“He also saved me.” She frowns, not understanding my words. “You only see this version of me. But there were many more… unsavoury ones.” I study the table, the soft swirls encased in marble.
“Tell me.” Her voice is so gentle it almost caresses me. “Please, I want to know everything.”
Her gaze never wavers from mine and, hidden in their intensity, I hear the words she didn’t quite say.
I want to know you.
And I want her to.
“I was born in the year 1502, France, in what would now be classified as a Human District.” I let her digest the information, the date specifically.
Her brows raise as her eyes widen. “Fivehundred and twenty three years old.”
“Your mathematical skills are excellent.”
A laugh bursts from her, and my lips tug into a smile. “I always knew you were old, but….” She laughs again, then shrugs. “I did think your eyes looked ancient when we first met.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ancient?”
There’s a glint of mischief in her gaze. “Oh yeah. The first time we met, I remember thinking you had this reallyold, ancient vibe.”
Slowly, the gleam fades away, smile disappearing as her tone becomes something more serious. “Like you’d seen a lot. Maybe more than anyone ever should.” She swallows, voice quieter. “I want to know more. Please.”
“During that time, there was only knowledge of the Earth Realm. Humans knew nothing of the others and there were only whisperings of other beings. Childhood was brief. Violence was rife. You either learned to wield it or succumbed to it. And my father wanted to ensure his only surviving children—my brother and I—would never be the latter. He was a cruel man, sharp-edged and unyielding, but he forged us into survivors.”
I pause, my gaze drifting and losing focus as the memories claw their way back.
The sound of cracked ribs. The smell of iron and sweat. The roar of a man who didn’t know how to love—only conquer.
Her eyes shimmer with quiet horror. “And your mother? Was she as… cruel?”
“No.” The word cracks from my throat. I swallow. “No, she was gentle. Far too kind and gentle for him—for the world.”
It’s impossible to remember her face now, only a fleeting scent of lavender and the shimmer of silvery auburn hair. A ghost I can never truly grasp.
“My brother and I were opposites in many ways, but we both loved our mother. And she… she loved our father. When a sickness spread, she nursed him, never leaving his side. She loved him, and us, but love didn’t heal. Medicine did.”
There’s bitterness now, five hundred years old and still raw.
“We needed money, quickly. So we combined our strengths. My brother was always the better fighter, whilst I am far more strategic. Together, we turned to fighting in illegal pits for survival.”
Jasmine’s gaze softens, her brows pinching with concern.
“I organised the bets, scheduled his fights, ensured he always had the best outcome. His fists and my strategies enabled us to buy medicine—for a time, but it was never enough. My father died.”
The faint echoes of my mother’s sobs still linger in my mind. How she crumpled beside his bed.
“In many ways, it was a relief. Life became easier.”
I nod towards her plate, noting the empty fork resting between her fingers. When she realises I’ve stopped, she dutifully complies, taking another bite.
Her eyes flick up at me, urging me to continue. But this is when the descent began.
“And then, my mother fell ill.”
Jasmine immediately stills, and I wait. Eventually, she takes another bite, mechanical, her gaze never leaving mine, understanding now that this is the only way I’ll continue.
“For her, we fought harder—more often. When she became bedbound, we’d gained enough money that we could hire a carer. But it wasn’t enough. We needed more. We started searching the streets for young men. We housed them, fed them, trained them, and they fought for us. Our business rapidly expanded, and in a way, we became a family. We called each other brothers—our brethren.”
