The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Orestis coughed, trying to dislodge the piece of pastry lodged in his throat. Which got there on account of him inhaling at the wrong moment. Which happened because his mother had just asked about the god that blessed him.

He reached for his tea and forced the crumbs down. His eyes watered. His mother waited with serene patience.

“What?” he managed, once he could breathe.

His mother smiled—indulgently, and with a pride she made no effort to conceal. “I could feel it the moment I saw you.” She lifted her braid, which was—as always—interwoven with devotional beads.

Now that Orestis focused on them, he noticed the faint, almost imperceptible glow. A soft luminescence, barely visible in daylight—but present. Unmistakable.

Right. I’d forgotten they were sensitive to divine power.

He remembered how they had glowed that one time he’d used divine power in his mother’s presence, all those years ago. Although, he hadn’t expected the beads to be this sensitive.

A blessing from Lyse—or most any god, for that matter—was a subtle connection, woven into the soul. It was not the same as manifesting a spell using divine energy. That the beads could detect it at all was...

Actually, does this mean she knows Eirene has also been chosen by a god?

Not the priority right now. Besides, if he asked, he’d be all but confirming the fact about himself. Which would be a problem, given what happened the last time his mother associated him with the divine.

Solution? Feign ignorance.

“What do you mean?” he said, keeping his tone casual. “It’s probably just ambient divine residue from Nomyra. The entire city is practically saturated with the stuff.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Orestis. Divine power is not tree sap—it does not stick to people.”

For all the trouble this one is giving me, it might as well be.

He tried again. “It’s probably a false positive. Those things aren’t exactly precise.”

She gave him the look. The one all parents gave their children when they knew, with absolute certainty, that they were being lied to. A look refined through generations of maternal evolution, immune to deflection, and utterly devoid of doubt.

At the exact same moment, Lyse’s voice cut through the mental link: Hey!Why are you lying to your mother? That is unbecoming as my follower.

Technically, I’m not your follower, Orestis sent back. And I cannot let her find out I was blessed by a god. You have no idea what kind of trouble that would cause.

Really now. How bad can it be? she sent back, her tone making it clear she thought he was being dramatic. He could almost feel the eye roll coming through the link.

Rather than waste time on a lengthy explanation, Orestis simply pulled up the memories, linked them to his soul, and pushed them through the soul tether between him and Lyse. He sent her everything from the moment he constructed the rejuvenation field, all the way to when Demerius manifested and made a mess of things.

There was a pause on Lyse’s end.

Mental communication was near-instantaneous, so a pause of any length was noticeable. This one stretched for nearly two seconds—practically an eternity in context.

It was then that Orestis realised the significance of what he’d just done: he’d used a skill related to the soul. Using a soul tether to transfer memories was a common method of knowledge exchange between demons.

But Orestis was no longer a demon; he shouldn’t have been able to do that.

We will speak of this later, Lyse sent. As for your mother—there is a simple solution.

Before he could ask for clarification, a gentle glow appeared in the centre of the room.

It was subtle—soft enough to notice, but not bright enough to startle. A gathering of light, condensing with the deliberate precision of someone who had given considerable thought to the appropriate level of introduction.

Orestis realised what the goddess was thinking of doing and nearly went into a panic.

He immediately—urgently—sent: Wait. What do you think you’re doing? Cancel that!

However, he might as well have been talking to a wall. Lyse ignored him, and the light slowly condensed into the form of a silver-haired woman with pale golden eyes.

Lyse had manifested her avatar in the middle of his parents’ sitting room, her expression one of composed authority.

The effects were immediate. His mother’s prayer beads flared, casting sharp reflections across the walls. His father’s chair scraped backward as he shot to his feet. His mother fell to her knees, hands clasped, eyes already glistening.

The scene felt vaguely familiar. But he ignored that; he had bigger problems. Orestis felt a vein pulse in his forehead as he glared at the goddess. He would have yelled at Lyse, but he didn’t want to do that in front of his mother.

Instead, he did the next best thing and sent a message infused with all of his suppressed feelings: I just showed you my memories! How is this any better than what Demerius did?

Well, maybe it was slightly better: at least she was keeping her divinity tightly contained. Demerius could not even be bothered, and had announced himself to an entire country as a consequence.

However, that did not change the fact that she was still a goddess—and she had manifested in person. Because of him. For him.

