Ch 3 - The Past

The old office smelled of dust and old leather, hints of rare inks and rarer cleaning products lingered. The older professor had opened a window, trying to get some fresh air into the place. There was no path for ventilation and no breeze to force it. Simon thought that might have been for the best, the city air was sometimes worse.

"Well, you've certainly a wealth of experience, Mr. Simon White. And I do believe I've come to a decision regarding your appointment as full time lecturer." The professor meandered through his words like someone with more time than responsibilities. "Yet, I must ask.. about your... injury? If I may?"

"Of course, Professor, ask away, I do not mind." Simon replied.

"Well, if I recall, you mentioned earlier that it was a war injury? Yet, you seem a bit young to have fought in the last war."

Simon smirked at the question, his middle age face was a split of old and young, his older right half bearing nearly white hair, and scarring that could be taken for are spots and age-wrinkles. "Indeed, it did not occur in the last cross wilderness war. I did gain it serving the crown, however. Which is why I refer to it as such, a bit cheekily of course." His younger side bore black hair that was just starting to gray above the ear. Bright blue eyes and a clean shaven face that was a few years too young to have expected any gray.

"Ah, well, I can't begrudge you such a claim, not being a military man myself. Never was fit enough for basic training." The professor spoke with an air of regret, yet bounced away from it as quickly as the next words started. "Truthfully, you wouldn't be the first with clear potential medical issues. The faculty's main concern would be if it impares or affects your ability to lecture regularly. Not a deal breaker, necessarily. We would just like to know if we need a replacement on hand regularly."

Simon picked up the lack of a direct question as a bit of political maneuvering. The professor clearly considered it a faux pas to ask directly, and Simon really didn't mind answering. "Not at all, I suspect. If my surgeon is to be believed, I should recover quickly, even the artificial aging should fade. Well, except the white hair, I'm stuck with that until I can find a good bottle of ink."

"Hah!" The professor exclaimed, then broke into a hearty chuckle. "Excellent news, then! And you say surgeon? Tried one of those new procedures, did you? I've heard they are quite painful for us mages."

"Yes, quite a successful surgery if I might claim. Surprisingly painless, especially compared to the old methods. In fact I was a bit of a guinea pig for a whole new procedure that we developed."

"We? You had a hand in your own surgery?"

"Well, mages always do, to some degree. The old way was through reinforcing the flesh to reduce trauma damage and stem blood flow, as you might know."

"Yes, I've... well I've been briefed on it, but never had the will to suffer through it." The prof admitted.

Simon nodded in understanding, "An awfully common story. Worse when a patient backs out part way through. For this," he tapped his right shoulder, "it was quite the foreign infection, requiring significant removal of the offending tissue. A thoroughly torturous experience using traditional mage surgery."

"So you found some alternative?"

"Yes, through a bit of trial and error, my doctor and I were able to tweak the reinforcement, and find a local numbing agent that didn't directly fight the mana reinforcement."

The professor leaned forwards, "Well, what was it? What changed?"

"Ahh, it was quite simple, in fact. Forcing ice mana into the area worked better on most counts, and synergized perfectly with the numbing agent, even lengthening its effects. Ah, well, I can't share what the numbing agent is specifically. The surgeon demanded secrecy from me so she could capitalize on her new specialty."

"A monopoly on life saving surgery? How distasteful." The older man frowned, only just visible from under his white mustache.

"I argued the same, yet that is not quite the case. The specific surgery methods are not being withheld, they are not even new, Simply the patient's pain management is different. No healing is being withheld, simply comfort, which my surgeon can provide, with a small added cost for the additional numbing agent involved." Simon stated all of this flatly. Clearly he himself wasn't convinced of the argument.

The professor shook his head. "Well, perhaps I shouldn't begrudge her her due. Many researchers are never properly compensated for their discoveries."

A brief silence passed between the two men as they acknowledged this fact.

