A speck swayed in an ocean of years. Along the current the inconsequential unit of matter was vaguely aware of pressures and vibrations, it was comforted by the motion of the river. 

A feeler went out, like bait from an ancient angler, and with skill the speck was captured within a cupped hand.

Up the speck was carried, and the vibrations and currents became louder, droning, roaring. Until the cupped hand shifted deftly to grasp onto the sprouting hand from the evolving speck of matter.

The ancient angler brought the being up, breaking the surface of the immemorial sea and a hemishi, naked, shivereing and petrified was cast upon the beach.

The hemishi retched water from their lungs and crooned in the heart quivering wail of being alive.

“Andres Julios,” a large female voice said. Andres wiped matter from his eyes but kept them closed to the agonizing light, the air was freezing and he instinctually feared he would perish to the chill.

“Look apon me boy,” he did was he was told, and eyes opened on a woman laureled in currents and refraction. Thryth, Death herself, beautiful and horrible stood before him. He lay exposed and vulnerable looking up at her. Andres possesed no inhabition.

“I see you, Angler.” He said with brand new air in his lungs. His pink skin prickled with chill, the two looked at each other with something substancial that was left unsaid.

“One of my custodians bore you a warning once, do you recall it?” the death-god said imperatively. Andres Huff levered himself up on elbows.

“Death and I were on a collision course, and one day the waves would crash against me,” he recalled easily. He’d never forgotten. Death smiled apon him, a cold thing. She beckoned with pale arms wrapped in a shall of dark waters. Unseen shades draped Andres in a cloak, and the perished artificer stood on shaky legs.

“I am a guest of your domain?” He said, not asking the obvious, Thryth glided along a path and lingered for him to join her.

“You are.”