(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Across every frontline—through frozen passes, blood-soaked fields, shattered ports, and smoldering keeps—
The same message reached the banners of the North and Eldoria's allies:
The war was over.
The Crown had fallen back.
The dragons of House Targaryen had been broken.
For a moment, there was silence.
White Harbor...
Then—
White Harbor erupted.
At the camps beyond the Neck, horns were blown not for battle, but for victory.
Men who had marched expecting death stared at one another in disbelief, then laughed, shouted, and fell to their knees in exhaustion and joy.
Swords were raised—not in challenge, but in salute.
Rickon Stark stood before his banner men, the wind pulling at his cloak, the wolf of the North snapping proudly behind him.
He listened as the final details were read aloud:
The Targaryen advance had collapsed
The dragon bestowed to the king by the god was destroyed.
King Leo Morningstar had formed a direct pact with the Old and New Gods
The war would end not with annihilation—but with division
Even Rickon, hardened by winter and war, felt a chill run through him at that last part.
A pact with gods.
Any other king making such a claim would have been mocked.
But this was Leo. The king who commanded storms, shadows, monsters, and god walking among the men's itself.
The king who had shattered dragons and gods alike—and lived.
If he said a pact had been made, then it had.
There was unease, yes.
Reluctance, certainly.
Some men muttered prayers.
Others crossed themselves in old ways.
But none objected.
Because every man on those fields knew the truth:
If Leo Morningstar had wished to continue the war, there would be nothing left to argue over.
When the decision to separate the lands by a permanent border was announced, reactions spread like ripples through water.
Lords whose lands had long been choked by Crown-loyal neighbors breathed freely for the first time in generations.
Keeps once threatened by dragonfire now found themselves absorbed into a larger, safer domain—protected not by promises, but by power.
Old rivalries dissolved overnight.
Formerly isolated houses, previously crushed between loyalist territories, now stood united under a new balance of power.
And those who had joined the war not out of loyalty, but because Eldoria's trade had saved their people—grain, medicine, warmth, knowledge—felt no regret at all.
They had gambled.
And they had won.
In the camps that night, fires burned brighter.
Stories were already being told.
About the day mortals stood against lord of dragon.
About the king who spoke to gods as equals.
About how history had shifted—not with a coronation, but with a decision.
Some men whispered that they had witnessed the birth of a new age.
Others said it was the end of the old one.
Rickon Stark looked out over the gathered banners—including those from the Eldoria, wolves, mermen, falcons, bears—and allowed himself a rare, grim smile.
"The North chose correctly,"
He said quietly while patting himself in his shoulder in his mind for his decision.
This war would be remembered for centuries.
The world was quiet.
Too quiet for a man who had just ended a war between gods and kings.
Eldoria...
Dawnfire Citadel...
Leo lay still on the vast bed of Dawnfire Citadel, the curtains shifting gently with the night breeze.
On either side of him, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower slept deeply, arms draped over his chest and waist, faces peaceful for the first time in a long while.
There was no tension in their bodies now.
Only rest.
Leo's crimson eyes glowed faintly as the system panel hovered invisibly before him.
"...."
[SYSTEM INTERFACE]
[Unlocked Authority:]
[• Pathway to Death (Restricted)]
[• Entry into Death's Domain — Approval Required]
[Condition:]
[• Must obtain consent or acknowledgment from an embodiment of Death]
Leo exhaled slowly.
-Sigh
"So even gods need paperwork,"
He muttered internally.
He had faced the champion of Old Gods, New Gods, devoured fate-threads, rewritten destinies—and yet Death remained a gate that could not be forced. Not without consequences.
His thoughts drifted.
Approval from Death…
Not a god of death. Not a ritual. Not slaughter or sacrifice.
A being who is Death.
Then—The system chimed, softer than usual. Almost… playful.
[Host, you are overthinking again.]
[You have already met Death once.]
[And… technically… married her.]
Leo froze at the words of his system.
"…Ah."
A pale figure surfaced in his memory.
Sunken eyes rimmed with dark shadow.
A thin, almost fragile frame wrapped in bride dress.
