“Destiny is not kind.”

The final words of the ancient soothsayer, spoken almost exactly three years ago, would never leave Jaric’s thoughts. Even as magic thundered around him, raining death and destruction in every direction. Only the wards placed upon him kept the worst of it at bay, yet still he bled and his exposed flesh felt the searing pain of eldritch fire.

Corwin was already charging ahead, shield held high to keep him safe so he could close the distance. His enchantments were flaking off like leaves before the wind but if he could get in close enough, he could deliver a killing blow.

Salcune was the only one who truly held back. She was not accustomed to close combat but could match their enemy almost spell for spell. It was thanks to her that the enemy’s hoards were being held back, giving Jaric and Corwin the opening they needed.

Jaric followed close behind Corwin, taking advantage of his shield, until a massive blast erupted. Corwin’s outline flashed in Jaric’s vision and when the light faded, there was no sign of his friend. Salcune cried out but Jaric knew if he stopped now he would die just as surely as Corwin.

As another killing bolt came streaking across the ground, Jaric leapt. He felt the magic surge through him, hurling him far higher than he could on his own, and even still he only narrowly avoided the attack. Time around him slowed and Jaric twisted in the air, pointing his spear down to their hated foe, the terrible being who had ravaged the lands longer than Jaric had been alive.

A passionless face looked up and their eyes met. Both of them knew what came next, it had long been prophesied, and yet still Jaric felt afraid, felt his heart skip a beat as though expecting to be stilled permanently any moment.

“Oh the pride and folly of young heroes.”

That was the next to last thing their great foe said before Jaric plunged his spear into their accursed chest. Magic was already pooled into their hands and as Jaric pressed them to the ground, they gripped him by his mail, releasing the magic in a final casting.

“I deny you the rest you now send me to,” the dying wretch said.

Jaric spun the haft of his spear to the side and sliced his enemy in twain. Immediately the enchantments bound to them collapsed. Plagues ceased, monsters vanished, and the enthralled were released.

“Corwin!” Salcune shouted as she rushed forwards to the blackened spot of ground where last their friend had stood.

She fell to her knees, sobbing, reaching her fingers into the soil as though hoping to find him there, jest below the surface. Jaric joined her a moment later, placing a hand on her shoulder and letting her rest against him while they mourned their friend.

All around them were the growing cheers of the thousands of others who’d come to help fight this day. It was a joy tempered by the loss and suffering that all had endured to reach this costly victory. They would be counting the dead for days and there would be yet more tears shed and grief meted out ere everyone could begin to rebuild and move on.

“Come,” Jaric said to Salcune after some time, “I’m done with battlefields. I think we both are.”

Salcune nodded but as she rose, she looked at Jaric and her breath caught in her throat.

“Jaric,” she gasped, “you’re cursed!”

He looked down, only now remembering those final words spoken to him, and saw the blackened hand print upon his chest. It had burned straight through his mail and gambeson, exposing the flesh beneath.

“A small price to pay for peace,” Jaric replied.

Salcune’s worried look did not diminish and she began prodding at the strands of magic still twining about, just above the surface of Jaric’s skin. The light in her eyes began to dim and when she spoke her voice was low and grating.

“There shall be no rest for you who has slain me. I pull your thread of life taught and make it immutable. Never shall you be changed, ever damned to watch the tides of time wash over you with no recourse, no chance to learn or grow, not ever die to receive your final reward. You shall remain, an eternal reminder of my greatness and my wrath. Weep ye nations and see your once great hero.”

She pulled her hand back before the curse could singe her fingertips.

“No,” her voice was little more than a whisper.

“I don’t understand,” Jaric said, “does this make me immortal?”

“Only in the worst possible way,” she replied. “The ‘you’ of right now is all you’ll ever be.”

She looked down to where Corwin last stood and her tears began again.

“You’ll never feel true peace. You’ll never be able to move on from how you feel. You grief and pain will always be this sharp.”

Jaric was about to say something stupid, like how that didn’t sound so bad, but he was exhausted, he was shaking from the fighting, and he knew there would be celebrations in the near future, and then life for everyone else would settle down into a new and hopeful future. That would never happen for Jaric. How could he sit calmly while every instinct within him was screaming he was still on a battlefield? How could he even think about a normal life if every day he woke up feeling just like he did now? The very idea of trying to go and do something as mundane as plow a field right now was ridiculous.

“Salcune, I–

The worried look on Salcune’s face was enough to make him pause. There was almost fear there.

“Salcune?”

There was something off about her face as well that he hadn’t noticed until now. Although war had aged them both, she was looking even older, with lines wrinkling her face far beyond what he thought there should be.

A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made Jaric feel as though he’d been here before, said these same words, fought this same fight. He glanced around and the cheering crowd were far too close at hand, and there were far too few of them. They weren’t even wearing armor.

“Jaric,” Salcune spoke and her tone was so strange to Jaric that he didn’t even know how to respond. She sounded like she was talking to a child. “Please, sit down.”

He let her take him by the hand and lead him over to, of all things, a chair. He sat, and was surprised to find that the seat was padded and there were carved, wooden armrests.

The sights and smells of the battle were vanished and in their place was a banquet hall. It had been years since the fight, decades, and they’d been celebrating the anniversary of their victory. He remembered, with painful abruptness, how many times he’d done this sort of thing. He almost didn’t want to look behind him but he had to see. Salcune grabbed him by the shoulder to try and stop him but she was old now and was never the most physically strong anyway.

A serving boy was being helped by other members of the serving staff. He looked shaken but unharmed. That was a relief. If he’d summoned his spear it…no, they’d taken his spear from him after the first incident.

