f**k, I can’t believe I have to physically write something in a book. Like, with a pen. Who even uses pens or pencils anymore? s**t, I f*****g hate my job. Whatever, this is Lorekeeper Five. The year is 11,760 I think? No, sorry, it’s 11,763… Sorry, I’ve been kind of outta it lately. I f*****g hate being old. I never really thought about death until recently. Even when I was on the battlefield with the past five generations of my family, watching my friends and siblings being eaten by demons or magical beasts… I never worried about it. I’m too much of a badass after all. I always have been. They used to call me Ares the Immortal, because I’ve never even gotten seriously injured all that time. But now, now I can’t even get outta bed without feeling like I’m gonna croak. Oh yeah, sorry,