A voice that sounded like silence learning how to speak.
Emily Merrimack.
Death—at least, one Death—of the Wizarding World.
The woman who looked perpetually underfed, chronically unimpressed, and utterly unbothered by gods, demons, or destiny.
And yes. His wife. She claims to be,
'…I really collect the strangest relationships,'
Leo thought dryly thinking how after announcing he was her husband from now on she left to do her work.
Listening to his thoughts the system suggests.
[Emily Merrimack possesses cross-domain authority.]
[Her acknowledgment would satisfy the condition.]
[Recommendation: Send a request.]
[No coercion. No summoning.]
[Let her choose.]
Leo stared at the ceiling, silent for several seconds.
Emily was… unpredictable. Not hostile—but not sentimental either. If she said no, she meant it.
And forcing Death was a very bad idea, even for him.
At last, he nodded slightly as he told the system.
-Nod
"Send a request, But make it polite. And… optional."
Then
[DING...]
[Request formulation complete.]
[No force. No compulsion.]
[Awaiting response.]
The panel faded.
Leo relaxed back into the pillows, one hand absently resting over Rhaenyra's hair, the other against Alicent's shoulder.
Both shifted slightly in their sleep but did not wake.
Whatever happened next—whether Death answered or not—could wait until morning.
For tonight, the war was over.
And somewhere beyond worlds, a malnourished goth woman who embodied the end of all things had just received a very unusual message from her accidental husband.
Leo closed his eyes.
Harry Potter World...
In the wizarding world, within the newly formed Death Realm, silence reigned.
A vast throne—woven from skulls, polished bones, and remnants of magical beasts—rose at the center of the domain.
Souls drifted like pale embers in the distance, guided along unseen paths, their ends orderly, inevitable.
Upon the throne sat a lone figure.
Emily Merrimack.
Harry Potter World's Death no longer wore the brittle stillness she once had.
Her pale fingers drummed idly against the armrest, chin resting on her palm, hollow eyes unfocused.
She looked… bored.
"So this is married life,"
She muttered, sulking slightly.
"Husband running kingdoms… and I'm here acting like a battery."
Below her, spectral underlings worked tirelessly—constructing rivers of souls, balancing ledgers of fate, stabilizing the realm she herself powered simply by existing.
Normally, she would have found the order soothing.
Today? She was irritated.
Emily sighed and leaned back,
-Sigh
"...."
Letting her form flicker—corpse-bride, shadowed wraith, skeletal queen, faceless mist—before settling back into the familiar pale woman in a wedding gown.
"Maybe I should change appearances,"
She mused aloud.
"He's got… what, dragons, fox spirits, vampires, queens, priestesses—"
She paused, lips twitching.
-Twich
"—I should at least keep things interesting."
Just as she began considering a darker gothic look—or perhaps something softer, less corpse-like—
A presence brushed her mind.
Not a command.
Not a summoning circle.
A request. Emily straightened instantly.
Her eyes widened as a familiar signature unfurled in her consciousness—calm, respectful, unmistakable.
Leo. Her boredom evaporated in an instant.
"…Oh?"
She whispered, a slow smile spreading across her lips.
The system's voice echoed softly within her domain, neutral but precise—an invitation, not an order.
A doorway between worlds, opened only if she wished it so.
Emily stood up so abruptly that the throne creaked.
"Handle it,"
She told one of her underlings, already stepping away.
"Everything. Souls, balance, paperwork—all of it."
The wraith bowed hastily, startled.
Emily didn't wait.
She lifted her skirts, eyes gleaming with anticipation and a hint of mischief. As she said sweetly.
"My husband is calling, And it would be rude to ignore him."
The throne room dimmed.
With a ripple like silk sliding across glass, Emily Merrimack—Death, bride, inevitability—vanished from her realm, leaving behind a faint echo of laughter.
Meanwhile, Eldoria, the North, and the many lands bound by alliance erupted into celebration.
From the spired balconies of Dawnfire Citadel to the farthest harbor towns, banners unfurled and bells rang without pause.
