DAIMON: "The Reaper's Diary"

June 13,2024

Dear Reader,

If you’ve found this diary, then fate has strange plans for you.

This isn’t a story of heroes, or even of the living.

What you’re about to read isn’t fiction — not entirely.

These pages carry the weight of things unseen, unheard, and often misunderstood.

So before you turn another page, ask yourself:

Are you ready to see the world through the eyes of someone who walks among both the living and the dead?

If not, close this now.

If yes…

Welcome to my journey.

My name is Cullen. I was born on June 13, 1025

This is my story.

People admired me for my blue eyes and my strong British accent. I was just an ordinary boy living in London with my mother, the absence of a father casting a quiet shadow over our lives. Despite it all, I considered my life fairly good.

Growing up with a single mother wasn’t always easy, but I was fortunate to have Amari—my childhood friend and the brightest part of my days. To me, she was flawless. Her cherry-red cheeks lit up my cold, lonely world. Her laughter was sunlight in human form, chasing away the gloom that sometimes clung to me.

My mother worked constantly, leaving me in the care of Amari's warmth and presence. I adored her in secret. Her gentle spirit, her kindness, the way she understood me without needing words—it made me feel seen. It made me feel loved. I didn't need to speak when she was around; she just knew what I needed.

As we grew older, my feelings deepened. I loved what she loved and hated what she hated. She was my world, but I wasn’t the only one who saw her beauty. She was admired by many. With her elegance and kindness, she became the talk of the town. She was a goddess to everyone—and that terrified me. She had the power to make me weak with just a glance, and it frightened me to think she could belong to someone else.

We spent endless afternoons in the library, reading poetry aloud and laughing at silly rhymes. Sometimes, we would run through Hyde Park, racing each other through leaves and laughter. She once carved our names into an old oak tree. "So time won't forget us," she said. That tree became our monument. I’d visit it even when she wasn’t around, just to feel close to her. We built forts out of blankets, shared secrets under candlelight, and promised to stay best friends forever.

One cold morning, I found her in tears. Her sorrow hit me like a wave. I approached her, but words caught in my throat. I gathered my courage and finally asked,

"Is everything alright? You look so pale."

She didn’t respond. I knelt down, gently cupped her face, and whispered,

"Whatever it is, I'm here. Always."

At last, she looked up at me.

"My parents... they broke up. I hate it," she said, sobbing.

Before I could respond, she looked into my eyes and smiled—a fragile, beautiful smile, like sunshine after rain.

"I’m so grateful to have you, Cullen. I can’t imagine living in London without you."

My heart raced. Was I dreaming? Then, she leaned in and kissed me.

Time stopped. Her lips were soft and trembling. The world blurred into the background.

"Amari," I whispered, trembling.

She looked at me with teary eyes and said, "Look, I like you, I like you Cullen"

"Maybe... maybe you’re just hurting—" I tried to say, but she kissed me again.

How could I resist? I wasn't a saint. I held her close, my hands around her delicate waist, and kissed her like I'd waited forever. In that moment, every fear and doubt melted away. The sky, the breeze, the world faded until only she remained.

That night, we went to our secret place—the quiet hill near the edge of town where the stars always seemed brighter. The moon bathed us in silver light as we danced slowly, knowing everything about each other without needing words. I kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. She tasted like magic and hope.

She told me about her dreams—of becoming a healer, of traveling to distant lands, of writing books that would move people to tears. I listened with fascination. Every word she spoke became sacred. I promised I would take her to Paris someday. We planned names for our children, argued about how many cats we would own, and made pinky promises never to forget each other. Her laughter that night echoed in my heart for years.

We were happy—truly happy. I proposed to her on the first day of winter, snowflakes dancing around us like blessings, and she said yes. Though I was busy as a soldier in the Queen’s palace, she planned the wedding with grace and ease. She was my dream come true. I remember the sparkle in her eyes as she showed me her chosen dress design—simple, flowing, yet elegant. I imagined her walking down the aisle, glowing with joy.

The wedding day arrived. The sun shone, the flowers bloomed—it was perfect. My knees trembled with nervousness. My mother approached, smiling warmly.

"Look at you, my little boy," she said. "Time flies so fast."

"Thank you, Mom," I whispered, overwhelmed.

But time ticked on, and Amari didn’t arrive.

An hour passed....

Then another.

From the distance, I saw her mother running toward me, her dress stained with blood.

"Cullen—Amari... Amari!" she cried.

Terror gripped me.

"Where is she? What happened?!"

"She’s dead, she's dead" her mother wailed.

I didn’t wait. I rushed to Amari’s home. My heart denied it, but the truth hit like a storm.

Her room was a nightmare. Blood everywhere. Her lifeless body torn apart, her blue eyes gone, her tongue sliced. I collapsed. I fell to my knees, screaming.

