Grieving Soul Retire Novels & Stories

Maren, walking alongside us, grew quiet, something contemplative settling into her expression as we continued through the flourishing territory. "I've been considering something," she said finally, once we'd paused near her original mountain hut, still standing exactly as she'd left it months earlier. "I believe it's time for me to formally retire from active Seer training." Gina's expression shifted with genuine surprise. "Maren—" "I've carried guilt over Selene's death for decades," Maren continued. "Watching you complete what I failed to protect, watching this kingdom genuinely heal — I finally feel prepared to set that burden down properly, rather than carrying it forward indefinitely."

“FORMAL DESIGNATION: ADMINISTRATOR. PRIMARY FUNCTION: OVERSEE SOUL RECYCLE SYSTEM.” “Soul recycle,” I repeated. The term scraped something inside me. “Yes,” it said. “INITIAL PARAMETERS: COLLECT UNPROCESSED REGRET. REFORMAT. REDISTRIBUTE INTO NEW LIFEPATHS. AVOID OVERFLOW OF UNRESOLVED EMOTIONAL DATA IN METAPHYSICAL LAYER.” If it had had shoulders, it might’ve shrugged. “EARLY CYCLES: LOW STIMULATION. LOW ADHERENCE. SUBJECTS RESISTED PROCESSING. NONCOMPLIANCE HIGH. YIELD LOW.”

The knowledge of it hung over everyone, a somber deadline that made sleep impossible. Ethel moved through the hours in a state of emotional suspension. Her body performed the necessary tasks—checking on the dwindling food stores with Ben, speaking in low tones with Moe and Carlos about rotating watch schedules, ensuring the perimeter was doubly secure in the wake of Marcus’s banishment—but her mind was elsewhere. It was trapped in a loop of memory and anticipatory grief. She wasn’t ready for this. The finality of it, the physical act of lowering a box containing all that remained of her brother into the cold, unyielding earth, felt like a betrayal. To go through the motions, to speak the wor

he said. I looked at the coffee. At the ring on my hand. At the ordinary kitchen that had held so many significant conversations. "Like something is ending and something is beginning simultaneously," I said. "And like that is the right feeling for this moment." "Is it grief?" he said. I thought about that honestly. "Some of it," I said. "Not the sharp kind. The gradual kind. The kind that comes from loving something enough to pass it forward properly." I paused. "And underneath the grief something else." I looked at him. "Relief. The relief of knowing the thing you built is going to outlast you. Not just functionally. In its soul."

“The story’s over. It’s time to let the echo fade.” The words should hurt. They don’t. They just… settle. A final, quiet truth. The ghost of my first love is retiring. There’s no anger left. It was burned away by years of shared patrols, of stilted dinners, of watching him protect the life I built without him. The complex sadness is a gentle weight, like a shroud of old velvet. Arthur is the one who insists. “We’ll send him off properly,” he says, his voice gruff. “A party.”

But I knew that no words could heal the deep wound that had been carved into my soul. The air was thick with grief as the name "Jade" echoed through the once-peaceful room. The cries of her name were almost unbearable, each utterance laced with pain and despair that sent shivers down my spine. I felt as though my very soul was threatened by the mournful sound, as if it were trying to leave my body to escape the heart-wrenching scene that lay before me.

"Evet." When he lowered his head and entered his room, he came across a picture of his parents. With a wry smile and heavy steps, he went to the nightstand and took the picture in his hand. While the word "I'm sorry" was falling from his mouth with broken sobs, he embraced the picture among his rising cries... Death was right, but the person who caused it would suffer from remorse until he died... ***

Simone sighed. “You think so?” “He might propose to you on the spot.” “Geez, I hope not. It hasn’t been that long since me and Kiyah moved in, he has baby mama drama out the ass, and I’d like to get through my first holidays without Rory in one piece,” I confessed, dropping down onto the bed. “That’s right,” Simone whispered. “I spoke with my therapist today, and she told me that despite me finally accepting Rory’s death, my grief might hit me out of nowhere and that it was okay because bereavement is a process, not a race.”

One time, he’d injected me with something, and the pain had remained in my veins long past the next torture session. How Griff could compare Glinda to a creature like the doctor was astounding, but what did he know? He never went anywhere near the Punishment Pits. “Would you blame a child for lashing out?” I snapped. “Of course, not,” he replied, his jaw clenching. “But our numbers are dwindling. First Rocco left us. Now, we’ll have to retire Tansy.” My brows rose. “What does that mean?” He shook his head and took a step back. “Her body is dying, and we’re going to take her soul to meet the others.”

'She' said. "One by one, you followed everything up as it should be. Even your long time enemy who you had changed into a beast to wonder the face of the earth thought that he was going to have his revenge. Little did he know that we were only using him. And now he is dead and gone." 'She' said. "As beasts do not have souls." I said, completing her words. "And how about that herbal woman? I just laughed at her naive behavior. She hadn't even suspected a thing." 'She' said and laughed out loudly.