Streets once tense with war-footing were now alive with music—drums beating in layered rhythms, flutes singing above laughter, and voices raised in toasts that carried long into the night.
In Eldoria's capital, the skies themselves seemed to rejoice.
Griffins wheeled lazily above marble avenues, their shadows sweeping over crowds as children cheered and pointed skyward.
Dragons—young and old—circled the outer rings of the city, not in menace, but in silent vigilance, their presence a promise that no enemy would ever cross these borders again.
The people came together as one tapestry of races and worlds:
Beastkin shared roaring laughter with northmen warriors, tankards clashing.
Elves lit the streets with floating orbs of gentle light, weaving patterns of victory and remembrance.
Witches and wizards conjured harmless fireworks—sigils of gold and violet that burst into the shapes of crowns, wolves, and wings.
Merfolk envoys, at coastal cities, sang from the harbors, their voices carrying blessings across the waves.
In the North, fires blazed atop watchtowers not as warnings, but as beacons.
The people of White Harbor filled the docks, feasting on Eldorian grain and salted fish, their fear of winter eased at last.
Old men who had lived through three harsh winters wept openly, whispering that they had never thought to see such abundance again.
Across allied lands, proclamations were read aloud in town squares:
"The war is over."
"The dragons have fallen."
"The pact is sealed."
"Eldoria stands with us."
And everywhere—quietly, reverently—the same truth spread from mouth to mouth:
This victory was not merely won by steel or fire.
It was won because someone had answered when the world cried out.
As night deepened, a single phrase echoed across taverns, halls, and hearths alike—spoken with awe, gratitude, and a trace of fear.
"So long as Eldoria stands… we are not alone."
The age had changed.
Next Day...
Eldoria...
Dawnfire Citadel...
Morning light filtered softly through the high windows of Dawnfire Citadel, carrying with it the distant echoes of celebration.
Eldoria, the North, and every allied land were still rejoicing—the war had ended, borders were drawn, and history itself had bent.
Leo's eyelids twitched.
"...."
He slowly opened his eyes… and immediately froze.
Something warm, soft, and very much alive was lying on top of him—arms wrapped around his chest, cheek pressed against his collarbone, breathing slow and content.
He looked down.
Long raven-black hair spilled across his chest.
Pale skin contrasted sharply with a form-fitting gothic dress, dark lace tracing elegant curves.
Her eyes—half-lidded, amused, ancient—lifted to meet his.
She smiled.
"Husband,"
She said sweetly, her voice low and intimate,
"are you awake?"
Leo's brain hard-stopped.
"...."
For a heartbeat, he stared—then recognition crashed into him like lightning.
"…Emily?"
He said carefully.
The smile widened into something radiant, pleased, and unmistakably her.
"...."
"You caught on fast,"
She purred, snuggling closer and inhaling his scent shamelessly.
"I knew you'd like this appearance."
She lifted her head slightly, letting him see her face clearly—uncannily identical to Monica Bellucci, but with eyes that carried the weight of endings, funerals, and eternity itself.
Leo exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead with one hand.
"…You changed forms."
Emily hummed in approval.
"As Death, I don't have a fixed body. As your wife?"
She grinned mischievously.
"I thought I should put in some effort. You do have a very… competitive household."
She shifted slightly on top of him, clearly enjoying his stunned silence.
"...."
"And before you ask,"
She added lightly,
"no, this isn't an illusion. This is a chosen manifestation."
Leo finally chuckled, a helpless sound.
-Chuckle
"You really just appeared in my bed."
Emily propped her chin on his chest, eyes gleaming.
"You send a call for me. I answered. Efficient, romantic, inevitable."
She leaned in closer and whispered,
"That's kind of my thing."
His gaze softened as realization settled in fully.
"Did you leave the Death Realm just like that?"
She rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Please. I delegated. Souls still die. Balance is intact. The universe won't collapse because I took a morning off to visit my husband."
Then, her expression shifted—playful warmth giving way to something sharper, curious.
"So,"
Emily said gently, tracing a finger over his collarbone,
"I hear you made a pact with other gods… and now you want permission to connect the Path of Death."
