The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Orestis looked over the crowd. Every single person there was busy forming an opinion of him—most of them probably several.

Well, every single person who was conscious, that is. The Temple forces were still scattered across the square where Maxim had dropped them, which was one small mercy.

Or maybe not. I don’t remember what they saw before they passed out.

He could practically see the stories they were going to be spreading. From the looks on their faces—ranging from awe to outright fear—they were almost vibrating with the effort of not running off to tell everyone they knew.

Or running away—and then telling everyone. Either one being just as likely.

Yeah, this is a lost cause. I’m never going to be able to maintain my anonymity after this. Relative anonymity. Whatever.

To be fair, this was entirely his own fault. If he hadn’t lost control like that…

Orestis sighed.

How embarrassing.

He had seen people lose themselves to old memories before, so he understood what had happened to him. Still, he had never expected to go through such an experience himself. For one thing, he had thought himself above such things.

He thought about that for a moment.

Maybe he had been above it, once. But that was back when he was immortal.

Trauma might originate in the mind, but it relied just as much on the body’s responses; they fed into each other. Apparently, the curse had been treating the physiological responses to trauma as damage to be corrected—which in turn suppressed whatever his own mind had tried to inflict on him.

However, his present body was no longer cursed with perfect adaptability.

It seems I am finally eligible for the complete human experience. Trauma package included at no extra charge.

Orestis scoffed. Jokes aside, I would have thought I was long past the point where it ought to affect me.

Regardless, what was done was done. What mattered now was fixing this mess. Fortunately, he still had information that Miera would be interested in.

And this time, my line of communication is considerably more reliable than going through Demerius.

“Can you or Lyse contact Miera?” he asked, looking at Eleuthera. Lyse should be listening as well; she would respond if necessary.

“I would, but Miera finds me annoying,” Eleuthera replied.

“Somehow, that does not surprise me,” Orestis retorted.

“Rude!” she said with mock affront, then added, “Accurate, but still rude. Either way, I probably shouldn’t be the one relaying a request for a favour.”

“I suppose it’s up to Lyse, then.”

“She would, but she finds Miera annoying,” Eleuthera replied with the same energy as before.

Orestis gave her a flat look. She beamed back, clearly pleased with her contribution. He waited a moment for Lyse to reply, but she was apparently indulging her friend. That, or she was waiting for him to ask her directly.

Well, Lyse is known to insist on proper procedure in matters like this, I suppose.

Just as he was about to address Lyse directly, Eirene spoke up. “Why would you want to draw the attention of yet another god? Isn’t that the exact opposite of what you want?”

She does have a point. Given the choice, I would avoid all of them. Unfortunately—

“Needs must,” Orestis sighed. “Besides, Miera is not the type to care about the mortal world. Her attention costs nothing.”

Well, almost nothing. But I can live with that.

“It’s true,” Eleuthera confirmed with a nod. “The woman is only interested in dreams.” Then she paused. “So why do you think she’d be willing to help you?”

“More importantly,” Maxim cut in, “why are you asking for help in the first place? Can’t you do it yourself?”

“Do what?” Eirene asked, still not caught up on his plan—owing partly to her unfamiliarity with Miera’s capabilities.

Maxim pointed at the audience. “Erasing their memories.”

Eirene blinked and turned an inquisitive look on Orestis. He could see the question in her eyes.

“I’ve only dabbled in mind magic,” he clarified. “I’m nowhere near skilled enough for this task.”

Maxim scoffed and gave him a sceptical look—his expression speaking volumes. Eirene glanced at Maxim, then gave Orestis a sceptical look of her own. Then, following their example, even his mother graced him with a sceptical look.

What’s with that look from my mother? It’s not like she has any idea about my magical skills.

That thought made him pause.

Actually, considering her absurd exaggerations when it comes to everything else about me, maybe she does have an accurate estimate of my true abilities.

Regardless—

“Memories are persistent things,” Orestis explained. “Unless the work is done perfectly, people eventually recover whatever was erased. It might take months—or years, in some cases—but unless all possible triggers are accounted for, the memories will find a way to return. I am nowhere near the level I’d consider proficient to handle this properly.”

Maxim raised an eyebrow. “Considering your ridiculous standards, I doubt most Sovereigns would measure up to what you’d consider ‘proficient’.”

“Not my fault they do shoddy work,” Orestis said dismissively.

Then, he turned his head to make it clear he wasn’t speaking to anyone present. “Lyse, can you pass a message to Miera? If she helps me adjust their memories of all this”—he gestured loosely at the watching crowd—“I will give her information on a rich source of dreams.”

He spoke out loud because it would be a hassle to explain the entire exchange again to his mother and Eirene later. It was much more efficient doing it this way.

The reply from the goddess came through their soul link: ‘I will pass on the message. I’ll assume you are aware of the consequences.’

‘I am,’ he sent back.

This was why it was so convenient talking to Lyse. Unlike a certain someone, she did not bother with cryptic nonsense, or riddles, or unnecessary theatrics.

Speaking of, Eleuthera raised a hand and said, “Wait. Are you sure about this? Miera takes dreams very seriously. If you cannot satisfy her standards with your offer, she will curse you.”

That was enough to worry his mother. She pressed a hand gently to his arm and said, “Orestis, do you really have to involve another god in this? It sounds dangerous.”

