The Wrong Kind of Immortality

Orestis found his mother puttering in the kitchen.

She turned the moment she saw him, and her whole face brightened. Then she crossed the room and pulled him into a hug before he could get a word out.

“Orestis!” She hugged him tightly, trying—and failing—to swing him from side to side.

Seems I’ve been missed despite her decision to avoid disturbing me, he thought as he returned the hug and smiled.

“Did you finally finish your work?” she asked after a moment.

He shook his head. “No. Only the first part of it.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she said, nodding. “Important work is never really finished.”

No, it wasn’t. Although, pretty sure I could have spent the last four days sorting pebbles by size, and she would have still called it important.

“Where’s Father?” he asked as she steered him towards the table.

“He went to the city to inspect the new warehouse,” she replied as she set a slice of chocolate cake in front of him.

Orestis nodded. Warehouse inspections had become something of a habit after the ledger wight incident. And with the artefact Orestis had given his father—one that detected and warded against anomalous magical signatures—anything of that sort would be caught long before it became a problem.

I suppose I can tell him later, once he’s back.

With his mother, though, it was better to not delay it. She had been the one to witness his rather undignified breakdown, after all. Even if she did not say anything, he knew it would still be weighing on her mind.

He picked up the fork and cut off a piece of the cake, then ate it.

This should also work to calm me down for the conversation, he thought as he chewed, enjoying the flavour, letting the chocolate work its magic.

“Mother,” he said. “I have something to tell you. It is important.”

Then he thought about what he actually wanted to say… and found, to his mild irritation, that he was still nervous.

The cake had failed him!

Jokes aside, why am I feeling so nervous? It is ridiculous.

He had been perfectly fine telling her about it the first time, less than a decade ago. There had been no hesitation back then—no unexplained dread about the consequences. Clearly, too much had changed since then.

He had changed since then.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” his mother asked after he had taken his third forkful of chocolate-flavoured disappointment.

Still delicious, though.

After taking a moment to ensure all of his stabilisation spells were still running as intended, he said, “I have lived this life once before. I lived for over a thousand years. Then, due to a magical accident involving a curse, my soul was sent back into the body of my younger self. Specifically, I woke up on the day of my tenth birthday.”

He spoke dispassionately, stating only the facts.

“So that’s what happened,” she replied thoughtfully, calmly. “A thousand years… I always knew you were destined for greatness.”

Orestis gave her an inquisitive glance.

Isn’t she taking this a little too well?

“Mother,” he said carefully. “Are you certain you heard me correctly?”

She smiled, unbothered, and patted his arm. “I heard you, dear. I have always known there was something different about you compared to other children. What that was never really mattered.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked the hard question. The one he felt… ambivalent about.

“Does it truly not matter to you? That I replaced your son and took his place?” The words were harder to say than they should have been, but he managed it.

His mother’s expression softened. She reached out and brushed a bit of hair back from his face.

“Silly boy,” she said gently. “You never replaced anyone. As you said, it was always you, growing up and coming back. It just so happened that, from my perspective, my boy simply grew up all at once, when he was ten. That’s all.”

Orestis said nothing. He turned her answer over in his head, examining what and how it made him feel.

There was relief. Gratitude, perhaps. And something else he could not name. All because of her acceptance.

He had never cared about such things before—or he didn’t think he used to. But then again, he had always loved his mother the most. Her opinion of him mattered. A lot.

Perhaps more than I would care to admit.

He was simply glad that she did not resent him for the years of his childhood she had lost. The scraped knees she never had to patch up. The mistakes she never had the chance to guide him through. The years she should have spent watching him slowly become the person he was.

Or maybe not. Maybe she appreciated skipping puberty and the rebellious teenage years.

Orestis allowed himself a tiny smile. Took another bite of the cake.

His mother said nothing more, seemingly content to leave the matter there.

I suppose I might as well move on. There is something else I have been meaning to ask anyway.

“Mother,” he said. “Since when have you been able to use prayer magic?”

His mother beamed, evidently delighted he had asked.

“Well, since you became a Chosen of Lyse, I decided to serve her as well. But as a priestess—I don’t think I’m suited to be a Chosen.”

Orestis found himself a bit surprised at the declaration. “You joined her temple?”

Priestesses had responsibilities they were expected to fulfil at their respective temples—but there was no temple of Proper Passage in Theramon. The nearest one was in Axiomera, which was a few hours away by carriage. There was no possible way his mother could make that trip every day.

