Thorne
The problem with being immortal is not the blood.
It is not the hunger.
It is not even the loneliness.
It is the watching.
I have watched empires ignite from arrogance and collapse into ash before the ink on their flags had dried. I have stood atop cathedral towers while cities burned beneath me, their screams swallowed by smoke and inevitability. I have watched revolutions begin in whispers over cheap wine and end in trenches filled with boys who believed they were rewriting history.
I have watched lovers swear eternity beneath stars that would outlive their bones by millennia.
And I have mastered the art of remaining still while the world breaks.
But tonight, in the fractured carcass of Orizon Transit Station, I witnessed something I swore I would never allow myself to see