His mother’s stories about the first incident had been dramatic enough. This was going to be worse—significantly worse. This time, her stories would probably get exaggerated and polished into legend.

Lyse waved a dismissive hand in his direction and sent through the link: Relax. I will handle this.

Then, to his kneeling mother, she said out loud, “Please, that is not necessary.”

A gentle pulse of divine power lifted his mother to her feet.

His mother stood, hands still clasped, tears still present, looking at the goddess with an expression that combined reverence, awe, and the particular brightness of a woman whose faith had just been confirmed in the most direct way possible.

Lyse smiled at both his parents—warm, measured, and looking entirely in control of the situation. “I am Lyse, Goddess of Proper Passage. I have claimed your son as my Chosen.”

Orestis pressed his palm to his face.

How is that ‘handling this’?

His mother’s expression underwent a transformation that he could only describe as transcendent. Pride, validation, and a joy so fierce it bordered on gravitational.

“I knew it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I always knew my son was meant for greatness.”

Lyse let out a soft laugh—genuine, warm. “Yes, that he is,” she agreed. Then her expression shifted to something more serious, though no less kind.

“I chose him for a very specific reason,” Lyse said. “One that must remain confidential. His status as my Chosen must be kept secret. I must ask that neither of you speak of this to anyone.”

Orestis blinked. Then blinked a few more times.

Oh. Right. There was this method as well!

A god personally asking her to keep a secret was categorically different from her son asking her to keep a secret. One could be overridden by maternal enthusiasm and overflowing pride. The other was an instruction from a goddess—a divine mandate, if you will. And his mother was too devout to go against something like that.

Lyse added, “Do forgive him for attempting to deceive you. He was trying to hide it because he worried you would tell everyone about it.”

His mother blushed. It was not an expression Orestis saw often, but it was enough to show that she was at least self-aware enough to know she would have acted in that manner.

“I—of course, my goddess,” his mother said, composing herself with visible effort. “I will guard this secret with my life.”

His father, who had been standing in silence since Lyse appeared, inclined his head. “You have our word.”

Lyse turned to Orestis. “See? A solution that did not require lying to your parents.” Then she added: “By the way—the gifts you brought them were a lovely gesture. But the credit you earned from that was cancelled out by the lies. You need to work harder and quickly make up for the loan—the discrepancy keeps bothering me.”

Then she vanished.

Of course. Her ledgers take precedence over all else.

Orestis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He decided not to be upset about being trapped in a divine accounting system; she did help him resolve a rather persistent problem he’d had—hiding the use of his divine powers from his parents.

Now, I can be open about it with them.

He looked at his parents. His mother was still staring at the space where Lyse had been, hands clasped and eyes reverent.

His father turned to look at Orestis with an expression that was difficult to read; he had a smile on his face—perhaps pride—but there was also some confusion. Not unexpected—unlike his wife, Petros was not a man who put too much faith in religions or gods. And now he finds out his son is favoured enough by a goddess that she would manifest in person to explain away domestic affairs.

“I have questions,” his father said, “but I’m not sure I want the answers.”

“I do,” his mother said, his voice breaking her out of whatever thoughts she’d been ruminating on.

She pressed both hands to her cheeks, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. When she opened them again, she looked focused. She exuded the concentrated, purposeful energy of a woman who had just received the most important news of her life—and now wanted to know every single detail.

“This is no simple blessing. You were given a Blessing! Made Chosen! How?” she asked, returning to her seat, eyes shining.

Well, she got over that quickly.

Orestis considered how to answer the question. He did not want to lie to her again—and not just because of the stupid tally that Lyse kept going on about. He simply did not like the idea of hiding things from her.

However, that did not mean he wanted to explain the regression to her either.

Strange. I didn’t feel this hesitant the first time.

He decided that it didn’t matter for now; the truth was simple enough anyway.

“Lyse has another Chosen,” Orestis said. “She hadn’t spoken to him for a while and he decided that it was because of something I had done.”

“Was it?” his mother asked, a hint of reproach in her voice.

Orestis scoffed. “No. He was just being an idiot, as usual.”

From the context of Lyse’s complaints, it was obvious she had been upset with Maxim because of his womanising ways. That had absolutely nothing to do with Orestis—just as he’d told the idiot at the start.

“Regardless, he persuaded me to speak on his behalf—to present his case to Lyse directly at her temple. Which I did. But afterwards, Lyse wanted to verify my claims by examining my soul. Which I also agreed to. After the examination, though, she decided to make me her Chosen.”