"So, if my wife hears about this she will be twisting my arm to get me under your friend's knife. How soon could you set me up for a consultation?"

"Ahhh, is this a condition of my employment?"

"What? Oh, no! Not at all. As I said, I had already made my decision." The professor waved a hand dismissively at Simon. "Hired with the requested salary, can you do office hours?"

"Ah, well yes, office hours are no problem."

"Good! I wish more of our staff felt that way. A ten percent bonus so long as you maintain acceptable office hours, or otherwise make yourself accessible to your students."

"Ah, well, thank you, Sir."

He waved the younger man off again. "No need for thanks. Your qualifications speak for themselves. Why just your recommendations could get you a position nearly anywhere, possibly even usurping my own role, please don't do that, not right away at least." He broke into a chuckle again.

Simon forced himself to go along with the humor.

"But really, I must ask, Mr White, why here of all places, really why did you choose to apply to this department, this lecturer position?" The old prof gave Simon a steely gaze from across his cluttered desk.

"Oh... well, to be honest, I was quite interested in your research, Sir."

"Truly? I hadn't thought the new stuff that interesting, especially not to the younger generation." Then, quieter he complained, "Can barely get an undergrad to stay on for a whole semester."

"No! I mean the old research, of the old wilds. Piecing together the old tales of forest witches, dryads and even Fae. It is fascinating, so much myth and fantasy just outside our borders. You are still working on it, yes?" Simon's excitement was clear, his final question hopeful.

The old professor went still at the proclamation. With a sigh he deflated back into his chair. "Haaaa. What a shame, really. I would have loved that kind of enthusiasm a decade ago." He shook his head while looking down at his desk. "I've come to realize that path is a fool's errand. Even if any of it were true, it would likely be more dangerous than helpful."

"But... it's just research, surely-"

The prof held up a palm, "No... do you know Why I was doing that research? or why are you truly interested in it?"

"I... no, I'm not sure. I thought it was mostly just old history and children's tales."

"Not history. Myth, myth about immortality and the path to obtaining it."

Simon's eyes grew wide. "What? How so? Why would you stop researching immortality?"

"Because it's all false, obviously. Plenty of folk tales, stories of people searching, yet not even a single recorded instance of success. And deals with the Fae prove more deadly than not, best case your wish gets you turned into a statue or a stiff breeze." The old prof shook his head morosely. "No, if there is anything of the Fae to be found, it is best left hidden."

Simon swallowed his complaints, appearing disappointed.

"My apologies, Simon. Does this change your attitude towards employment here?"

Taking a second to regain his composure, he stated plainly, "Not at all. This was not some elaborate ruse to access your research. I am truly seeking a career as a lecturer."

"Well then, welcome to the team."

~27 years later~

Simon found the funeral to be quite tastefully done. The speeches kept his attention. The gathered crowd of family and friends showed just the right amount of grief.

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He had helped with the preparations where appropriate. Electing to avoid giving a speech himself. The professor's retirement had rekindled many long friendships, his own a brief footnote to the well respected man's life. As the reception wound down, he made one last pass towards the widow to bid farewell.

"Simon!" She exclaimed, with slightly too much enthusiasm for the environment. He suspected she had had a drink or two. "My favorite miracle worker! So glad I caught you near the end of the night."

"Haha." Simon forced a chuckle at the old joke and continued his part, "Time and again I've said, I wasn't the surgeon, and-"

"-he could have lived at least as long if he had stopped smoking and drinking." They said together, ending in a nostalgic chuckle from them both.

The old widow recovered first, "Now, before you say any goodnights, I first have something for you, directly from the old codger himself." She dug into the side table drawer. Within reach from her home's comfortable living room furniture which she had spent most of the evening in. She handed Simon a letter, "To be hand delivered, sealed and unopened. And do read it right away, I suspect you'll have questions for me afterward." She winked conspiratorially at him, in that way that only cheeky grandmother's could.

