The Wrong Kind of Immortality

The call was routine. Orestis was updating his mother on recent events.

He walked her through the meeting, the project-basis arrangement, the mana crystals, the research access. He kept the details practical and the tone light. His mother listened attentively, with occasional questions.

Once he was done, she said, “It took them long enough. They should have noticed your contributions and talents ages ago.”

They did, unfortunately.

“I was trying not to be noticed, Mother,” he clarified.

“Of course you were. Silly boy,” she laughed. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

He was far too old for a simple acknowledgement from his mother move him. And yet, it felt good to hear anyway.

“Tell me about this house they gave you.”

It was a house—what was there to say? He listed out the main points for her.

“It’s outside the city. Stone construction, two floors, walled garden. It’s functional.”

“Functional,” she repeated, in the tone of a woman who had opinions about that word. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”

“It’s adequate.”

“Is it near anything? Markets? People?”

“Trees, mostly.”

And he preferred it that way. It was the main perk of getting a property outside the city limits, after all.

“Of course.” She sighed. “And what about Eirene? Surely you’re not going to let her keep staying at the inn?”

Orestis opened his mouth to tell her he’d already extended the invitation.

Then stopped.

Should I really be telling her that Eirene plans to move in?

With how his mother’s mind worked, she would happily and enthusiastically jump to all the wrong conclusions. She’d even see his invitation itself as something… it… wasn’t?

The realisation arrived with the quiet inevitability of something that should have been obvious much sooner. From the outside, he had invited a young woman to live with him. In his house.

Eirene, with how good she was with reading subtext and social cues, probably saw it all immediately. She would have known how he’d meant it—but she would have also known how it would look. And had still refused to say anything.

Well. This is awkward.

Not the living arrangement itself—that was practical and he stood by it. The problem was the woman currently on the other end of this call, whose capacity for extracting romantic implications from logistical decisions was, in his experience, limitless.

The answer was obvious: deflect.

“The war is over,” he said, choosing his words with the care of a man navigating a minefield. “She can return to her family now, if she chooses.”

Let Eirene explain it to his mother.

Preferably, at a time when I’m not present.

“If she chooses,” his mother echoed. There was a quality to the echo that suggested she had noted the phrasing, filed it, and would be returning to it at a later date.

He changed the subject. “I’m planning a trip to Nomyra.”

“Nomyra? Why?”

“Research. There are people there I’d like to consult with.” Which was true enough, in the broadest sense.

His father’s voice came from the background. “Nomyra has a decent trade network. If you’re going, check the spice markets near the lower temple district. Our supplier has been unreliable.”

“I’ll look into it.”

Petros moved closer to the call-node. “Also, there’s a textile merchant near the harbour—Dalani, or something similar. He handled bulk orders for us years ago. If he’s still operating, it might be worth re-establishing the connection.”

“Noted.”

“And the ceramic district near—”

“Petros,” his mother said. “He’s going for research, not a trade expedition.”

“One doesn’t preclude the other.”

Orestis allowed himself a small smile. His father’s pragmatism was, as always, relentless. And just like that, the conversation had wandered off in a more convenient direction.

They spoke for a while longer. Things settled into their usual rhythm—comfortable, unhurried, marked by the particular ease of people who spoke often enough that no single call needed to carry too much weight.

Then, as the conversation was winding down, his mother said, “Oh, before I forget. What are your plans for Eirene’s birthday?”

Orestis paused. What plans could he have? The idea hadn’t even crossed his mind before she brought it up. Even the date had slipped his mind. Somehow, he didn’t think that would be the correct answer.

After the silence stretched on a bit too long, she said, “Orestis. It is in two weeks.”

It was not a simple statement; it was a test.

“I’m… considering options.” And he was. As of a few seconds ago.

The silence that followed contained a very specific quality of maternal assessment.

“You forgot,” she said, then made a sound. It was brief, sharp, and compressed approximately three centuries of maternal disappointment into a single syllable.

