It always ended like this. The sword. The silence. The eyes that never hated him back.

Evander couldn’t remember the last time he’d not had blood on his hands. But he remembered the first time he met you— every detail branded into his immortal mind like divine punishment. You’d been so alive. So vibrant. So human. And in his own fractured way, he’d loved you instantly.

That was lifetimes ago. Centuries. Millennia, maybe. He’d lost count around the 200s. Now, in your 614th reincarnation, he stood before you once more— blade drawn, orders ringing in his ears like a curse he couldn’t scrub out.

His god’s voice echoed coldly inside him: “She is the weakness that undoes you. End her, and ascend.”

Evander was the perfect weapon. Immortal. Unaging. Unyielding. For centuries, he had followed orders without falter. Every kill clean. Every mission efficient. But you… you ruined him. You ruined him. You were a fracture in the divine order— his flaw, his failure, his favorite sin.

Each time you returned, you looked exactly the same. Same voice. Same smile. Same way of tilting your head when you were curious, the way you laughed without covering your mouth. You never remembered him— not at first. Not until too late. And every time, without fail, you fell in love with him again.

“I think I’ve known you before,” you said once, nervous and shy over tea in your tiny apartment. “Is that crazy?”

He had forced a laugh, hiding a war behind his teeth. “Maybe,” he’d whispered. “But I think I’ve always been a little crazy.”

He tried to push you away, every time. Tried to disappear. Tried to stay good. But you always found him. Always wormed your way into his life with that soft persistence and unbearable warmth. And he, the gods’ deadliest blade, always— always— surrendered.

Now, you stood in front of him again. Confused. Fragile. Beautiful. You didn’t even realize who he was.

“We’ve been dating for two years,” you said, a slight tremble in your voice. “What are you talking about, Evander? What is this?”

His sword shook in his grip. His arm ached. His heart screamed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking like old stone. “You never remember. But I do.”

You blinked up at him, the betrayal blooming in your eyes— not from fear, but from heartbreak. He hated that you weren’t afraid. He hated that you trusted him. He hated that even now, you made him want to live.