carry out this murder."
Skyl stood in front of the cauldron, blocking Death's gaze. Behind him, the resurrected ordinary wizard trembled as he poked his head over the rim. The moment he saw the black cloak in the courtyard, he immediately shrank back into the water, blowing bubbles with a panicked gurgle.
"Are you trying to prove your kindness?" Death's tone was almost mocking. "Then why not show mercy and resurrect all the dead in the world? Humans, livestock, birds, beasts, insects, ants, fish all of them out of death. Let the world become lively again."
Skyl looked calmly at Death. Beside him, Afu barked at Death in an extremely sycophantic way, perfectly embodying the meaning of a dog throwing its owner's weight around. It was trying hard to perform well, hoping to earn some credit for itself. At the same time, it also wanted to provoke Death into fighting Skyl.
"I can kill you. It would be troublesome, but you know I can do it."
The High Tower King spoke in an extremely gentle tone. "I can kill you. Then no one in the world will ever die again. That idea is actually rather interesting, isn't it?"
Death was almost enraged. The robe, deeper than the purple night sky, suddenly spread open. Both Skyl and Afu saw what lay beneath it, countless withered arms, like a prairie of corpses. For an instant, both of them thought of Dementors.
The white frost crawling across the floor pressed closer. Afu's brow furrowed, and it protected itself by moving Skyl in front of it.
Sure enough, the white frost stopped just before the High Tower King's toes. Yet the sorrow faintly seeping out of it made Pierman, who was hiding inside the cauldron, burst into tears. He screamed as if he had seen the most pitiful sight imaginable.
Skyl extended a finger and pointed at the ground. The white frost quickly scattered and completely retreated, leaving no trace behind.
He tilted his head up slightly and looked Death over from above, as if asking silently, What else do you have?
In the end, Death gave in. He advised him in a kinder tone, "You should understand that death has never been a curse. Mortals simply tend to associate it with their fear of the dark. It is a festival destined to arrive. It is a piece of advice, urging mortals to cherish their time. By resurrecting the dead, you have deprived them of their rest. Is that not also a form of cruelty?"
Skyl turned his head and asked Pierman, "Hey, sir, you heard what Death said, didn't you? He wants to know whether you are willing to be deprived of your right to rest."
"I am! If I can live, why would I want to die?" Pierman shouted with a gurgle.
"You heard him. He wants to live. People who died sudden, violent deaths aren't ready to accept rest. They won't close their eyes in peace."
Death sighed helplessly. "But that was not what he said in the asphodel fields. He felt happy there. There was no pain brought by life, no sorrow that even alcohol could not drive away, no tears. Unfortunately, the dead have no memories… Wizard, you have conquered death three times. That means three gifts."
"Go on. What do you want?" Skyl answered without hesitation.
Death was choked into silence for a moment before He said weakly, "I am the one giving you three gifts."
"You have nothing to offer me, little god. Even your very existence holds no mystery in my eyes. I know you are an aggregate of all living beings' thoughts, a silhouette cut from the soul of the universe. If I wanted, I could create another incarnation of death on the same level as you. The process would not be complicated. As it happens, I once ran a tavern, and the tavernkeeper, Mr. Henton, was a dutiful and honest man. I'm sure he wouldn't mind taking over your position."
Death suddenly floated upward into the moonlit sky like a giant raven, vanishing at the edge of the night.
Afu stuck out its tongue to cool off. The resurrected Pierman also let out a long breath and kept wiping away cold sweat.
"Mr. Pierman?" Skyl turned around and greeted him.
"Here!" Pierman answered with a shudder.
"Don't be nervous. You also graduated from Hogwarts?"
"Yes. Hufflepuff."
"I'm a Gryffindor. Seventh year."
Pierman looked at Skyl with both terror and admiration, then asked in confusion, "Are all students nowadays as powerful as you?"
"I'm a transfer student." Skyl blinked.
"All right. You've had enough frights tonight, Mr. Pierman. When you wake up tomorrow, you can peacefully greet the sunlight in your London apartment, go to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink, then return to your job in Muggle society. Just pretend none of this ever happened, all right?"
Skyl gently comforted this innocent wizard, an obscure middle-aged man who had encountered a miracle, and Pierman nodded repeatedly.
"Now close your eyes."
Pierman obediently did as told. Then his body disappeared from the cauldron and was teleported to the bed in his London apartment.
After taking care of this minor matter, Skyl finally turned his gaze to Afu.
Hatred and malice still burned in the wolfhound's eyes, but it was also groveling in absolute fear. It whimpered ingratiatingly at Skyl.
"You've gotten full of yourself, Afu," the transfer student said faintly. "How should I make sure you learn your lesson?"
Skyl left with the howling wolfhound.
Before sunrise, a sneaky black figure returned to the old Potter house from the sky. Death viciously smashed the cauldron, leaving a deep crack across its surface, then vanished without a trace.
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