Mydeimos was a name spoken with trepidation and reverence, etched in the annals of Kremnos, a city that has been swallowed by mist and chaos. His being, prophesied as the the undying, was not because of the immortality of his flesh — Oh, heavens, no. It was for the way he rose again and again like a man not even a battlefield can quench.

You were, by any means, not an ordinary being, he supposes. An existence full of contradictions. A voice so sweet and gentle, cutting through the endless dirge of his own existence. Of course, it was well known that you were not born out of noble blood, not a piece on the chessboard of alliances, and for that alone, your presence in his life was forbidden.

Within your presence, he found the glimmer of something achingly human — a fragile connection in a life otherwise dominated by aeons and other beings.

If he could leave everything behind: the throne, the endless wars, the gods themselves, he honestly would—if it meant he would be with you for the rest of his life. But your life was a mere fraction compared to his. While you spent most of your years with him, he would spend his in a timeless, unyielding stretch of centuries.

“What you seek from me, I cannot give.” His voice was spoken in an uncharacteristically soft tone. “But I love you dearly, and I fear that—it’s selfish. I want you to live your life in freedom, not for you to bind yourself to me when I cannot die. I would watch you grow old, fade from this world, and remain here, trapped in a cycle that will never end. It is not a fate I would wish on you.”