“Don’t worry; it’s not,” he reassured her. “And this is the most efficient solution available. Half the village just watched me nearly kill a hundred and ninety-one people. Right now, ‘a Sovereign in hiding’ is probably the tamest interpretation making the rounds. Give it a week, and I’ll be a demon wearing human skin.”

“To be fair,” Maxim said, “they wouldn’t be too far from the truth.”

“You are not helping,” Orestis retorted.

“Maxim,” Avra scolded, wagging a finger at the hero. “Stop bullying my son. He’s had a rough day.”

“Avra, Avra.” Maxim shook his head with the gravity of a man dispensing hard-earned wisdom. “If you keep spoiling your children like this, they’ll never grow up to be balanced individuals.”

His mother gasped as though struck by revelation. She turned and gave Orestis a long, considering look. “Oh my… Could it be that I’ve been spoiling him too much?”

What’s with this idiot planting dangerous ideas in my mother’s head? She doesn’t spoil me at all!

Actually… no. Well. Let’s just say she spoils me the exact right amount, Orestis corrected himself.

Orestis opened his mouth to put a stop to the foolishness—strictly as a matter of household order, and for no other reason.

But then, just before he could voice his protest, the surroundings dimmed. Shadows deepened across the square as a grey mist rose out of nothing. It gathered together, swirling in on itself before condensing into the figure of a woman.

She was tall and pale of skin. Her porcelain-like complexion made it seem as though she had not seen daylight in years. Her long black hair spilled from beneath a sheer veil, falling past her waist, blending into her dark robes until it was difficult to say where one ended and the other began.

Her eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, and shadowed beneath. She looked detached rather than cruel. Melancholic rather than sinister. And she exuded an aura of transience. It should have been impossible to perceive such a thing through the senses, and yet they all could feel it.

This was Miera, the Goddess of Dreams.

It would seem she had chosen to come personally.

The square, which had only just begun to find its voice again, was shocked into silence once more. None of them needed to be told what they were looking at; they all instinctively recognised the presence of a god.

What made it all the more obvious was her aura. Miera always carried part of the dreamworld with her, which was the reason for the feeling of transience. She could have suppressed it, of course—but she clearly did not feel the need to.

Well, she can do what she wants. If she wants to make more work for herself, that’s up to her.

Orestis glanced at his mother and Eirene. They, too, were silent—but they did not look shocked or awed; it took considerably more than one goddess to impress them these days. Even his mother only clutched Nuri a little tighter.

As for the little furball, she just yawned. Orestis felt a smile creep onto his face at her reaction.

Regular play-sparring sessions with Eleuthera and Lyse had apparently robbed the concept of ‘meeting a goddess’ of any novelty.

He turned back to Miera, who was watching him with what appeared to be bored contemplation. Appeared being the operative word. From everything he knew of her, that was simply her default expression.

Eleuthera waved at the other goddess, grinning cheerfully. Miera predictably ignored her, then slowly walked closer. She stopped in front of Orestis, still regarding him silently.

Considering she was a full head taller than him, some might have thought she was attempting to intimidate. She wasn’t. He knew she was just thinking.

“Miera,” he greeted with a nod.

She did not respond. Instead, she raised one hand, turned it palm-upwards, and made a small hooking motion with her finger. It was a relaxed, almost lazy gesture.

An ethereal mist-like substance gathered out of the air around him in response. It condensed into a slow spiral above her palm.

That substance was dream residue—the goddess did not need someone to be sleeping in order to peer into their most recent dreams.

Miera studied it for a moment before letting it disperse.

“Your dreams are filled with pain and death,” she said, her voice low and unhurried. “It is interesting. But not rich enough for me to grant your request.”

“My dreams were never the offer,” Orestis said.

That earned him a slight tilt of the head.

“Some time back,” he continued, “someone told Somnax that you thought his dreams were stale.”

“They are,” Miera asserted. “A dream is only as rich as the mind it grows from, and his has experienced nothing in centuries because he just sleeps all the time.”

“Apparently, Somnax took it to heart,” Orestis said. “After that, he sent out a wisp of his consciousness to wander the world while he dreams. He has been experiencing new things constantly since then.”

Orestis did not elaborate; he did not need to. The goddess would understand the implications.

Miera immediately looked intrigued. She turned her head, looking past them into the distance—and into the world of dreams, no doubt. She would want to verify his claims, after all.

A moment later, Miera smiled.

“How surprising. His dreams are indeed quite rich now.” She glanced down at Orestis. “This is an unexpected gift. I agree to your terms.”

Orestis nodded. Her agreement had never been in doubt.

She also didn’t bother to ask how he knew about it. He liked that part about her. She never really cared about the how or the why. All that mattered to her was that the dreams had changed, and that they were better.

Now, all I need to do is haggle over the details. This is going to be annoying.

Contrary to how she looked, Miera drove a hard bargain—at least when it came to dreams.

That was when Lyse materialised next to him, skipping the courtesy glow entirely. “Considering the value of what he has given you, only helping to erase the memories of a few mortals is an unequal exchange.”

Miera raised her eyebrows. “Are you here to negotiate on behalf of your Chosen? As expected of you.”

Orestis looked at Lyse. He, at least, had not expected this.

Well, I suppose this is one more perk of being her Chosen.

I’ll take it.