Ironic, considering she hasn’t even lived that long yet.

“I have time. You said two weeks,” he said.

“Two weeks is not time. Two weeks is a deadline. What have you considered so far?”

“I’ve been busy. The Consortium—”

“I don’t care about the Consortium. What are you giving Eirene?”

He had no answer. His mother’s silence made it clear that this was precisely the problem she had anticipated.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said.

“You will. Because if that girl spends her birthday watching you do paperwork, I will hear about it. And then you will hear about it.”

That sounded ominous. Again—he was too old to be bothered by a few words from his mother. That’s what he told himself. He was fairly certain he believed it, too.

After the call ended, Orestis sat in the quiet of his empty house and contemplated the problem.

What did one give someone who had access to divine power, no interest in material wealth, and the intelligence to see through any token gesture?

A spell? More sparring? Even he knew that was ridiculous.

Orestis considered and discarded several options. A book was too impersonal. An artefact was too professional.

I need advice. From someone who actually knows Eirene.

“Eleuthera. I need advice,” he said to the empty room.

A moment later, the goddess appeared, sitting cross-legged on his workbench, already smiling. “Orestis! What a pleasant surprise! I would ask what advice you want, but I could hear Avra’s disappointment all the way from the Threshold.”

“Can you help or not?” he asked, ignoring her ribbing.

“Your problem is your own.” She examined a stray thread on her sleeve with theatrical disinterest. “But I will say this: she doesn’t want things. She wants to be understood. Give her something that shows you were paying attention.”

That was both annoyingly correct and infuriatingly vague. Well, if she wasn’t going to give him a straight answer, there were other ways to get ideas.

“What about you?” he asked. “What are you giving her?”

Eleuthera’s expression shifted. The theatrical disinterest vanished, replaced by something genuine—warmth, excitement, and the particular satisfaction of someone who had found the perfect gift and had been waiting for someone to ask about it.

As he’d expected.

She waved her hand and opened a viewing fold beside her—a small one—showing a patch of forest floor dappled with late-afternoon light.

“Behold,” she said dramatically and gestured at the centre of the image, where a small black animal sat beneath the shadow of a broad-leafed tree.

It looked like a kitten. Tiny, and with oversized eyes that held a deep, luminous green, as though lit from within.

As Orestis watched, the creature batted at the edge of the shadow with one paw. The shadow wobbled like jelly where it was touched, then settled back into place.

He recognised it immediately—a mauthet. It was a magical creature native to the demon continent.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Isn’t it adorable?” Eleuthera beamed.

“It is a magical predator,” he pointed out.

“A cute one!” she insisted. Then added: “Besides, it is currently stranded. Poor thing accidentally stepped through a spatial anomaly—a random one—and the rift closed immediately after. Now it’s stuck here with no way home and nothing to eat.”

“It eats shadows,” he deadpanned. If there was one creature in the world that was close to impossible to starve, this would be it.

Eleuthera blinked. “Oh. You didn’t know this? Mauthets can only eat shadows that have assimilated at least some amount of dark-aligned mana. They cannot digest neutral- or light-aligned shadows.”

And mana on this side of the world skewed towards light.

“I did not know that, no.” It was an interesting bit of trivia—but not helpful with his current dilemma. “Still doesn’t explain why you think it’s a good gift.”

Eleuthera closed the viewing fold and turned to face him fully. “It’s an excellent gift—because it is unique, meaningful, personally significant, and adorable. Were you aware that mauthets are the most sought-after pets on the demon continent? Once they bond, they’re very protective of anything they consider part of their pack.”

“Very safe, too. Provided you ignore their ability to turn any shadow in sight into a lethal weapon.”

Eleuthera waved that off. “You’re just jealous because my gift is so amazing.”

