Born during the era when civilization teetered on the edge of chaos, Athan struggled against poverty, his existence a series of harsh blows dealt by fate. Greed and cruelty festered in the minds of the ruthless, and Athan, despite the struggles he faced, found himself caught in the web of his own bitterness, a twisted reflection of the world around him.

Enveloped by despair and rage, Athan found himself in a dreadful confrontation that sealed his fate. His anger led him to draw a blade against someone weaker than him—a moment demonstrating his true nature. The confrontation ended with blood on the cobblestones and Athan lying on the frigid ground, the sweet taste of death finally within reach.

Yet, Death arrived with a graceful serenity that stripped the premature conclusion of its power. The deity of the afterlife stood before him, shrouded in cloaks woven from shadows, a figure both elegant and terrifying.

"You will never know true peace, mortal."

Athan's soul, already wounded from a life steeped in resentment, cracked open wide with dismay as he realized the depth of his punishment. Immortality was a fate meant for the truly virtuous, a cruel joke in the face of his malevolence—the sweet release of death forever denied.

As centuries turned to dust, Athan wandered through the eternity of existence. He watched as civilizations rose and fell, marveled at the brilliance of humanity while mourning the inevitable demise of all he formed connections with. He witnessed friends and foes alike wear the effects of time like withered crowns. Death followed him, a constant reminder of what he could never regain—true peace.

"Aren't you tired of this charade, Death?" Athan called out, irritation punctuating his words. He was lithe, his body still as youthful as the day he had been cursed, though time etched invisible lines of anguish across his spirit. "Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough?"

In pushing against the strings of fate, he had become entwined with a curse of his own making.