Seeing the old man's handwriting on the envelope caught him off guard, "Thank you." He managed before wandering off to investigate the letter. While it was addressed to his residence, lacking postage since it was hand delivered. On first glance he missed the envelope was addressed to Sir Black.

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Dear Simon White,

Thank you, old friend. I don't believe I ever said that enough. Your presence in my life granted my wife and I far more time together than I thought possible.

Given your initial enthusiasm for my past research, I had never really considered bequeathing it to anyone else. Truly I might have shared it much sooner, yet there are some secrets that are hard to part with.

Dear Alabaster Lions, Royal Mage Knight: The Black.

Yes, your secret was found out. Really your miraculous recovery gave you away right out the gate. Initially it was just a hunch, of course. Yet it just fits far too well to be unthinkable.

My wife and I never felt it appropriate to call you out on your secret. Who am I to complain about how someone uses their retirement, ha ha ha!

Yet it was that lack of trust, that failure to build a bridge to us, that prevented me from sharing my old research sooner. Were you actually trying to secretly get into my good graces? What possible motives could you have for such an elaborate ruse? You could have arrived at my doorstep in all your knightly splendor and simply asked for the damnable research, and I would have gladly handed it over.

Worst of all I feel we could have had an even closer friendship if you had just opened up a bit more. Alas what time we have lost to things that shall never pass.

So now you have it, if you ever really wanted it. My wife will give it over when you ask for it. If you were only really interested in the history, as you once said. Or have no interest anymore. Burn it when you are finished. I fear what danger someone might walk into with what little knowledge is there. Or archive it away in the palace library, if that was your true goal. Whatever the case, it is yours to do with as you choose. The fears of this old man have died with him, no need to carry that burden forwards.

Lastly, please indulge a final request. Watch over my wife. Truly I believe she is more capable than I and could even outlive you. Yet, what a fool I would be to forgo the opportunity to ask a Royal Mage Knight to be her savior, ha ha ha!

Thank you again, very old friend who is very old.

Prof. KN~~ (AN: illegible signature)

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"So?" Foss asked.

"Hmm?"

"Did you stay with her?"

"Ah? The widow?" Alabaster questioned. "I kept an eye on her. The prof was correct, she was fine. Lasted a whole 6 years before drinking her way to his side."

"What? She didn't!? Why didn't you stop her?"

Alabaster shrugged, a confused, morose expression on his face. "She kept saying she needed to catch up to him. Seemed she really wanted it, especially after her next closest friend died."

Foss shook her head, "Idiot."

"That's how she wanted to go, clearly."

"Not her, you. She was lonely, why didn't you do something?"

"What was there to do? Arrange a playdate with the senior next door?"

"Ugh! No wonder you are out here looking for guidance, you are so... detached." Foss criticized, venom clear in her words.

The Mage Knight stood, considering her words. "Hmmm." He absentmindedly scratched at the leather straps across his shoulders.

Foss shook her head, trying to dismiss his ignorance. "How did you get that thing in you anyway?"

"Hmm, oh, fairly simply. Fluke really. Oh! First I need a clarification. I am dissatisfied with your previous answer of why immortality is a myth? Just being in the past isn't enough."

"Fine. Your own story has already set a prime example." Miss Willow lectured coldly. "Immortality is generally considered to be Living Forever. The obvious contradiction in Forever is just semantics so we will ignore that. The Living part is what I take issue with, and is time and again demonstrated by those who achieve some form of immortality."

She paced towards the next group of trees that still appeared alive in the blighted forest. "What is Living, really? How do you lead a fulfilling life when it is suddenly endless? Humanity especially, they start young and rash, learn, grow and change, get old and pass on. A full cycle of Living, we could say." She paused to see if Alabaster would respond.

"Hrm, so... I've not done the last part? thus I haven't Lived, yet?"

Shaking her head, "Not quite. The actual dying is just a clean endpoint. There are many ways to end a life without death. You yourself have lived, but you have lived several times. Your life as Simon was one of those, yes? Or was it truly just an elaborate plan to get your prof's research notes?"

