Yato Hoshino trudged out of his excuse for an apartment: a half-collapsed box of concrete and despair that smelled faintly of ramen and regret.
Morning sunlight sliced through the fog, too bright for a man who'd slept through most of his opportunities in life.
Just as always, she was there.
A small white stray cat, sitting by the rusted railing, grooming her fur like she owned the world.
"Hey, Snowball," Yato said, crouching down with a tired smile. "You still hate me today?"
The cat meowed, flicked her tail, and turned her head away.
"Thought so."
Still, he placed a small can of tuna on the ground and nudged it forward.
That was when the cat froze, ears twitching, before bolting straight toward the road.
"Wait..!"
A truck roared around the corner. Tires screeched. The world went white.
For the first time in his life, Yato didn't think about himself. He just moved.
His arms wrapped around the tiny cat just before impact.
Then silence.
The cold bit into him. He felt the world fade, like an unplugged screen dimming to black.
So this is how it ends…
He chuckled weakly inside his fading thoughts.
"Now that I think about it… my life's been crap.
No dreams, no future, no love life.
I'm just a useless dropout who couldn't even get a cat to like me."
His vision blurred.
But before everything vanished, a faint voice echoed in the void.
"You're wrong, Yato Hoshino.
Even the useless have their use… in Death's domain."
There was no light.
Only the sound of something, like glass cracking underwater.
When Yato opened his eyes, there was no sky, only a trembling sea of shadows stretching endlessly in every direction.
Every breath left ripples in the dark, like exhaling into a dream.
He looked down. His hands were pale, half-transparent. He could see the faint shimmer of his soul.
"...I'm dead, huh."
His voice echoed strangely...hollow, yet heavy.
"Death is not the end,"
came a voice behind him, deep and resonant, older than time itself.
"It is… the beginning of obedience."
Yato turned and froze.
The being before him was not human.
A tall figure stood among drifting bones and fragments of broken clocks. His form shifted between shadow and shape, a skeletal silhouette cloaked in black velvet, with a hood woven from night itself.
Under the hood, two eyes like dying stars burned with cold blue fire.
A faint crown of bone rested upon his head, cracked yet regal.
When he moved, the sound of chains followed.
Yato's throat tightened. "You're… the Grim Reaper?"
"Mortis," the being corrected. "The Keeper of Departed Souls.
And you, Yato Hoshino... have caused quite a stir."
The void pulsed. Images flickered around Yato: his dingy apartment, the empty job offers, the stray cat licking his face as he lay bleeding.
"A life of mediocrity. Wasted potential. Yet, in your final moment, you acted without hesitation.
You gave your life for another."
Yato scoffed. "You mean… the cat? That's hardly..."
"It is not the value of the life saved, but the purity of the act," Mortis interrupted.
"Few mortals die with such selflessness. Fewer still with no desire for reward."
Mortis extended a hand, long and pale bones glimmering faintly beneath translucent flesh.
From his palm, a black sigil bloomed, swirling with white flame.
"Yato Hoshino, you are qualified.
I offer you a new existence as my apprentice.
You will guide souls, cleanse corruption, and uphold balance between life and death."
Yato stared at the sigil, the gravity of it pressing against his very being.
"I feel like you are just using any excuse to get me to be your apprentice..."
Mortis cleared his throat and looked away.
Yato looked at him with a deadpan expression, "...I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Choice is a privilege of the living."
Mortis's tone softened slightly.
"But you may choose your name."
Yato hesitated. "My name…?"
"Your mortal one belongs to the world you left behind.
Here, you are reborn."
The sigil wrapped around him, its light burning through his translucent form.
His chest filled with warmth, then with pain, then with power.
He screamed...except the sound came out wrong. High-pitched.
Tiny.
When the light faded, Mortis looked down...way down.
On the obsidian floor sat a baby.
A glowing baby, white-haired, with faint horns curving from his temples. His crimson eyes blinked open in utter confusion. Tiny claws twitched at his hands, tiny horns gleaming faintly, as if mocking him.
"...what the heck?" Yato, or whatever he was now, tried to say, but all that came out was a squeaky "gyuh!"
