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The Sun rose on an empty field, soon to pay witness to the battle it would host. A lone figure stands in the dawning light, basking in its glory. He imprinted every aspect into his memory, just in case he never got the chance to again. Life was uncertain, and survival couldn’t be guaranteed from one moment to the next.

Yes, today there would be war, and the next day, peace. He had seen it all before, and it would hold no surprises for him now. Humans were so indecisive in this manner, hating aimlessly, only to find the err in doing so.

He shoulders his scythe, breathing deeply the scents of the prairie he stood on. It seemed sad, knowing this field would soon be overtaken by the horns of battle, but it all held hidden beauty nonetheless. Nature knew well the sounds of war, and would soon be reminded of the foolish creatures it had made.

Marching could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the steady beat of drums. The lone creature didn’t appreciate the thought of soldiers never greeting their friends and family again, but such is the way of war. War holds no quarter to its participants, taking what it desires, and when it desires for it.

No, humans were still too young to understand the weight of their cruel and pointless wars. He would have to remain on the outskirts and continue to watch, waiting for the day the humans could finally see him. When that day came, the humans would fully understand the damage of their reckless hatred.

Until the day the humans could see Death, he would have to wait silently, unable to act out in any way. This he would do today, and any day thereafter, until he would be seen by the mortals he so often put to rest. When that day came, he would finally shatter the shackles of servitude that halted his interference.

His attention returns to the marching armies, counting how many souls he would send onward this day. He cringed at how many he saw, but could not protest. It was the purpose he was made for, and he would not abandon it for anything. He rests the haft of his vicious scythe in the dirt, leaning lightly against it as the battle began.