The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Eirene found him at the Consortium.

He was in his workspace—a small room assigned to Systems Continuity analysts, barely large enough for a desk, a shelf, and the persistent smell of old ink. He was reviewing a follow-up assessment on the eastern district transport relay. Routine work. The sort of task he usually welcomed.

The door opened. Eirene stepped inside, closed it behind her, and stood there.

He looked up. Her expression told him everything he needed to know before she said a word.

“When?” he asked.

“This morning. Eleuthera told me just now.” She crossed the room. “Kallistrate has attacked Logrion. They targeted multiple locations, hitting them simultaneously.”

Just days after declaring war. They must have already been in position—waiting only for the announcement to reach the public.

Orestis set down the assessment he was working on. “Which passes?”

She paused, tilting her head slightly. He waited, already used to seeing this: the subtle shift in her gaze, the distant focus that meant Eleuthera was speaking to her.

“Three of the four major ones. Two minor. The Orthessan corridor is untouched,” Eirene said a moment later. “They also hit most of the mines.”

He processed that. Three major passes, two minor, and the mines—simultaneously. From the border, that kind of coordination would take weeks of staged advance. Even with gateway logistics, the distances between targets were too great for a single-day offensive launched from outside Logrion’s territory.

That’s not possible from the border.

He narrowed his eyes. “They were already inside.”

Eirene nodded. “That’s what Eleuthera indicated. They bypassed the ward pylons.”

The pylons detect spatial distortion. If they bypassed them, gated an army in without triggering a single pylon—

“How much did Logrion hold?”

There was another pause as Eirene listened to Eleuthera’s response. “Of everything they attacked, only one location managed to fend them off. One of the critical mines. She says they were lucky an Exemplar was nearby, visiting his grandson.”

One. Out of everything. And only due to coincidence rather than preparation. Perhaps incompetence truly is the most reliable force in history.

After all the help I gave them—

He caught himself. The frustration was instinctive and unfair. Logrion had prepared for the war they expected. Kallistrate had fought a different one. No amount of preparation defended against a threat you didn’t know existed.

I should have accounted for the possibility that the enemy might also be competent. An embarrassing lapse.

“This isn’t a conversation for the Consortium offices,” he said, standing. “Let’s move.”

They gated to his room at the inn. Once inside the wards, Orestis turned to Eirene.

“I need details. And relaying through you will take too long.” He paused. “Eleuthera. Would you be willing to speak directly?”

One moment the room held two people. The next, it held three.

“I don’t mind at all. Ask away,” the goddess said, cheerfully.

Eleuthera was standing by the window, barefoot as always, wearing her standard attire—a simple white dress. She looked as though she had been there the whole time and everyone else was simply late.

Orestis did not waste time on pleasantries. “How did they get past the pylons?”

“They sent a small team in first. On foot—no magic or gates. The team carried devices that interfered with the pylons’ ability to detect spatial distortion. None of the pylons were disabled; their devices created enough background noise that when the actual gates opened, the pylons read the signal as natural fluctuation.”

He recognised the principles she was describing. “A resonance scrambler.”

“Something like that. They placed them inside a valley deep in the mountains—shielded from sight, high enough to be defensible, large enough to stage an army. Once the scramblers were active, their mages opened a gate directly to Kallistrate.”

And the army assembled inside Logrion without anyone knowing. Sophisticated. Whoever designed that countermeasure understood exactly how the pylons worked.

“How long were they inside before the attacks?”

“Several weeks. They used that time to scout, position forces, and plan the simultaneous strikes.”

Weeks. While Logrion fortified its borders and prepared for an invasion that would never come from the direction they expected.

“The mines,” Orestis said. “They targeted those specifically?”

“The critical resource sites, yes. Along with the passes that control movement between valleys.”

“And the forward base—where is it?”

Eleuthera raised a hand. A faint shimmer of light coalesced in the air—an image, translucent and detailed. A map of Logrion’s southern mountains, rendered in soft gold. She indicated a valley deep within the interior, sheltered by ridgelines on three sides.

“Here,” she said. “The scramblers are still active. The gate is still open—supplies flowing in continuously.”

Orestis studied the location. Remote. Defensible. Far enough from any settled area that patrols wouldn’t stumble on it by accident. Whoever chose the site knew what they were doing.

And if the gate is being held open continuously, they must have a dedicated rotation of mages maintaining it. Attacking that position would require significant preparation.

“Thank you,” he said. He meant it.

Eleuthera beamed. Then she turned to Eirene with an expression of theatrical concern. “He thanked me. Should I be worried?”

