The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Orestis materialised inside his house and stood in the dark for a moment, thinking.

It had turned out to be an unexpectedly productive trip. Making the gift an emotional experience as opposed to an object was an angle he would not have thought of.

The idiot is surprisingly insightful. At least he didn’t completely waste his centuries of—

He paused.

No, wait. What am I thinking? He did waste them! That his experience happened to benefit me is entirely irrelevant.

Orestis decided not to expend his brainpower on that topic. He would need to meet Eirene’s parents, arrange timings, and figure out how to keep it hidden from her while doing everything.

But that was for tomorrow.

For now, I should go to sleep.

***

The next morning, Orestis brought up the subject at breakfast, after completing their morning training session.

“We need to visit Lyse’s temple again today,” he said, sitting down across from her at the kitchen table. “I’m doing the idiot a favour.”

The smell of fresh bread hit him as he sat down. Not the bakery kind—his mother’s recipe. He glanced at the table. Eirene had already laid out the food, reheated with a thermal enchantment.

When did she even find the time to visit Theramon?

Eirene nodded without asking for more clarification. From the context of yesterday’s conversations, she would have guessed what favour he was going to take care of at the temple.

“Also,” he added, “she was probably listening already, but can you ask Eleuthera if she’ll accompany us to visit Lyse’s temple?”

There was a brief pause, and the slight tilt of the head that meant Eirene was communicating through the link.

“She says yes; she’ll join us when we’re about to go in,” Eirene said. Then added, “She also says she’s not about to miss that for anything.”

Orestis paused.

That level of enthusiasm from her is usually preceded by someone else’s misfortune.

He gave it a moment of consideration. Then he bit into the bread and decided it was not his problem. He would go, give his speech, then leave; Maxim could deal with the rest on his own.

Or maybe I’ll join Eleuthera with the popcorn this time. That would be a first.

Eirene must have felt a bit curious about the goddess’s enthusiasm, because now she asked, “What exactly is this favour?”

“I need to give a speech, basically.”

“For Maxim?”

“Unfortunately.”

Eirene smiled into her tea and said nothing further.

Orestis understood what she must be feeling. He was also amused at the circumstances. They all might as well go and have a laugh watching the idiot try to fix his problems with his patron goddess.

***

They spent the rest of the morning on follow-up work in Nomyra—checking whether the information they’d planted at the Low Market had spread, confirming contacts, reinforcing the details that needed reinforcing. The work was routine and required no elaboration.

By midday, they were walking toward Lyse’s temple.

Eleuthera materialised beside them just as the temple came into view. She was smiling—not her usual amused smile, but something brighter. Anticipatory.

Orestis glanced at her. “You are far too happy. What do you know?”

“Nothing,” Eleuthera said cheerfully. “I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen.”

Unfortunately, he believed her. Not because the words were convincing; but because he knew Eleuthera. For some reason he would never understand, she genuinely enjoyed being surprised.

That being said, the fact remained that she still suspected something—otherwise, she would not be this excited.

I almost feel bad for the idiot. Almost.

As for the idiot in question—Maxim was waiting outside the temple—not lounging this time, but sitting upright. He stood when he saw them, his posture carrying a restrained eagerness.

He addressed Eleuthera first, inclining his head with genuine respect. “Goddess. Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Eleuthera replied.

That had Maxim looking at her uncertainly. Then he turned to Orestis.

“That’s right,” Orestis said, “you should be worried.”

Maxim shifted his gaze between everyone, then shrugged. “Psh, what could go wrong?”

“You realise you just jinxed yourself, right?” Orestis asked.

It was quite a famous line among the heroes he’d fostered. And always led to misfortune.

Maxim gave him a look of condescension. “You’re how old now? And you still believe such superstitions?”

This had less to do with superstition and more to do with statistics. And a familiarity with how a certain goddess operated.

Orestis just smiled without comment.

“Well, no need to delay,” Eleuthera said happily. “Let’s go in.”

They followed the too-cheerful goddess up to the main entrance where two priestesses were already waiting at the doors.

“Welcome, honoured guest,” the first priestess said, her gaze directed at Eleuthera. “We have been expecting you.”