Leo met her eyes, serious now.
"I need Death's approval,"
He said honestly.
"Not a loophole. Not stolen authority. Yours."
Emily studied him in silence.
"...."
Then she smiled—slow, dangerous, and fond. She murmured.
"Oh, Leo, You really do know how to make a girl feel special."
She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips—lingering, intimate, final and beginning all at once.
"We'll talk,"
She said when she pulled back.
"But first…"
Her eyes flicked briefly to the two sleeping figures curled at either side of him.
"…you're going to explain how you keep collecting queens like rare artifacts."
Hearing her question, Leo chuckled softly, one arm resting behind his head. As he said lightly.
-Chuckle
"You know, for someone who embodies the end of all things, you're surprisingly curious."
Emily narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed—but amused.
"...."
"Flattery later. Answer now. You didn't summon me just to admire my fashion sense."
Leo turned his head toward her, expression shifting from playful to thoughtful and he spoke.
"I want to build a bridge, Not just a path for power or authority—but a bridge between the mortal world and Death."
That made her still.
"...."
"A bridge?"
Emily repeated, her voice quieter now. He nodded.
-Nod
"A festival. One where the dead are allowed to visit the living—just for a time. To see their families. Their friends. To laugh, cry, eat together, and then… leave peacefully."
Emily blinked once. Then twice.
-Blink -Blink
"…You want to let the dead return,"
She said slowly processing the words Leo said,
"without breaking balance."
"Yes,"
Leo replied calmly amused at her shocked reaction.
"No resurrection. No cheating fate. Just a visit."
Her gaze sharpened. "And the cost?"
Leo smiled slightly. "That's where karma comes in."
Emily pushed herself up on one elbow, now fully engaged.
"In my plan,"
Leo continued to explain his grand plan,
"the Death Realm keeps its order. Souls don't wander freely. To cross the bridge during the festival, they need credits—earned through their actions in life, and their conduct after death."
He tapped her forehead lightly.
"Good karma? You visit the mortal realm during the festival. Bad karma? You stay behind."
-Frown
"And if it's deeply negative?"
She asked with a frown.
"Then they work,"
Leo said calmly telling how they could make those peoples work to strengthen the death realm.
"In the Death Realm. Helping guide souls. Maintaining balance. Earning their way back—slowly."
Emily stared at him.
"...."
For a long moment, the throne room of skulls, the endless ledgers of fate, the cold machinery of death—all of it felt… outdated. While she murmured.
"…This is ridiculous,"
Leo raised an eyebrow hearing her response.
"You hate it?"
Her lips twitched. But Emily admitted.
-Twitch
"No, It's ridiculous because it's… kind."
She leaned back against him, eyes distant now.
"You're describing something very close to an old idea,"
She said thoughtfully.
"A celebration of remembrance. Of memory. Of connection."
She paused, then added softly,
"Like the festival in Coco world. Which was ruled by one of my sisters."
Leo smiled seeing she had guessed where he got the idea from.
"Exactly. Same bridge. Same logic. Different world."
Emily laughed quietly, a sound like wind through grave markers—but warmer. As she spoke.
-Fufu
"Do you realize what you're doing? You're turning Death from an ending into a caretaker of memories."
Leo chuckles while flipping his hair.
-Chuckle
"That's the point, People fear you because they don't understand you. Let them see that death isn't cruelty—it's order."
She turned her head to look at him again, eyes glowing faintly now—not ominous, but proud.
"You're dangerous,"
Emily said softly.
"Not because you destroy… but because you change things that even gods never dared to touch."
Leo shrugged like it was nothing to him.
"Someone has to."
She smiled, slow and genuine.
"I like this festival, And if we do this…"
She leaned closer, her forehead touching his.
"…then Death will need a Queen of the Bridge to oversee it."
Leo chuckled already guessing whats in her mind.
"Already assigning yourself a title?"
Emily grinned wider and excited.
"Of course. I'm efficient."
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)I hope you guys are enjoying the story.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give areview
And power stone!!!
It will Motivate Me.