Inside his mind, his thoughts raced like wildfire:
No! This can't be happening! I have horns! My eyes! My...what even is this!? Make me bigger! I'm supposed to be Death's right hand, not a walking plushie!
Mortis tilted his head, blue flames flickering in the shadows beneath his hood.
"Rebirth… often begins small," he said, voice calm as the void itself.
The baby glared up at him, pouting furiously.
Mortis sighed, as though this had happened before.
"Patience, little one. Growth comes in time."
Black mist coiled around the baby, lifting him gently from the ground.
"From this moment," Mortis intoned, "you are Riven...Death's right hand and apprentice. May your second life bring more meaning than your first."
The baby's crimson eyes narrowed. He puffed his tiny cheeks, trying to look intimidating.
Even in miniature, the crimson eyes burned with defiance..Riven's soul already brimming with the fire of inevitability.
Mortis's voice softened, almost amused.
"Welcome to the Nether Realms, little Reaper."
And for the first time, Riven wasn't afraid to live, even if he had to start by learning how to crawl... again.
The obsidian hall stretched endlessly, lit by flickering sigils suspended in the void. Mortis's long shadow fell across the floor, and along the walls, dozens of senior reapers and subordinates stood silently.
Each was a terrifying spectacle: skeletal forms clad in shards of bone, shadowy cloaks drifting like smoke, and eyes that glimmered with cold, blue-white fire. They murmured among themselves as they saw the glowing baby in Mortis's arms.
"Another victim?" one whispered, voice like grinding stone.
"Mortis really has a sense of humor," another added, tilting their skeletal head.
Riven, unaware of the whispers, squeaked indignantly, tiny fists punching the air. Inside his mind, panic simmered: What kind of death game is this? Why am I a baby surrounded by monsters?
Mortis's eyes swept the assembly and landed on a broad-shouldered, armored reaper standing beside him. He was imposing, even among the fearsome crowd, with pale steel skin, horn-like ridges along his skull, and eyes like molten silver.
"Zariel, take him to the nursery. Ensure he is cared for… and observed."
Zariel's gaze fell on the tiny Riven, who was glaring up like a miniature storm.
"What if he is like the rest?" Zariel asked, crossing his arms.
Mortis's blue eyes narrowed, the chains around his hood rattling faintly.
"Then he is not worthy to be my personal apprentice."
Riven's tiny crimson eyes widened. A thought raced through his infant mind: Hold up ...I still have to go through some kind of test? Like the rest? I… I'm surprised there were others like me!
He glared up at Mortis, whose expression was unreadable. Mortis tilted his skull slightly and let out a subtle whistle, letting the silence stretch like a warning.
From the far side of the hall, a small figure appeared, moving with silent precision. A girl, looking like a six years old, her white hair brushing her shoulders, eyes like icy sapphire, stared at the baby in Mortis's arms. Her arms were crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Hmph," she muttered under her breath. Just going to be another worthless one…
Riven's tiny crimson eyes widened even more. Inside his mind, he fumed: Excuse me!? Did she just call me worthless!? I am Death's right hand in training! Well, eventually I will be! Maybe!
He kicked his tiny legs, squeaking indignantly, his little claws scrabbling at the air. Hey! Don't glare at me like that! I'm already a baby and this isn't fair!
Mortis, watching the interaction, inclined his head slightly toward the girl.
"This is Selene. She will oversee him in the nursery. Learn from her… if you can."
Riven puffed his tiny cheeks, glaring up at Selene. His squeaks sounded almost like words in his mind: Learn from her!? Learn from her? She's judging me already and I haven't even crawled yet! I swear, when I'm big, I'm going to show her who's boss!
Selene simply raised an eyebrow and turned slightly away, unimpressed, while Riven's tiny fists flailed in frustrated protest.
Mortis's voice, calm yet carrying the weight of eternity, broke through the tension.
"Go. Begin your lessons. Even the smallest Reaper can grow into something inevitable."
Riven let out a squeaky protest, but inside, a spark of determination flared. I'll show her. I'll show all of them. I'm Riven, and even if I'm a baby now… I'm not worthless.