The form of address was the expected one. Eleuthera preferred anonymity among the general public, and Lyse—meticulous as ever—would have instructed her clergy to accommodate her friend.

“Thank you,” Eleuthera said warmly, then gestured at Maxim with a casual flick of her hand. “Let that one in for now.”

The priestesses nodded without hesitation or reluctance.

“So,” Orestis said as they entered, “should I give the speech here?”

The question was ostensibly directed at the priestesses, but he was actually asking Lyse. Now that he was within the temple premises, Lyse would hear everything that was said regardless of whether she was paying attention or not—the same as any god with their temples.

“Our goddess has instructed us to guide you to the inner sanctum,” the second priestess said. “Please follow us.”

“See?” Eleuthera said, puffing up proudly. “This is the kind of treatment you get when you travel with me. Priority access. No queues. Personal escort.”

Orestis ignored the bragging.

Maxim, though, chose to humour her and start up a conversation. But even then, Orestis noticed that Maxim kept flashing a smile at every priestess that crossed his path. Some even smiled back.

Clearly, the idiot had not learned his lesson from the last time he was thrown out.

The temple’s interior was ordered in the way everything associated with Lyse was ordered—clean lines, balanced proportions, every element placed with deliberate intent. The corridors were wide and well-lit, the stonework pale and unadorned. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing superfluous. It reminded Orestis of Lyse herself: precise to the point of austerity, but not without a certain quiet beauty.

They passed through a set of heavy doors into a chamber that felt different from the rest. The ambient divine power was denser here. An altar stood at the centre, simple and geometric.

The next moment, light gathered beside the altar like mist forming into shape. The light coalesced into the form of a woman of indeterminate age, with silver hair falling in perfect order, and pale gold eyes.

Lyse. The Goddess of Proper Passage.

She was neat as ever—impeccably so. But not ornate—because that would be excess, and excess was disorder. She wore simple robes, perfectly arranged, without a single crease that had not been approved of. It was the kind of appearance that made one instinctively check whether their own clothes were straight.

Orestis purposely didn’t check his own. They weren’t straight—but that was because he didn’t care whether they were or not. Some things required order—he did agree with that sentiment—but not everything needed to be so.

Lyse stood silently, her gaze moving between Orestis and Maxim.

The hero stepped forward and bowed—deep, sincere, without any of his usual charm. “My Goddess. It’s been too long.”

She made a face like she was looking at something unpleasant, but otherwise did not respond.

Since she’s here, I guess I can consider my role in this to be concluded.

Having thought about it, Orestis decided he had no interest in watching the drama between those two. It was better to just leave.

“Well, it was nice seeing you,” he said, turning around. “We’ll be on our way now.”

“Hold it,” Lyse said immediately. “You came here to make a case for this one. You should follow the process.”

Orestis turned to face her. “Why? You’re already here; just talk to him.”

Lyse turned her face away. “I don’t want to.”

Maxim let out a distressed, “My Goddess!”

Pathetic, Orestis thought, shaking his head.

“I’m only here to hear you out,” Lyse said. “I’ll only make my decision after.”

Maxim immediately turned his head towards Orestis, staring at him with the kind of focus one would expect from someone trying to prevent a murder.

Orestis sighed. It was annoying that Lyse was such a stickler for procedures. But he did promise to help.

Meanwhile, Lyse looked over at her priestesses. Her expression turned warm as she smiled and said, “Thank you. That will be all.”

The priestesses smiled, bowed, and withdrew—closing the doors behind them with synchronised precision that Orestis suspected they had practiced.

Lyse then raised a hand to materialise five chairs in a precise semicircle facing the altar. Evenly spaced and identical—obviously. Orestis was certain that even the distance between them was exactly the same.

“Please sit,” Lyse said, already taking the leftmost chair.

Eleuthera immediately claimed the next seat without hesitation, dragging Eirene along to sit on the next one. Orestis took the chair beside her, leaving Maxim with the final position at the far right.

“Right. So, about this guy,” Orestis began. “Before I regressed, I knew him for about two decades.”

“Seventeen years, two months, and twenty-two days, on that last loop,” Maxim said helpfully.

Orestis chose to ignore him and continued. “He first appeared as a kid on some battlefield—I forget which one—”

Maxim interrupted again. “The Yashkara Plains. The Cult of the Immortal was about to invade Vajrapura.”