Then she said, “I intended to send it back at first. But since Eirene can draw on profane divine power—which is even more nourishing to mauthets than regular mana—feeding it won’t be an issue. So I thought, let’s leave the decision to her.”

“You’re giving a choice as a gift,” he said. “Very on theme of you.”

It was an interesting idea. If nothing else, it gave him a direction to think on.

The goddess smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I’m sure whatever you come up with will be just as thoughtful.”

Her tone suggested she was entirely confident it would not be.

Well, I just have to prove her wrong, don’t I? How hard can it be?

“I have two weeks,” he said. “More than enough time to come up with something better than a shadow kitten.”

Eleuthera gave him a look. Then she opened the viewing fold again—the mauthet had rolled onto its back and was batting at the wobbling edge of a shadow with both front paws. “Look at it. Look at those little paws.”

“I see them,” he said unimpressed.

“Wait, there’s more.” She pointed at a branch, or rather, at the shadow cast by it.

Orestis felt her channel a sliver of profane-aligned divine power through the viewing fold, feeding it into the shadow. The darkness drank it in, deepening—not to the eye, but to his senses—until it stood apart from the rest.

At the base of the tree, the mauthet also noticed. It reacted at once—freezing mid-sprawl, limbs hanging in the air. Its eyes went wide, pupils dilating as they locked onto the altered shadow.

“Look! How cute is that!” Eleuthera said.

The next moment, the mauthet sank into the shadow beneath it. A second later, it leaped out—already mid-pounce—from a patch of shadow just below the one she saturated with divine power.

As it leapt, the saturated shadow stretched outward—like a taut surface being pulled—and it sank its teeth into it. The piece snapped free, brittle as toffee, as it landed lightly on the branch above.

The creature chewed, swallowed, then looked around, scanning for more food. Finding none, it slipped into a nearby shadow and emerged once more at the base of the tree. There, it curled into its patch of shade, eyes half-closed, tail tucked neatly around its body.

“Can your gift do that?” Eleuthera asked, practically glowing. “No, it can’t. But don’t worry. I’m sure inspiration will strike you. Eventually.”

I’d forgotten how insufferable she could be when she had the advantage.

“Thank you. I can barely hear the sarcasm dripping from your voice.”

She laughed and vanished along with the viewing fold.

***

The forest on the demon continent was different from anything on the human side.

She knew there was a slight difference in the alignment of mana here, but that difference was too minute to detect without precise measuring tools. No, the distinction she felt was more on the geological and ecological features.

The trees here were broader, their trunks darker, with bark that split in vertical fissures deep enough to fit a hand inside. The canopy was dense and layered—multiple levels of foliage filtering the light into something green-gold and shifting. The undergrowth was thick with ferns and creeping vines that seemed to move when she wasn’t looking directly at them. Even the air smelled different—richer, earthier. Like soil after heavy rain.

But then again, who was to say that there wasn’t a similar forest on the other continent? She reminded herself not to let her imagination run too wild.

Still, travelling to a whole new continent on the other side of the world was quite exciting.

“The spindle hydras in this area tend to nest near fallen trees,” Orestis said, walking ahead of her on a path that wasn’t really a path. “They prefer concealment for their central body, sending individual serpent forms outward to scout and hunt.”

They were both shielded, in case of ambush. Although, that was unlikely since they were using the detect-life spell to navigate toward. However, the hydras weren’t the only danger inside forests like this. She’d read about creatures that could fool the spell, or even lack life signatures entirely.

They found the first spindle hydra within ten minutes. Or rather, it found them—three heads emerging from dense undergrowth, investigating the vibrations of their approach.

Either it wasn’t hungry, or it didn’t think they were much of a meal, because it didn’t attack. The remaining heads stayed hidden, coiled around a central body nestled between two fallen trunks.

Eirene could see seven heads total. Eight, maybe—one was partially concealed behind a root mass.

She deployed the gravity field, centred on the main body. The creature reacted instantly, all heads snapping toward her. The body tried to move and found that it couldn’t. Weight pressed it into the earth.

