Chapter Text
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Seryllith woke to a blinding light.
For a moment, it felt as though the sun itself had descended upon her eyelids. She winced, raising a hand to shield her face as she slowly sat up. The surface beneath her palms was impossibly soft—velvet-smooth, cool, and almost silken to the touch. Her bare feet sank slightly into it, and for the first time in her life, she felt something that could only be described as untouched. No dust, no grit, no cold stone floor—just a warmth that seemed to hum faintly beneath her skin.
Blinking against the brilliance, she drew in a sharp breath as her vision cleared.
She stood in a vast meadow, stretching endlessly in every direction, the grass greener than anything she had ever seen. It was rich and alive, a color so deep it seemed to pulse with its own light—but not harshly, not garishly. It didn’t hurt to look at it; it invited her gaze.
The blades shimmered faintly, catching the sunlight in delicate, shifting patterns, as if each strand were woven from threads of emerald and starlight. It reminded her of a river on a bright summer day—fluid, glimmering, and endless.
A soft breeze stirred through the meadow, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers and rain, and for a fleeting moment, Seryllith felt an unfamiliar ache in her chest. It was peace—true, unfiltered peace—and it felt almost unreal.
The flowers were breathtaking—so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them. They shone with an otherworldly glimmer, their petals catching the light as though each one held a secret shimmer of starlight within. They bloomed in soft pastels—pale pinks melting into blues and buttery yellows, each shade blending like brushstrokes on living silk.
When the wind passed through them, they seemed to hum—a faint, melodic murmur that rose and fell in harmony with the breeze. It wasn’t quite a song, but something close, something older.
The sound made her chest ache with a warmth she couldn’t name.
The air itself felt perfectly balanced—neither too hot nor too cold, the kind of temperature that existed only in dreams.
The sky stretched wide and endless above her, painted in shifting blues she was certain she’d never seen before—deeper, purer, almost luminous.
In the far distance, a river wound lazily through the meadow. It wasn’t blue at all—the water shimmered gold, thick and radiant like honey. It rippled under the sunlight, glowing softly, and the sight of it stirred something calm in her. It looked warm to the touch—inviting, as though it might hum with the same quiet song as the flowers.
There was a scent in the air she couldn’t quite place—something delicate, faintly sweet, and utterly unfamiliar. It wasn’t floral or earthy—just something she’d never breathed before. Each inhale seemed to unwind her from the inside out.
With every breath, the tension in her shoulders eased, the tightness in her nerves loosened, and the knots that had long lived in her chest began to unravel.
Her body, once always on guard, finally felt still—at peace.
Seryllith had never truly imagined what might come after death. It had always seemed such a neat, inevitable thing that she found it pointless to wonder about. What sight could possibly matter when she would no longer be alive to marvel at it?
She had decided long ago that if death came for her, she would let it be a surprise—final, unplanned, and kind enough to distract her from dying young.
And it did.
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the meadow into a haze of light and color. She tried to hold them back—Merlin, she tried—but the restraint that had once been her armor finally cracked. Her very soul seemed to lash out in agony, rebelling against the stillness around her. It had never known peace, never been permitted calm or wholeness—and now, faced with it, it ached as though it were being torn apart. The feeling was unbearable and yet beautiful, like the pain of a wound finally beginning to heal.
It wasn’t long before Seryllith’s knees gave way, and she collapsed where she stood, trembling. Her whole body shook under the weight of everything she had buried. She pressed her hands over her mouth as the sobs broke free—raw, silent at first, then shuddering. She was far too used to crying in silence. The tears streamed endlessly, soaking her cheeks and dripping through her fingers. Her shoulders quaked with every breath until she folded into herself completely, curling inward as though trying to protect something fragile that had finally surfaced.
She had never felt allowed to cry—to be soft, or small, or fragile. Vulnerability had always been a luxury denied her. Strength had been expected of her, demanded of her, worn like a mask she couldn’t take off. Even her friends—those who loved her—wouldn’t have known what to do if she’d shown them. They would have looked at her differently.
So she had learned to lock it all away: the grief, the fear, the exhaustion. But here, in this impossible peace, the lock had shattered. And for the first time, she allowed herself to break.
She had been forced into the image they carved—strong, fearless, impenetrable; a heart hardened to stone, a will forged in iron. She was meant to be a leader, a saviour, the one who would win the war. The one who would sacrifice herself so that others could live.
But she had never wanted to be any of it. Not for a single moment. The world had demanded a symbol, not a girl—and she had obliged, because what choice did she ever have? In truth, she’d never known what she wanted to be. Perhaps there might have been time to find out—if life had allowed it. But it hadn’t. And now, it never would.
They always said life wasn’t fair, but no one ever spoke of how merciless it could be—how it could take and take until even the smallest part of you that once dreamed of gentleness was gone.
She didn’t know how long she wandered—night never came—and she found she neither tired nor hungered.
She explored to her heart’s content, following wherever her curiosity led. She found wild fruits growing from silver-leaved bushes and low-branching trees—some shaped like apples that shimmered faintly, their skins glinting as if dusted with starlight. When she bit into one, its sweetness was unlike anything she had ever tasted—it was as though sunlight itself had been caught and softened into flavour. Others were cool and tangy, with a faint sparkle on her tongue, leaving her light-headed and refreshed, as though she’d drunk from a spring deep underground.
The river that gleamed gold truly was made of honey; she dipped her hands into it, laughing softly as it clung to her fingers in silken threads. When she tasted it, it was warm and mellow, not cloying, and it soothed her throat as though it had been made for her alone.
She came across animals too—creatures that glowed with light so pure it was almost blinding: a doe with a coat like moonlit frost, a fox with eyes of molten amber, birds whose wings scattered gold dust when they took flight. They were beautiful beyond reason, gentle and unafraid, and when they approached her, they pressed their glowing faces against her palms as though to comfort her.
Often, Seryllith would lie among the tall, shimmering grass, eyes closed, letting the whisper of the wind and the hum of the meadow lull her into a peace she had never known in life. She would listen to the soft rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of the honey river, the songs of unseen birds drifting above her. And in those moments, she thought of nothing—not the war, not the pain, not even the people she had left behind.
Time passed—though she could no longer tell how much—and Seryllith felt her bruised and battered soul begin to mend. The heaviness that once weighed upon her—the same weight that had felt as vast and cruel as the wizarding world itself—slowly, quietly, lifted, until at last, it was gone.
Only then did Death decide to greet her.
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