The ten-year old boy in black-and-white clothes paused when he noticed she could see him, a shivering soul cradled in his arms to carry it away, a quick shadow as unnaturally vivid blue eyes surveyed her. The entanglements of the fighting passed through his silhouette, leaving him untouched.

"Yes, there are, aren't there?" Pharos' smile is an amiable one, agreeable, welcoming, no malicious intent towards her shown in his movements or his lighthearted answer even at her sadness. Perhaps it was cold of him, but he had never found death especially sad, even untimely ends like these. "We are; they do need to move on, after all. Does this sadden you...?"

He was the smallest of the three Deaths gathered here this day. Pharos released the soul in his arms and wandered closer.