Orestis frowned slightly at the memory. “I still don’t know why; Lyse won’t say.”

His mother puffed up proudly and said, “Well, that’s obvious. It was because she saw how pure your soul was.”

Orestis nearly burst into laughter. Nearly. He caught it just in time and converted it into a vaguely neutral expression. “Somehow, I very much doubt that.”

“She acted right after seeing your soul; there’s no other reason it could be,” his mother said.

At the same time, through the link, Lyse said: Actually, she is not wrong about your soul. Since it is perfectly neutral—untouched by either the sacred or the profane—your soul can be described as pure.

“Huh… you might be right,” Orestis said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He was replying to both Lyse and his mother.

While he had no doubt that it was not the real reason why the goddess chose him, the uniqueness of his soul was likely part of it.

His mother nodded once, like things made perfect sense. “Of course I am.” Then, she said, “Now, tell me about this ‘other Chosen’. Who is he? How did you two meet?”

Orestis’s expression soured as he thought about the idiot. Their relationship was deeply complicated; it began with what he thought of as routine hero training, but ended up actually being years of mutual antagonism due to their shared curses. A detailed explanation was likely to cause his mother to faint.

Or maybe not. She was surprisingly resilient in some areas. Still, aggressive summarising had not failed him yet.

“His name is Maxim,” Orestis said. “He is just an oddball that travels all over, helping people in need—a typical hero, basically. We met by accident. And we just basically fight all the time.”

There—summarised, and not a single word untrue.

He was quite pleased with himself.

His mother’s expression warmed. With a happy nod, she said, “It’s good that you’re making friends.”

Orestis gave her a strange look.

What part of ‘we fight all the time’ sounded like friendship?

He paused.

Actually, lacking the proper context… it kind of does. How unpleasant. Should I tell her we try to kill each other instead?

No, she’d take that as hyperbole too.

Then his mother asked, “Does Eirene know Maxim as well?”

Orestis looked up from his pondering. “Hm? Yes, we’re all working together on—actually, that reminds me.”

He knew he’d forgotten something; he hadn’t yet explained this part to them yet.

“Eirene and I are in Nomyra investigating a healer who might be able to help with the illness affecting the soldiers.”

He went on to explain about the cover story they’d come up with—where one of the neighbours asked his parents for help contacting him, and how things evolved from there.

The more he explained, the more his mother’s eyes brightened. When he was done, she said, “Orestis, that’s a wonderful idea.”

His father also nodded. “Yes, it’s becoming clear why the goddess chose you,” he said, looking quite gratified.

Orestis wanted to point out that that mission had nothing to do with Lyse’s inexplicable choice. Well, probably. It was mostly Eirene’s idea, but Lyse was the type to consider every tiny detail.

That was when his mother said, “Actually, we can help with your mission. I can visit a few people and mention it in passing—how I was worried about the soldiers, how I mentioned it to you, how you offered to look into it while you were travelling.” She was already planning. “If I start from Thera’s shop—she gossips more than anyone in the district—it will spread naturally. By the time anyone checks, the story will have been circulating for weeks.”

Reverse-engineering the cover story into reality. That would actually close the most obvious gap in their story.

Not that anyone was likely to check. But he liked to cover all contingencies where possible.

“That would be helpful,” Orestis said.

She smiled, pleased to be contributing. “Consider it done.” Then she added: “Oh—and back to the point I was trying to make. Since you, Eirene, and Maxim all know each other, you should invite him to the gathering as well.”

“What? No.”

“Why not?” she asked, a bit taken aback by his immediate rejection.

“Because it would be a terrible idea.”

Probably not worse than Eleuthera, but Maxim would definitely come in a very close second.

“Nonsense. He’s the first friend you’ve made in—well, as long as I can remember. It would be lovely to have him there.”

“He is not my friend.” Orestis decided to clear this up. “When I said we fight, I meant—”

“Friends fight all the time, sweetling,” his mother interrupted. “It’s perfectly healthy.”

“But that’s not—”

“You will invite him, and that’s final,” she said, with that tone that made it clear she would not brook any argument from him on this.

There was no winning this particular battle with her—he knew it from experience.

Orestis rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fine.”

I’ll just have to let him know—in no uncertain terms—that he needs to be on his best behaviour.

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