A Game of lifetimes
Nick leaned against the rusted railing of the park’s bridge, watching sunlight ripple across the stream below. He had been wandering aimlessly, as he often did when the weight of eternity became too much. The world felt quieter in places like this—calm, fleeting, free from the relentless grind of time.
Then he heard it: the soft scuff of sneakers on gravel, followed by the rhythmic swish of a stick dragging through dirt.
Nick glanced up to see a boy, no older than ten, meandering toward him. Gangly and unkempt, with brown hair sticking out at odd angles and a stick clutched like a knight’s sword, the boy exuded a playful confidence. It stood in stark contrast to the stillness of the park.
“Excuse me,” the boy said, his voice steady yet curious. “Do you know what happens when the sun dies?”
Nick blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“The sun,” the boy repeated, twirling his stick as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I read it’ll swallow the Earth when it dies. Do you think that’s true?”
Nick hesitated, thrown by the boy’s strangely mature question. “Well… not for a few billion years. I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
The boy grinned—a lopsided, mischievous smile. “Time’s funny, isn’t it? Even a billion years can feel like nothing if you wait long enough.”
Nick’s chest tightened. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the boy, something too knowing in his tone.
“What’s your name?” Nick asked, curiosity outweighing the strangeness of the moment.
“Chris,” the boy replied simply. Then, jabbing his stick at an imaginary foe, he darted off into the trees.
Nick watched him go, his thoughts churning. He had met plenty of strange people in his endless life, but this boy? He felt… different. Unsettlingly so.
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Years passed—decades, really. The memory of the boy faded into the background, buried beneath the countless faces and places that made up Nick’s immortal existence.
It wasn’t until a university open house that the memory came rushing back.
Nick had been wandering the campus grounds, debating whether to take on a teaching position. He liked universities. They were hubs of energy and curiosity, comforting constants in an ever-changing world. As he strolled past the bustling tables and displays, his gaze snagged on a young man at the astronomy booth.
Messy brown hair. Crooked grin. That same effortless air of confidence.
Nick’s steps faltered. It couldn’t be.
The young man glanced up and locked eyes with Nick. For a split second, something flickered—recognition, perhaps. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by an easy smile.
Nick approached cautiously, his heart pounding—a sensation that startled him. Immortals didn’t get nervous, but something about this felt… different.
“Thinking of studying the stars?” Nick asked, keeping his tone neutral.
The young man tilted his head, appraising him. “Something like that. Gotta figure out what happens when the sun dies, right?”
Nick froze. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had heard them before.
“You know,” the young man added, leaning in slightly, “you look great for someone your age.”
Nick blinked, visibly thrown. “You said we’ve met before?”
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The young man’s grin widened. “Yeah. Years ago. A park, if I’m not mistaken.”
Nick’s lips twitched into a smile, but his jaw tightened. “That’s… right. You were just a kid.”
“And you don’t look like you’ve aged a day,” the young man replied smoothly, his words hanging in the air.
Nick chuckled, though the sound felt hollow. “Huh. Guess I made an impression.”
“You could say that.” The young man turned back to the pamphlet, his grin never fading.
Nick watched him walk away, his thoughts spiraling. The odds of meeting someone twice in a lifetime were slim. For someone like him—an immortal—they were practically impossible. And yet, there was Chris, throwing words like daggers, each one cutting closer to a truth Nick had buried for centuries.
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Months later, Nick accepted the teaching position. Life settled into its usual rhythm of lectures, grading, and blending in.
Until the first day of his philosophy class.
Nick stood at the podium, scanning the roster as students trickled in. “All right, everyone. Welcome to Introduction to Ethics. Let’s start by going around the room—name, major, and why you’re here.”
One by one, the students introduced themselves. Nick nodded politely, barely registering their answers until—
“Chris Landon,” the voice called, casual and confident.
Nick’s head shot up. There he was—sitting in the back, his chair tilted on two legs, wearing a smirk that screamed trouble.
“Philosophy major,” Chris continued. “I’m here because, well… I figured I’d give immortality a shot.”
Nick froze, but only for a fraction of a second. He recovered quickly, forcing a polite chuckle. “An ambitious goal, Mr. Landon.”
Chris grinned. “Life’s short, Professor. Might as well make it count.”
Nick turned back to the roster, but his thoughts snagged on the young man in the back row. Chris. He hadn’t changed—not in the way humans should. There was something in his eyes, something sharp and knowing that felt almost… ancient.
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It was weeks into the semester when Chris finally made his move.
“Professor Carter,” he said one day, his voice cutting through the hum of the lecture hall. “Do you think immortality would make someone wiser, or just lonelier?”
The chalk in Nick’s hand hovered midair. The class fell silent.
Nick turned slowly, his expression calm but his mind racing. “That’s an excellent philosophical question, Mr. Landon.”
Placing the chalk down deliberately, Nick leaned against the desk, clasping his hands. “Philosophers have debated the effects of immortality for centuries. Some argue it would allow for unparalleled wisdom—imagine the knowledge you could gain over countless years. You could master any craft, solve any mystery, witness the rise and fall of civilizations.”
He paused, letting the thought settle before continuing. “But others contend immortality could lead to profound loneliness. A life without an end might lose its meaning. Relationships, bound by time, would fade. What’s the point of wisdom if you have no one to share it with?”
The class scribbled notes, their pens scratching against the silence. Then Chris spoke, his tone casual.
“Well, yeah, but that’s all hypothetical. I mean…” He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Are you lonelier or wiser, Professor?”
Nick’s composure slipped for the briefest moment. His jaw tightened, his breath catching, but he recovered quickly.
“Hypothetically, Mr. Landon,” Nick said, his tone smooth, “would you be lonelier or wiser?”
Chris tilted his head, pretending to ponder the question. “Oh, a bit of both, I’d say,” he replied. “Wisdom’s great and all—learning languages, reading ancient texts, figuring out how to fix your own plumbing. But after a few lifetimes, it gets dull watching people make the same mistakes. Wars, bad haircuts, pineapple on pizza—it’s all very predictable.”
A ripple of laughter ran through the class.
Chris shrugged, his grin turning softer, more deliberate. “Loneliness, though? That depends on the company you keep. Stick with the right people, and eternity’s not so bad. You just have to find someone who can keep up.”
Their eyes locked. For a moment, it felt like a challenge. Then Nick turned back to the board, picking up the chalk.
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Chris Landon opened his eyes for the first time—again. He gasped as air filled his new lungs, the chaos of rebirth crashing over him. He was used to it by now. This was just another turn on the wheel.
For centuries, Chris had lived, died, and come back, his memories intact. Through all his lives, one constant had remained: Nick.
Nick, the immortal. Unchanging. Eternal. A steady presence in a world that crumbled and rebuilt itself with every century. Chris had met him in taverns, temples, battlefields, and universities. And yet, Nick never remembered. Not once. Well how could he, This is a secret Chris never shared.
So, somewhere around his 87th life, Chris decided to stop playing fair.
Messing with Nick was too much fun to resist. After all, eternity was only interesting if you made it so.
And Nick? Nick needed someone who could keep up.