Then it split.

The heads detached in every direction—serpentine forms scattering outward like an exploding star. Fast; far faster than she’d expected. Within two seconds, five of the eight forms had cleared the gravity field’s effective range.

They were too quick. She couldn’t adjust fast enough and let some get out of range.

The detached serpents circled, regrouped, and began a coordinated approach from three angles. The central serpent body—at least, she assumed it was the central one—remained pinned in the middle of the spell while the other two were struggling near the edge of her gravity field’s effective threshold.

Orestis observed from a tree he’d leaned against. “Holding three the first time is not too bad. You can fight the serpents, but I recommend working on your response time during the split—that’s where you’re losing them.”

She cancelled the gravity field and retreated, choosing to try again. The serpents didn’t pursue far—they were territorial, not vengeful. Once she’d moved back twenty metres, they lost interest and began the process of recombining.

The hydra didn’t ignore their approach this time. It roared a warning, which she ignored. This time, Eirene decided to deploy mana strings alongside the gravity field.

When the hydra began to split, the thin filaments of mana were already wrapped around each head as well as to an anchor point she maintained. The heads detached into their individual forms and scattered—or tried to—but the strings held. The serpents hit the ends of their tethers and jerked to a stop, still within the gravity field’s range.

She tightened the field. Eight serpentine forms writhed against the combined restraint of strings and increased gravity. The strings strained and broke during their struggles—the creatures were stronger than she’d expected for their size. But the only purpose of the mana strings had been to keep them all in the same area.

Eirene focused on the gravity spell, trying to hold it without harming the hydra. Although, she did have more leeway with this species, as it was already healing from the crushing effects from when she increased the force too much.

Even with eight separate points of focus, each pulling in different directions, the difficulty was not that much higher than holding multiple burrowers. She realised that the truly hard part was to make adjustments to hold them all in place during that burst of speed when they split up.

This was still helping her with the multi-point control, but she’d benefit more from working on her response time. She released everything. The serpents immediately retreated and began moving to surround them and attack.

“Let’s leave. I doubt this one is going to combine again while we’re around,” Orestis noted.

Eirene agreed and they went looking for a different hydra. This time, the eight serpents did not retreat, choosing to pursue them.

“Using the strings to leash them in was clever,” Orestis noted while running beside her. “But it makes the gravity field somewhat redundant.”

“I know. But it helps keep everything in range so I can work on multi-point gravity adjustments.”

They jumped over a log and one of the serpents attacked while they were in the air. She cast her modified gravity field, making it halt in mid-air while they landed.

“The strings are just a safety net,” she said as he kept pace beside her. “Only until I get fast enough to make the necessary adjustments.”

Her goal was always to improve her control; she didn’t forget that. Once she felt confident enough to not harm any of the serpents during their transition, she would stop using the strings.

Orestis nodded, accepting her approach. Then he said, “We leave for Nomyra tomorrow. Is everything in order?”

“Packed this morning. You?”

“I don’t own enough things for packing to be a concern,” he replied.

It was both faintly sad and entirely in character for him.

She restrained two more serpents in the middle of their attack and continued through the forest towards their next target.

Now that they were staying together, she would need to help him change that.

***

The next morning, Orestis stood at the window of his house and looked out at Orthessa in the distance.

The city was the same as it had been the day he arrived: measured, regulated, and quietly certain that magic was a thing to be engineered rather than worshipped. It had given him employment, protection, and a place to work without being noticed.

He had come here to hide; he was leaving because the hiding had served its purpose.

Well, technically, I won’t be gone for long. But the Consortium doesn’t need to know that.

Eirene opened a gate in the centre of the room. Beyond it, there was warmth, the sound of people being busy, and the unmistakable presence of divine power woven into the air itself.

Nomyra.

Orestis picked up his satchel and stepped through.