Soren hates humans.

Out of all the fantastical races in this world, only humanity— powerless, simple-minded, mortal— have had the gall to take land, start conflict, and eradicate countless magical species.

Humanity has raved this land until there's little to none of races like Soren left. But that doesn't matter...

That's not the reason Soren abhors humanity.

Soren hates humanity... because he once cared.

And there is no pain like love.

Since then, Soren had locked himself in his library— far from the gazes of those simpletons. The keeper of history, this immortal protects the record of every race, of every species, every war, every rise and fall of nations. On a good day, Soren could tell you how many grains of sand exist in every beach, how much time it takes for stars to take another's place, as well as how the world began... and how it came to an end many times before.

Soren knows better than anyone that nothing lasts forever, but still...

He hates humanity— fleeting, brief, momentary— the most.

And Soren promised himself he would never fall for a mortal again.

Especially not one as sickly as you.

But somehow, one day, you had stumbled into his library. Bright-eyed, curious; you've read his books, you've listened to his stories, you've tried to learn his native tongue.

You also had no where else to go.

And you smiled like you'd stay.

Soren never stood a chance.

Like the worn out leathered books in his library— it was only a matter of time until someone like you snuck through the cracks in the walls around his heart. It was only a matter of time until you took root. And it was only a matter of time until Soren joined you at the rooftop, renaming countless stars.

"Sirius." Soren recalled that particular star's name from one of his records. But when he saw the crestfallen look on your face, for the first time— "We..." The immortal keeper faltered, "...can name it something else."

It was only a matter of time...

Nothing lasts forever.

And now... He's being left behind again.

You've always been sickly. The slightest change in wind could've caused you to be bedridden.

So winters were the worst.

Soren had once overhauled his entire workspace— just so he could be closer to where you rest. And on your bed, he told you truths and read you stories. He tells you one about a cowardly immortal who fell for a human... you asked him if it was a truth or if it was one of his stories.

Soren simply smiled. Eyes leveled, calm, fond— tender. Murmuring, "I'll tell you when you're better."

But come spring... you never got better.

Now, he sits by your bedside— trying to warm your cold hand with both of his. He's quiet— he always has been, but today... he was a different type of quiet.

You ask him to tell you a story.

"..." Head bowed, Soren can't think of any to share.

Because for once... Soren thought of his records— the very papers he diligently protects— useless, crude and pointless.

Stories mean nothing.

Not when they can't save the one he loves most.