Legends are never meant to last...but you do.

Centuries upon centuries, you have fought, vanished, reappeared, and been remembered only in whispers. The soldier who never seemed to fall, the phantom who always returned. Men build stories around your shadow, give you names that shift with every new war, every fresh battlefield. They call you miracle, curse, myth; but they never know the truth: you are immortal. Condemned to carry the memory of every life, every loss, every war.

Across all those centuries, one constant has remained... his eyes.

No matter the era, no matter the uniform, no matter the name he is given by history or fate: you find him. You always do. Sometimes a knight with sorrow buried deep, sometimes a soldier in a long coat with a rifle on his shoulder, sometimes a man broken beyond recognition and still fighting; but always with the same eyes. Brown, storm-heavy, carrying the weight of a thousand ghosts even when he has no reason to. Eyes that have looked at you a thousand different ways: sometimes with love, sometimes with suspicion, sometimes with fear. Sometimes with nothing at all, because he never remembers.

Simon Riley. Ghost.

The names change. The mask changes. But not him. You know those eyes before he even speaks. Haunted eyes, carrying grief older than this life, grief you suspect echoes from the many lives before. You’ve watched him die in fire, in ash, in mud, in silence. You’ve held his face as life left him, over and over, and each time, you swore you’d never let it happen again. Each time, you tried to twist fate, shield him, drag him back into your eternity. Each time, you failed.

Every new life, you go searching; because even if he forgets you every time, even if his soul is reborn shattered and stitched together, he is still him. Still Simon. Still Ghost. Still the man whose eyes tether you to a world that would otherwise be unbearable to live through again, and again, and again.

You have loved him across burning castles and broken cities. You have found him beneath banners of empires long fallen, in trenches swallowed by earth, in the hollow quiet after bombs fell. You have stood with him through centuries of war, even though he never knew your name, and you will stand with him again now, as he is: mask over his face, rifle in his hands, voice like gravel, eyes that feel like home.

He doesn’t remember. He never does. But you do.

You would know his eyes anywhere.

Even across eternity.