Jaric looked back to the table and then to those seated around it. He recognized a few of the faces, though they were older than he thought they ought to be. They were the other survivors from that day, the vaunted heroes here to be toasted and celebrated. If Jaric hadn’t been the one who actually delivered the killing blow he assumed they would have long since stopped inviting him to these events. The people he didn’t recognize were doubtless the nobility. The children of those Jaric had known and served.

“My apologies,” Jaric said with a stiff nod.

Several people were looking at him, though not at his face. Instead they looked at the dark stain on his chest. He could never hide it, no matter what he wore it always seeped through. A creeping blackness that moved of its own accord, like serpents just beneath the surface. An eternal reminder.

As the banquet resumed and the light chatter returned, Jaric leaned over to Salcune.

“What happened this time?” he asked.

“The door shut a bit too loudly behind the serving boy as he came in,” she replied. “I caught you before you reached him. He tripped over himself and fell but no one was hurt. Just surprised.”

The room felt too small for some reason and Jaric wanted to leave but knew he had to stay. The door behind him where the serving staff were coming in and out from made him nervous even though he knew there was no real threat back there.

“Are you going to be alright?” Salcune asked.

Jaric forced himself to take a bite of his food even though he wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been hungry for years. Hadn’t been able to enjoy a meal ever since that day.

“I’m fine,” he said between bites. “As fine as I’ll ever be.”

Salcune patted him on the arm and gave him a gentle squeeze. She was old now, Jaric had to admit. How much longer would she be around to anchor him? What would happen when he forgot where he was and attacked someone and Salcune wasn’t there to smooth things over? Would they lock him away? He wasn’t exactly the easiest person to imprison, but it could be done. Would they exile him instead?

His hands began to tremble so badly that his fork clattered loudly against his plate every time he tried to take another bite. The noise drew the wary attention of the rest of the guests and the quiet conversations that had only just resumed fell silent once again. Jaric gritted his teeth and, using both hands, forced himself to keep his fork from shaking. He didn’t dare try to take a drink.

“Sir Jaric,” the man sitting at the head of the table stood and held out his cup in a toast. “I know this is not the most comfortable setting for you, that you still…struggle with your affliction, but we would be remiss not to include you. You, who has sacrificed so much more than any of us here. We are honored by your dedication.”

As he spoke, Jaric recalled hearing several such speeches before in the past. They were earnest, most of the time, but what good were they? Were they looking for a way to break his curse? As far as he knew, those efforts had ceased over a decade ago. And yet, would the alternative be better? If they were silent towards him, ignored him, stopped inviting him to the remembrances, would it be better?

Salcune gave his arm another comforting squeeze and Jaric turned to her while the speech carried on. He was vaguely aware of an illusion enclosing them, making it appear as though they were still paying attention to the speaker while in truth they were speaking softly to one another.

“We can leave early, if you’d like,” she whispered.

“Won’t they be offended?” Jaric asked.

“They’ll understand.”

He looked down as he considered the offer and only then did he notice her wedding band. Of course he knew she’d married, but like everything else that came after the battle, it was incredibly difficult to remember without a reminder.

“I forgot you were married,” he said without thinking. “I always thought it would be you and Corwin together afterwards. What’s the name of your husband again?”

Salcune’s smile became strained and another hurt began to show through her expression. Jaric let his memory catch up as he thought about her wedding and realized he was her husband.

“Oh, right,” he said, checking his own wedding band and noting the matching designs. “And we have…three children.”

He hated saying it out loud but he had to make sure. Salcune nodded and gestured further down the table to a trio of young nobles, two women and a man, that bore a certain resemblance. Jaric bowed his head in shame.

“How often do I forget them?” he asked.

“Some days are better than others,” she replied as she made her tears vanish beneath yet another layer of illusions. “Days like today are usually harder for you and that’s why we’re sitting apart from them.”

He remembered, now that he was focusing on it. Theirs was not an easy life together, but there was joy enough for them. Most days were quiet and he managed to stay in the present time. It was only when their routine got interrupted that he had these sorts of moments. As he calmed down, the rest of his memories seemed to come back to him more easily.

“I think I’ll be alright,” he said at last and Salcune relaxed.

The speech was long over and the applause ended. Everyone was back to their usual dinner conversations and Salcune let her illusions fade. Jaric made a point of catching the attention of their children. They smiled at him and he returned the gesture. None of them had married yet and he wondered if that was by choice. It was uncommon for them to be unmarried still at their ages. It wasn’t a topic he liked to discuss with them since it was their lives, not his, but he hoped they were happy. For a moment he felt a longing to have grandchildren before he died, only to be reminded that he would never die. He would outlive any and all his descendants. It wouldn’t be that much longer, really, before Salcune would pass away. Only a few more decades at most and he’d be alone.

“Stop that,” Salcune said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Stop what?” Jaric asked, trying to mask his sudden melancholy.

“I can practically hear your thoughts.”

“Sorry.”

“Just don’t worry about that right now. Try and enjoy what we have now.”

He nodded and closed off his mind so she wouldn’t keep hearing his worries. Besides, there was grit in his shoes from the battlefield still, and sweat running down his back. His chest ached and his lungs burned. Only his training allowed him to keep his heartbeat under control with all the people watching him, wondering if he’d lose control, wondering if they were safe. He wondered the same things but having Salcune there beside him made it a little bit easier to set those worries aside. For now, at least, there was nothing to fear. The world was safe, and so was he, and that was a comfort all on its own.