Chapter 6: " Forbidden"

Cullen’s Pov

 I had just arrived home. It was 2 a.m., the dead hour. For the first time in countless decades of being a Reaper, I felt... confused. Not from the souls I took. Not from the underworld’s silence. But from her.

As I stepped into my quiet, cold home, a divine presence swept through the room. I didn't need to turn around—I already knew who it was.

Thanatos.

“What have you done?” he asked, his voice low but seething with restrained anger.

“Tell me, Cullen, did I ever lack in instructing you?” His eyes now met mine—furious, glowing faintly like embers ready to ignite.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Even I couldn’t explain myself. I sank into the sofa, staring blankly at the dark horizon outside my window. The stillness of the night was heavy, suffocating.

“You’ve altered the path of the dead,” Thanatos continued, his voice sharper now. “You’ve disappointed me.”

His words pierced me, but I stayed silent.

“If you keep going down this path, you know what will happen—your soul will vanish forever.”

Still, I didn’t speak. I wasn’t afraid of vanishing.

What haunted me more was her face. Was she safe? Was she sleeping peacefully now that I left? Why do I care this much about a mortal?

“For now,” Thanatos said, “you are not allowed to reap any soul.”

I turned to him, stunned. His anger remained, but I saw something else—worry. Fear, even.

“I understand,” I murmured, my voice hollow.

“I’m taking your supernatural abilities. Your mission is postponed,” he added, his tone final.

“You’ll become half-human, half-dead. You’ll feel physical pain. Hunger. Exhaustion. Heartbreak.”

I just nodded. What could I say? I broke the rules. I crossed a line I was never meant to touch.

“You’ve worked hard for decades to complete your mission so you could finally rest in peace. Why now, Cullen?” he said, softer this time. “Why now?”

He vanished without waiting for a goodbye.

And just like that, the pain hit me.

“Ahhrrgh!” I cried out, clutching my head. It was splitting open with pain I had never felt before. This body—so weak. So fragile.

“So this is what it feels like,” I whispered, trembling. “This... human curse.”

I realized something.

I forgot to ask how long my suspension would last.

What now? Should I live like them? Blend in? Pretend to be normal?

Well, I suppose I’ll have to survive in the human world—for now.

Maybe I’ll visit the company I built decades ago, a front to sustain my existence among mortals. I’m a billionaire. Not that it matters. I don’t feel like one tonight.

I just need to stay busy.

Because if I don’t...

I might think about her again.

PAIGE’S POV

  I woke up to a sharp, aching pain coursing through my body. Every muscle screamed with exhaustion. I lay on soft, clean sheets—a rare comfort—and stared at the ceiling, replaying everything that had happened since I arrived in Germany. How did I get here?

What should I do now?

I only had two days to figure out how to survive. He left me with a thousand dollars. It wasn’t much, but enough—at least for food and some basic necessities. I wanted to buy a phone to contact my family in the Philippines, to let them know I was alive, but I hesitated. I needed to stretch every cent. Right now, a phone felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I needed work. Any kind. As soon as possible.

I did my best. I walked the city, applying to every job ad I saw posted on walls, lamp posts, store windows—anything. But rejection greeted me at every turn. Either I didn’t speak enough German or I didn’t look "fit" for the job. It crushed me.

Two weeks passed. Two cold, merciless weeks. I slept wherever I could—park benches, bus stops, stairwells—as long as I felt safe. My money had dwindled down to fifty dollars. And still, I held on. I told myself I wouldn't give up. I wouldn’t go back to the Philippines—not like this.

“I can do this,” I whispered to myself. “Keep going, Paige.”

The next morning, I gathered every ounce of strength I had. I took a deep breath, trying to push away the hopelessness.

“This is your day, Paige,” I said aloud, forcing a smile. “One meal a day. That’s the rule.”

Around 2 p.m., just as the sun began to dip, my sandal snapped.

“Ah, please... not now,” I groaned in disbelief, my voice trembling.

I sat down on a curb, clutching the broken strap. I couldn't walk barefoot—especially not here. No one would take me seriously if I looked like this.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t done punishing me, the sky darkened. Snowflakes began to fall.

“What the hell... why now?” I muttered in frustration, tilting my head up to the gray, merciless sky.

It was December. Winter had arrived—and I was unprepared.

I rushed to the nearest bus station and took shelter beneath it, curling up on the cold bench. My feet were already freezing. The snow thickened, falling harder with each passing minute. The world grew quieter as fewer people walked the streets.

I checked my watch. It was past 8 p.m.

My body trembled. I wore the thickest jacket I owned, but it did little to shield me. I never thought southern Germany could be this cold.

“Will I die here tonight?” I whispered to the empty street, tears silently streaming down my face.

My stomach growled—loud, painful, empty. “I’m so hungry,” I said weakly, hugging myself tighter.

Time passed slowly. An hour, maybe more. I could no longer bear the cold. My breath came in shallow gasps. My fingers were numb, my lips trembling. I leaned back against the wall, too tired to cry.

“Will I really die like this?” I murmured as I closed my eyes. Another tear slipped down.

Then, in the midst of the cold and silence, I felt something... warm.

A presence.

I opened my eyes slowly.

Dark blue eyes stared back at me. Gentle. Familiar. Like the ocean on a stormless day.

“It’s... you,” I managed to whisper, barely audible. Then everything went black as I collapsed into the night.

CULLEN’S POV

  I was driving home, the cold wind howling through the night like a restless spirit, when something caught my eye. A figure in the distance—small, slumped, barely moving.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was her.

My heart began to race beneath my chest, beating wildly against the stillness of the cold winter night. I pulled over without a second thought, the tires crunching over the frost-covered pavement. Grabbing my coat, I stepped out into the biting air and rushed toward her.