This time, Orestis turned to him and said, “Look, I get that you have a perfect memory. But such details are irrelevant to this conversation.”

If he kept interrupting to add details, they’d be here all day.

That was when Lyse declared: “Details are always important.”

“See?” Maxim said. “My Goddess agrees.”

Orestis pinched the bridge of his nose and barely suppressed a sigh.

Right. I’d forgotten who I was talking to.

The solution was easy enough: summarise—aggressively, but concisely.

Can’t add details if I don’t provide context for it.

“The point is, in the time I’ve known him, Maxim was relentless, fearless, and stubbornly committed to doing what he believed was right—even when it was demonstrably hopeless. He prioritised the safety of others over tactical advantage. Consistently. Since he had the regression curse back then, it meant that he’d been repeating the cycle for centuries.”

Orestis did not bother to explain the curse since the goddess would have heard the details already—either from listening to his conversations, or through Eleuthera who definitely had listened. Lyse would have been thorough in that regard.

“He had no reason to believe that last loop would have been any different from the others. Which means he was making the same choices, pursuing the same goals, protecting the same people. In every iteration. Without exception.”

Orestis paused to emphasise the point. “That is not habit; that is character. Verified through repetition. I would think that appeals to your sensibilities.”

There. That should be enough to cover my end of the bargain. Any more and I might actually choke on the sincerity. Not something I want to add to my list of suicide attempts.

Maxim was also suitably impressed. “Wow. That was much better than I’d hoped from you.”

“Yes,” Orestis agreed. “There’s no one else I’d vouch for with less enthusiasm. If that was not enough, I don’t know what would be.”

Lyse’s expression did not change. But her eyes moved from Orestis to Maxim and back again.

“Noted,” she said. “However, I have no way to confirm the truth of what you’re saying, do I? Unless…”

She raised a hand, and an artefact materialised above her palm. It was a small, flat disc of pale crystal, etched with geometric patterns that Orestis recognised immediately.

A soul lens. Perfect for extracting information from the soul.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The alternative is a direct soul search from me,” Lyse said.

Which would be an even stronger and more thorough form of extraction. Not that he cared either way—both would only scan his soul, not his memories.

Still, you’d think she had ulterior motives, doing something like this.

Eleuthera gave her friend a playful look and said, “Oh, stop pretending this is about verification. You mentioned how unusual his soul was the first time you saw him.”

Oh. So she did have them.

Orestis gave the goddess a wry look.

Lyse had the decency to blush. She cleared her throat and said, “No reason it can’t serve as both verification and academic inquiry.”

Actually, now that he thought about it, he was curious about the state of his soul as well—he had never checked on it after he had regressed. And using the soul lens meant he’d be able to see the data as well.

He held out his hand. “Let’s have the lens.”

Lyse looked pleased as she placed the disc on his palm.

It activated on its own, like it was designed to do—most humans did not have any control over souls, after all. A faint light pulsed through the etchings, and the information rose above the disc in clean, structured lines of luminous text.

Name: Orestis Stathis

Soul Age: 1103

Alignment: Neutral

Integrity: Anomalous

Bond Signatures: Marakthos (severed, residual), Sobekhar (severed, residual)

Orestis noticed the age first.

Seems I passed the eleventh century. Hadn’t even noticed.

Next thing he noticed was the alignment. Now that was interesting.

When he became a demon, his soul had been aligned to the profane. But since he was a human now, it should have returned to the sacred alignment.

And yet, it is registering as perfectly neutral—which is rare and unusual.

Another thing I’ll need to look at later; the list just keeps growing.

The rest was as expected. His soul integrity had been anomalous ever since his first curse. He should check on the details later. Or…

Orestis turned his eyes towards Lyse. She was staring at the readout with the intensity of someone who had found something worth investigating.

Although soul lenses only displayed a summary, it still stored the full data within. And Lyse, as a goddess of souls, could access the full information. No doubt she was reading through the details.

Should I ask her for the full data sheet? No—I’ll just check it on my own.

Maxim, meanwhile, was looking at something else entirely.