The police arrived, but I was beyond numb. Their questions, their footsteps—all of it was background noise to the silent scream in my chest.

My head hurts, I can't graps the feeling I'm feeling at that very moment. I had a flashback in my mind.

A day before the wedding, she asked to meet at our secret place. I said no—I had night duty. That refusal would haunt me forever.

I should’ve gone.

I fell into despair. I didn’t attend her funeral.

I believed she was still alive somewhere, breathing for me. I clung to that lie with everything I had.

But weeks passed. My soul darkened. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or breathe. Every corner of our city reminded me of her. Every whisper of the wind sounded like her name.

My mother begged me to live, to stay strong. She tried everything—stories from my childhood, my favorite food, even sitting with me in silence. I could see the cracks in her smile every time she forced it. She was breaking for me.

But I couldn’t. I couldn't stay any longer.

One night, I wrote her a letter.

Dear Mom,

"Forgive me. I can no longer endure this pain. I love you always"

Love, Cullen

I tied the rope. I stood beneath it, ready.

But just before the world faded, I saw a shadow. A tall, winged figure. I couldn’t make sense of it before everything went black.

********

I woke to the sound of voices arguing.

"Father, what have you done? Why him?!"

"Why not, Keres? You defied the human realm for selfish reasons."

The only light came from a flame in the darkness. Was I in hell?

Two men stood nearby, one angry, the other calm. They looked divine despite the shadows. Their robes shimmered like midnight silk, their eyes burning with unspoken truths. One had dark crimson eyes—full of fire. The other had eyes like still water.

Eventually, the younger man stormed off.

The other turned toward me.

"Human," he said. "How are you?"

I swallowed hard.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

"The underworld. The land of the dead."

"Am I in hell?"

He didn’t answer right away.

"You’re not going anywhere. You ended your life before your time," he said.

"Then why am I still here?"

"Because of me," he replied.

"You were meant to vanish, but I intervened. I’m giving you a second chance. You’ll return to the human world as a soul reaper."

My heart pounded.

"No. I don’t want this. Let me go."

"You already are one," he said flatly. "And if you refuse, your mother’s soul will vanish too."

"What?! Why?"

"Because your death changed her fate. Her soul is tied to yours."

His voice grew colder.

"You have 1000 years to fulfill your mission. Fail, and you’ll never move on. Not to heaven. Not to hell. You’ll be lost, FOREVER......"

"I am Thanatos," he added. "The god of peaceful death."

He didn’t look cruel. He looked tired—tired of centuries of watching humans break. His wings were vast and dark, but there was serenity in his presence.

Before I could respond, he touched my forehead—and I blacked out again.

*******

I awoke to my mother’s sobs.

"Cullen, please… wake up, I couldn't live without you!"

Her voice shattered me. I realized then that Thanatos was right. If I died, she would too.

I hugged her tightly. I cried in her arms like a boy again.

Three days later, Thanatos sent a messenger—a black-winged demon. He handed me a black notebook and a small box.

"What’s this?" I asked.

"A gift," the demon said. "Eat the pearl. It will help you forget her."

I hesitated. I looked at the box, at the swirling darkness inside the pearl.

Then I swallowed it. I have to forget her.

Everything vanished. Her scent. Her voice. Her name. A void replaced the pain, but it left a hollow ache.

Years passed. I lived as a reaper. Cold. Efficient. Detached. I watched lives end and guided souls to their fates.

One gloomy afternoon, I saw my mother's name written in the Death Note.

I didn’t flinch.No fear.

No sadness.

Nothing....

Maybe it’s because I’m no longer human—

Just a cold-blooded shell of what I used to be.

I reaped my mother’s soul with steady hands. No tears, no hesitation.

When it was done, I packed my things and left for Germany— an order from Thanatos.

a new place, a new death, a new beginning.

Thanatos wasn’t distant. Sometimes, he appeared beside me. He taught me the language of the dying, the whispers between heartbeats. He spoke of balance, of why not all deaths are tragedies. I grew to respect him, even care for him in some strange way. He reminded me of a father I never had—stern, wise, yet strangely kind.

So, if you’ve read this far… maybe you’re curious. Maybe you’re like me — searching for answers no one dares to ask out loud. Or maybe you’ve seen things, felt things, sensed a shadow in a room that should’ve been empty. If so, you already know: the line between life and death is thinner than we like to believe.

I won’t promise happy endings here. I won’t even promise answers. What I can promise is truth — raw, unsettling, sometimes ugly. This is a record of what came after my end, of the choices I’ve made, and the ones I couldn’t escape.

I am not writing to be remembered. I am writing to remember.

This isn’t just a diary. It’s a map. A warning. A confession.

Maybe, in these pages, you’ll find a piece of yourself — or maybe you’ll realize something has been watching you, too.

Either way, the moment you opened this…

You stepped into my world.

And once you're in, there's no going back.

With silence between the heartbeats,

—Cullen