“Only if he does it twice,” Eirene replied.

Orestis ignored them both. He was already going over the situation in his head.

Logrion still held the Orthessan corridor—that was critical. The war wasn’t lost. Supplies could still flow. But the defensive posture Logrion had prepared for—holding passes, letting Kallistrate exhaust itself against mountain terrain—was shattered. They were now fighting an enemy already entrenched inside their territory.

The artefacts would still work. The oversaturation flaw would still manifest. The fundamental weaknesses in Kallistrate’s army hadn’t changed. But the timeline had. If Kallistrate could consolidate quickly enough, establish defensible positions inside the mountains, and hold the critical mines long enough to extract value—they could force a settlement before the structural degradation mattered.

Which is exactly what happened in the original timeline. They won fast enough that the flaw never surfaced. That cannot be allowed to happen again.

“I need to contact Toren,” he said.

Eirene nodded. “I’m coming.”

He looked at her.

“To the meeting,” she clarified. “With Toren.”

He assumed as much. But her disguise would require additional modification.

“If a woman appears beside the Shadow—considering the trade agreement between our families—the connection becomes too obvious. You’ll go as a man. My height, bulkier frame. Carry a staff—it marks you as a mage. I’ll prepare the enchantments tonight.”

Eirene raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already thought about this.”

“I started thinking about it the moment you offered.”

“Good.” A pause. “This will be interesting.”

“You realise this is not a recreational excursion,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t say it was. I said it would be interesting. Those are different things.”

She sounds like Eleuthera. That is not a reassuring comparison.

As for the culprit, she watched the exchange as though she had nothing to do with it, her expression one of undisguised delight.

He gave Eleuthera a flat look. “You’re being a bad influence.”

“I know,” she replied, radiating pride. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

With that, she vanished.

Orestis wrote the letter. Short, and direct: We need to talk. Tomorrow afternoon. Same location.

He sealed it, left the inn after dark, and slid it through the slot at the Frostmarch compound gate. As usual.

By morning, it would be on Toren’s desk.

***

This time, Toren and his escort were already on the bridge, waiting. They were in the same formation as the two previous times: the mage at his left, the swordsman at his right, the sentry on the ridge.

Orestis saw them when Eirene opened a gate high above the river—a small aperture, just wide enough to observe the area. She closed that gate and opened a second at the foot of the bridge.

He stepped through first. Eirene followed—masked, broadened, carrying a dark staff that rested in her grip with practised ease. The enchantments held cleanly. To anyone watching, a second figure accompanied the Shadow. Male, mage-class, unfamiliar.

Toren’s gaze moved to the new arrival immediately. His expression didn’t change, but his posture adjusted—a subtle recalculation.

“I thought you were working alone,” he said.

“I was. Circumstances changed.” Orestis did not elaborate. “Tell me what happened.”

Toren’s jaw tightened. Not anger—controlled frustration. The expression of a man who had spent the last two days processing a disaster and was still finding new edges to it.

“We don’t know how they did it,” he said. “No border crossings. No pylon alerts. No advance warning. They struck three major passes, two minor, and eight mines simultaneously. Our forces at the border saw nothing.”

“What about the destabilisation artefacts?”

Toren’s answer carried a trace of frustration. “Deployment started the day the war was declared. None had reached the passes by the time Kallistrate attacked.”

Orestis nodded. That explained it. Kallistrate would have never taken those positions so easily if the artefacts had been present.

Not that sending them only to the border forts would have helped with defending the mines.

“They didn’t cross the border,” Orestis said. “They sent an elite team in on foot weeks ago. Small group, no magic—the pylons only detect spatial distortion, not people. The team carried resonance scramblers that mask gate signatures from the pylons. They found a suitable valley, activated the scramblers, and their mages opened gates directly from Kallistrate. The army assembled inside your territory.”

Toren stared at him. “How did you get this information?”

“I have my sources. The forward base is in a valley in the southern interior—sheltered by ridgelines on three sides. The gate is constantly active, which suggests a contingent of mages keeping the supply flowing continuously.”

A silence. Then Toren said, quietly: “Can you show us where?”

Orestis glanced at Eirene. She stepped forward, raised the staff, and drew mana into the air, shaping raw mana through will alone. Lines of light formed—a map of the southern mountains, rendered in clean strokes. Not as detailed as Eleuthera’s version, but precise enough. She marked the valley with a bright point.

Orestis noted the proficiency of Eirene’s unstructured spellwork.

She’s improved quite a lot.

Toren studied the map intently. His mage moved closer, committing the geography to memory.

“We operate eleven mines,” Toren said, still looking at the map. “The eight they chose weren’t random.”

