I didn’t expect anything to happen when I prayed to Roger Bacon for immortality. No, as I kneeled on the cold hardwood floor of my one room apartment, surrounded by esoteric statues and symbols drawn from my own blood, I expected another night of failure.

Surely, if the world was so kind for me to actually succeed, my parents wouldn’t have died trying to form a philosopher’s stone out of gunpowder.

At this point, I had resolved myself to pursuing scraps of longevity through modern biology research, content to leave my family’s traditional practices as spiritual meditation sessions. So, when a bright pink portal expanded above my blood pentagram, I was justifiably shocked.

I scrambled back on the palms of my hands, knocking over a vial containing a mix of gunpowder and my parents’ ashes. After only a brief moment of instant regret, a scented candle ignited the mixture with a bright flash of light and a crackling pop. The burning force against my back launched me forwards, straight into the pink portal. Pain dominated my thoughts, the nerve endings in my back sabotaging all clear thought.

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A woman in a light pink dress, white wings, and a golden halo fussed over my fallen form, tutting in distress. “No, this won’t do! I can’t summon another hero if this dies!” She grabbed my head and forced me to look at her, and her divine beauty demanded my focus even if just for a moment.

“You have to pick a health skill! [Regenerate], [Heal], or even [White Mage]! Just don’t die on me, that would suck!” she emphasized.

My enraptured being wondered for a brief moment why she couldn’t just heal me herself, since she was clearly a goddess. She grew more worried as I didn’t immediately answer, and for good reason as the pain in my back made itself known once again.

I suddenly realized I couldn’t feel my legs.

“Pick a skill! Now! I’ll give you any healing skill!” she promised in desperation.

Well, there was really only one choice for a scion of Flamel.

“[Immortality],” I spoke, and fate smiled upon me.