Alabaster grimaced. "Initially it wasn't so elaborate. It was convenient even, I needed to retire from my courtly duties. Then having done the research and setup to apply for the lecturer position, I found myself earnestly looking forward to the career. Such normal mundanity compared to my past lives."

"Aha! And there you've said it. Lives, plural. Immortal humans, and many others, don't simply live one life forever. They live many lives, back to back. Letting their individual lives shadow their new friends and associates, and letting those lives pass on as expected. They don't truly Live Forever. Thus it is a Myth."

Alabaster took a minute to process the information. "So, your guidance is to live one single, very long life? Meaning the correct way is to let everyone know I found immortality and will outlive them all?"

"There is no correct way to live. Never has been, never will be, that is one of the many beautiful parts of life. My advice is to go find out what living means to you. Do not seek other's guidance. They are not you, their perspectives are not yours. I won't tell you what to do, it won't teach you enough."

Alabaster frowned a question, gesturing to his hand on the tree and back to Foss.

"This isn't what you expect. It is not the start of a student teacher bond. It is not the first step into your grand adventure with the hidden immortal world. I am simply humoring a child."

He grimaced at that last line.

"While you were a royal knight, especially the later years. Imagine a lower noble or someone approached you requesting you apprentice their child. And then they present a 3 year old. Do you accept."

Alabaster opened his mouth like he was considering it, then closed it and shook his head completing the rhetorical question.

"You even said earlier that you could not deal with younger therapists, or... counselors, was it? Perhaps after a day or two of instruction and considerably more independent practice, you will not embarrass yourself in front of my sisters."

He raised an eyebrow, "Sisters?"

"Yes, the other dryads. We're not actual sisters, just a cultural term. You should seek them out, especially the younger ones. You will find much more common ground than I will. But until then, consider your relationship with humanity. What do you see yourself doing for them in a hundred years? In a thousand? How many more short lives do you wish to lead?"

He remained silent for several minutes, considering her wisdom.

"Is immortality real for your people?"

"Dryad lifecycles are complex, but at their simplest, and since I've already said we do not explain this to outsiders. Our bodies start young, grow, age, scar, and die. Then we get new bodies. This may seem similar to your own multiple false lives situation. However, the main difference is in our culture. We do not pretend to be new dryads, we stay the same person, everyone knows us as the same.

"Culture is what sets immortality in the past." She continued, "There used to be many more immortal humans and other sentients. It was not common, yet neither was it rare. It only takes a small number of immortal beings to form an everlasting community around themselves. A place where they can be themselves, where they are accepted."

Alabaster had become wide eyed during her speech, something resonating with him. Yet he maintained silence while digesting her words.

"So, care to share the creation of that antipode now?"

"Ah," he blinked and shook himself out of his reverie. "Bit of a short story, that one. It was during the war. On reused battlefields, where weapons are discarded and reclaimed fairly continuously. Cheaper than making new ones. I think it was an arrowhead, possibly even an old flint thing. Probably took dozens of lives before it got to me. Even went through one last poor bastard before stopping just short of my heart."

Foss nodded. "Right, that tracks. I would guess hundreds. Not a lot of death mana right at the moment of death, surprisingly."

Alabaster nodded, "Our early research said it should have been impossible."

An odd sharp noise came from Foss, "Research? You didn't...?"

"No, nothing like that. Just paperwork. Even the best reports of death mages said they wield very little of it, since it is quite hard to come by. We could never decide if that was ironic or not."

Foss made another noise, almost like a clicking tongue. "Well, that's enough for today then." She looked back at the mostly dead forest behind her. "If you need something to do, clear all this out, would you?"

"Ah, what?"

"I've little need for an apprentice, but a reaper or lumberjack could be useful." She handed him back his silk handkerchief then walked off, escaping the stunned mage knight almost immediately.

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