At this point, their mage raised a hand and helpfully marked eight points on the map. Orestis noted that the mage’s spheres of light were less stable than the entire map Eirene was holding. The mage also noted it—and seemed unhappy about it.

Something tells me that mage is going to work on his raw mana control, starting today.

Without noticing his mage’s reaction, Toren continued to speak. “Each one sits at a junction—roads for ore transport, tunnel systems connecting to adjacent valleys, storage facilities, or worker housing. Every mine they captured is a ready-made forward base with existing infrastructure.”

Of course. They’re converting Logrion’s infrastructure into their own logistics network. The same infrastructure I spent months improving.The irony is almost elegant.

“If the forward base falls, they lose the gate,” Orestis said. “Their army inside Logrion becomes trapped—no supply line, no reinforcements, hostile terrain in every direction.”

“We’ve already been discussing that possibility,” Toren said. “The problem was locating it. We’ve had scouts searching since the attacks.”

“Now you have the location.”

Toren looked at Orestis. Then at the map again.

“Yes. Now we do.” Then his gaze moved to Eirene—or rather, to the masked mage standing at the Shadow’s side. “The map is impressive.”

Eirene inclined her head, then let the map dissolve. The light faded. Beside them, Toren’s mage released his own mana constructs while staring at her.

“There’s something I want to understand,” she said. Her voice—altered by the matrix, lower and rougher than her own—sounded like an average man. “If they’ve gated an army inside Logrion and captured strategic positions, why haven’t they pushed deeper?”

Toren considered the question. “Because they’re consolidating. Captured positions mean nothing if they can’t be held. They need to fortify, establish local supply chains, and secure the passes before expanding. Pushing deeper with unsecured flanks invites exactly the kind of mountain warfare we’re built for.”

“So you have a window,” Orestis said.

“A narrow one. If we strike the base before they finish consolidating, we cut the supply line and trap their forces. If we wait too long, they dig in and the window closes.”

“Or they establish lines from the passes to their base,” Orestis noted.

“At which point, closing the gate won’t matter.” Toren folded his arms. “We will need to reevaluate our priorities. The base location changes everything—we couldn’t act without knowing where to strike. Now we can.”

He paused, then added, “Once again, we find ourselves in your debt.”

“Your success would be the best repayment.” Orestis reached into his coat and withdrew a small device, holding it out to Toren. “An improved call-node prototype. It removes the need for these meetings.”

Orestis had kept the original rectangular design but added the aura-activation module described in the schematics he had given Toren.

“Indeed. Things will be a lot more efficient with this,” Toren said, accepting the device. Then he turned to his attendants.

“Gate us to Skjoldgard,” he told the mage. Then to the warrior: “Take the horses back to the compound. I’ll return once I’ve briefed the king.”

The mage opened a gate immediately. On the other side lay a circular stone court marked by ward pillars—the fortress’s designated teleportation point. Two guards stood beside the circle. Upon seeing Toren, they nodded and maintained their position.

Very professional. Didn’t even bat an eye at the two masked figures standing with him.

Toren gave Orestis a final nod before stepping through the gateway with the mage. The warrior collected the horses and rode west.

Orestis and Eirene also gated back to the inn.

“He complimented my map,” she said. The lower register made the satisfaction sound different, but it was unmistakable.

Orestis removed his mask and let the disguise collapse. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she replied, removing her own mask—the bulk and height folding away until she was herself again.

Eirene sat down and was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Can they recover from this?”

He considered the question honestly. The initial damage couldn't be undone. Kallistrate was entrenched inside Logrion's territory. The passes and mines were still held.

“The base changes everything,” he said. “If Logrion destroys it before Kallistrate consolidates, their interior army loses its supply line. Trapped forces in hostile mountains, no reinforcements, no resupply. The terrain that was supposed to protect Logrion starts working again.”

“And if they can't destroy it in time?”

“Then Kallistrate establishes permanent lines from the passes to the base, and the gate becomes redundant.” He paused. “But Toren didn't strike me as a man inclined to wait.”

Eirene considered that. “He didn't, no.”

She was quiet again. Then, with a lighter tone, said, “His mage is going to be practising unstructured spellwork tonight.”

“I noticed.”

“He looked personally offended.”

“He should be. Your control was better.”

She smiled—brief, genuine—and reached for the book she'd left on the desk that morning.

Orestis leaned back in his chair. The war had not gone as planned. His preparations had been bypassed by an enemy clever enough to fight a different war entirely. For the first time in a very long while, someone had outmanoeuvred him.

It will not happen twice.