She was curled beneath the bus stop, her body trembling, lips nearly blue. Without hesitation, I draped my coat over her frail frame. Her skin was icy to the touch. My fingers brushed her cheek, and a strange, stinging ache pulsed in my chest—a pain I hadn’t felt in centuries. Why did seeing her like this hurt so much?

“Miss…” I gently shook her shoulder. No response.

And then, she collapsed.

In that instant, I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I couldn't leave her here. Just for tonight—just for a while—she needed shelter. She needed warmth. She needed a home.

Carefully, I lifted her into my arms. She felt weightless. Fragile. Her head rested against my shoulder as I carried her to the car. I placed her gently in the front seat and buckled her in, my fingers pausing when I saw her face up close—drawn, exhausted, and full of pain.

“Poor human,” I whispered under my breath.

I reached over to check her pulse—faint, but steady. She was alive, just barely.

I drove faster than I had in years, the silence in the car interrupted only by the sound of her labored breathing. After half an hour, we reached my house—dark, quiet, a little too large for someone like me who was used to solitude. It always felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

I carried her inside, straight to my bedroom. The sheets were cold, but I turned on the heater and laid her down carefully. Her body continued to shake. I brushed her hair away and placed my hand on her forehead.

“She’s burning up,” I murmured, frowning. Fever.

Without wasting another second, I fetched a warm cloth, dampened it, and gently placed it on her skin. I repeated the motion, again and again, hoping to bring her temperature down. As I sat beside her, watching her chest rise and fall, something stirred inside me.

Pity. Guilt. A strange kind of sorrow I couldn’t quite name.

Her face… pale, soft, familiar.

I couldn’t stop staring.

There was something about her that pulled at the deepest parts of me—as if my soul recognized her from a place beyond memory. From a time that no longer existed.

She was beautiful.

And somehow, I knew…

I had known her before.

Maybe a thousand years ago.

I sat quietly beside her, the room lit only by the soft orange glow of the bedside lamp. The heater hummed low in the background, but her fragile body was still trembling under the blankets. Then I noticed it—subtle at first—her face twitching, her body shifting.

She was having a nightmare.

Sweat formed along her brow, dampening her hair. Her breathing became erratic.

“No, no! Please... don’t!” she cried out, her voice raw and terrified as she thrashed in her sleep.

I moved closer, kneeling beside the bed, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, hey… shhh. It’s okay. You’re safe now,” I whispered, trying to pour as much calm as I could into my voice.

She jolted awake, her eyes snapping open. Wide. Confused. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air. Her gaze found mine—and then her hand shot out, gripping my wrist tightly, desperately. As if she was afraid I’d vanish.

“It’s alright,” I said again, softer this time. I didn’t move. I let her hold on.

Her face was blank, disoriented. Her eyes darted around the room as if trying to figure out if this was real or just another nightmare.

“Where… am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“You fainted at the bus station,” I replied evenly. “You were freezing and unconscious. I brought you to my home.”

She blinked slowly, then lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry… I’m bothering you again,” she said, her voice fragile and apologetic.

Before I could respond, a loud growl echoed through the silence.

Her stomach.

I raised an eyebrow. “Hungry?”

She nodded, small and shy, like a child caught in need. There was something about the way she moved—so helpless—that made my chest tighten.

“Rest. I’ll prepare something for you,” I said gently.

She gave a faint smile and nodded again. My heart sank.

I left the room and rushed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I found nothing—completely empty. No leftovers, no eggs, not even bread.

I glanced at the clock. 12:30 a.m.

Snow was still falling, heavier than before. The streets would be blanketed. Everything would be closed.

“But she has to eat,” I muttered to myself.

I tried ordering online—every service rejected the request. Roads were closed, or the drivers weren’t available.

I had no choice.

I grabbed my coat and keys and went out into the storm.

It took nearly an hour and a half of driving through near-invisible roads, tires crunching through thick snow, before I found a small convenience store with its lights still on.

“Cullen, Cullen…” I muttered to myself, shaking my head as I hurried inside. “Why are you doing this? For a girl you barely know?”

I didn’t have the answer. I just knew I had to.

I grabbed a few essentials—instant soup, bread, water, some fruit—and drove back as fast as the storm allowed.

When I finally reached home, the warmth of the house wrapped around me like a blanket. I exhaled, relieved.

But as I stepped into the bedroom, I froze.

Someone was there.

A man stood beside her bed.

He looked… divine. Radiant. Familiar.

“Who are you?!” I shouted, fear and adrenaline crashing over me.

He turned slowly, his eyes calm but ancient.

“Remember me, Cullen?” he asked with a knowing smile.

I stared at him, the memories stirring at the edge of my consciousness.

“You're not Thanatos,” I said warily.

He stepped closer, his face serious now.

“I was the messenger. The one who gave you the Black Pearl long ago.”

I tensed.

“Long time no see,” he added with a smirk.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stepped closer, his expression shifting into something colder.

“What are you doing, Cullen?” he said sharply. “You altered the Death Book… and now you're bringing a human into your house?”

I clenched my jaw and looked away.

“I asked you a question,” I said again, firmer this time.

He stared at me, then sighed and shook his head slowly.

“What you’re doing is forbidden,” he said in a hushed, grave voice. “Those who tamper with the laws of life and death… suffer consequences beyond comprehension.”

He leaned in and tapped my shoulder.

“I’m not your enemy,” he added. “I’m a friend—sent by your father.”

My breath caught.

“My father?” I echoed, stunned.

But he was already fading—his presence vanishing like mist in the winter wind.

I stood in the doorway, frozen in place.

My father?