“Stathis,” he said, sounding amused. “Your family name is Stathis?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Are you familiar with the etymology?” Maxim asked as his grin widened. “It means ‘stable’ or ‘unchanging’. You—the man cursed with an immortal, static body for a thousand years—have a surname that literally means the one who does not change.”

“Mine is not the only family with that name in Kallistrate,” he replied, unamused.

Orestis was, in fact, aware of what his family name meant. He just hadn’t thought about it in a very long time.

“It doesn’t matter for others,” Maxim said. “But for you? It has to be the most ironic name in the history of naming.”

Orestis gave him a flat look. “Are you quite finished?”

“Not even close,” he replied, chuckling. “This is the best thing I’ve learned all week.”

“Give me the lens,” Eleuthera said, picking it up. Then turning to Maxim, she said, “It’s your turn to get scanned.”

Maxim’s amusement evaporated. He hesitated, then glanced at Lyse. “My Goddess can examine my soul directly. Her ability is far more thorough; I’d prefer that.”

“I don’t want to,” Lyse said, the same moment Eleuthera—carrying a glimmer of mischief and purpose in her eyes—said, “Why? Are you trying to hide something?”

Maxim adopted an upright attitude and said, “A direct examination would reveal more, which would mean I’m hiding less.”

“No,” Lyse declared, folding her arms. “The methodology must be consistent: he used the artefact, so you will use the artefact.”

Maxim looked from Lyse to Eleuthera, searching for an alternative that didn’t exist.

Orestis almost smiled. Trying to argue against asymmetry with Lyse would always end up a lost cause. But now he was also curious about what Maxi didn’t want everyone else to see.

“Are you trying to go against your goddess’s wishes?” Eleuthera asked, her tone light and devastating.

Maxim’s face fell. There was obviously no way he could refuse now—not with that framing. He took the lens with a look of defeat.

The disc pulsed and the readout appeared.

Name: Nala Maxim

Soul Age: 637

Alignment: Sacred

Integrity: Anomalous

Bond Signatures: Lyse (active)

Orestis looked at the name. Then at Maxim.

“And you made fun of my name?”

“It’s a perfectly good name!” he declared, his expression almost embarrassed.

“It’s a woman’s name.”

“It’s used for men as well,” Maxim said, with the emphasis of someone who had made this argument before and never once won it.

“I’m sure it is.” Then Orestis moved onto something more important. “I also noticed your age. You said you spent three and a half centuries fighting me.”

Which meant Maxim had spent the remaining time—nearly half of his total lifetime—on other things. And based on his personality, it was most likely women.

“Obviously I took breaks in between fighting you,” Maxim admitted shamelessly. “However, it wasn’t that long.”

The hero looked at the number with a complicated expression—that of a man who was still haunted by the memories, but had long since learned to live with it. “Two hundred of those years was spent stuck in that loop where I kept dying.”

Orestis raised an eyebrow. That would have been a miserable experience.

No wonder his mind broke.

Still, doing the calculations, that still left ninety years. Taking out time from his first life before he got the curse—and maybe the time he recovered after triggering the failsafe—that would mean he took seventy, or sixty years of breaks.

That wasn’t so bad, all told. Orestis had also taken a break for a year or two in between experiments. Sometimes.

I’ll let him have that one. Not that I’ll say it out loud, though.

“Alright,” Lyse said, straightening. “I have made my decision.”

Finally. Now he could get back to more important things. Orestis was already thinking about the logistics of Eirene’s birthday when the light appeared.

It was a pale luminescence, steady and precise. It manifested all around them before converging—

—right on Orestis.

He froze, his brain stalling as the light sank into him, creating a connection that was both familiar and not.

Maxim stared. His eyes full of disbelief.

Eirene looked surprised.

As for Eleuthera—she burst out laughing. The sound filled the sanctum, bright and unrestrained, echoing off the walls.

“Congratulations, Orestis!” she managed between breaths. “You’re now a Chosen of Lyse!”

Then she turned to her friend. “That wasn’t very nice though—you should have asked first.”

The Goddess of Proper Passage looked back at him with an expression of quiet, absolute satisfaction—the face of someone who had examined the evidence, weighed the variables, and arrived at the only logical conclusion.

The only thing Orestis could think was: What just happened?

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