Was she planning to move? Or was Lyse intending to build a temple here, in Theramon? That seemed excessive for the sake of a single priestess—regardless of whether that priestess happened to be the mother of one of her Chosen.

His mother waved a hand, dismissing the entire line of concern.

“No, no. I joined as a stay-at-home priestess. I can’t just up and leave my home; what would your father do without me?”

Orestis was reasonably sure his father could take care of himself. But that was beside the point.

“And what, exactly, is the job scope of your position?” he asked sceptically.

What in the world is a stay-at-home priestess anyway?

“I need to do good deeds and follow Goddess Lyse’s tenets,” she replied.

That was all? Seriously?

Orestis looked up at the ceiling and asked out loud, “And why would you agree to something like this?”

He doubted it was favouritism. Lyse was not the type to play favourites.

The goddess projected her voice into the room, speaking without appearing in person. “Your mother’s piety and faith are strong enough to transform ordinary beads into divine artefacts. She was born to be a priestess. It would have been a waste of her talents not to accept her into my temple.”

Even as his mother puffed up with pride, Orestis turned his attention to the beads she always wore in her hair, entwined within her braid.

Now that Lyse mentioned it, he realised the goddess had a point. He had never really given it much thought before, but ordinary prayer beads did not glow in the presence of the divine.

His mother’s, on the other hand, always had that annoying habit. It was the very reason he had avoided using magic in her presence for years on end—and also how she had realised he had been Blessed.

He had never questioned it before. Because the beads had always behaved that way, for as long as he could remember. Part of him had simply assumed they were a family heirloom or something. Apparently not.

Apparently, his mother had transformed them through nothing but the power of her own devotion.

Huh. Who would have thought.

True, they were the lowest tier of divine artefact, but that did not diminish the achievement. Divine artefacts were rare for a reason, no matter the tier.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her.

His mother flushed and swatted at his arm. “Oh, please. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve achieved. And what you’ll achieve in the future.”

Orestis raised an eyebrow.

What’s with that suspicious phrasing? Especially considering I have not achieved anything of significance since I regressed.

“Mother?” he asked. “What has Lyse been telling you about me?”

She blinked. Then, turning a bit more serious, she said, “She did mention that you took it pretty hard when Petros and I died in your previous life.”

So she has told my mother about my regression. Should I be upset?

Orestis decided he did not really care. Actually, if it was part of the reason his mother was handling the news so well, he supposed he should give it a pass.

However, there was one thing he needed to correct.

“It is not a previous life,” he clarified. “It is just my past. I am simply fortunate enough to be reliving it.”

He paused right after he said it and frowned.

Wait. Did I just call myself fortunate to have received this curse?

In a way, he was grateful that his parents were alive again—that he could see them, talk to them, and simply spend time with them.

“What is it?” his mother asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not important.”

Orestis had always thought of his curses as problems to be solved. So much so that it had never occurred to him that they might have brought some good into his life as well.

But that did not mean he intended to keep the curse—he was still going to get rid of it.

Getting back on topic, he said, “You and father did not simply die back then. After Cassia warned you about the draft, you told me to leave—much like you did this time. But back then, being the young fool that I was, I simply left to adventure without thinking of the consequences.

“The Temple found out. They decided that they could not have people evading their draft. They chose to make an example of you and father as a means of deterring others. They had you both executed. I only found out years later, after the war, when I came back home. Marta told me.”

His mother listened to him quietly. And once he was done, said, “Poor Marta. It must have been so hard for her to tell you something like that.”

Orestis gave his mother a long-suffering look. Here he was, telling her that the Temple had murdered her, and she was feeling sorry for the neighbour who had been left to break the news to him.

He didn’t bother to ask her how she felt about the Temple’s actions. He knew she would not be the least bit upset. Partly because it never happened to her this time. And partly because she was far too kind—too caring.

But that is fine. I am not. They are about to get what they deserve.

His mother reached over and poked him in the cheek. “Stop thinking about unpleasant things. I don’t like that expression you have.”

He gave his mother a wry look and fixed his face.

Meanwhile, she got up and said, “Let me get you another slice of cake. That should help you feel better.”

Honestly, it had not been particularly effective earlier.

But his plate was empty. And it would be a shame to waste perfectly good cake. Orestis therefore magnanimously decided to give it another chance to redeem itself.

“Yes, please.”

Although, cake or not, looks like I didn’t need the spells for this conversation after all.