I have walked a thousand lifetimes, and yet, I have not walked them all. I have seen love bloom and fade, empires rise and fall, species flourish and vanish. I have learned every language, mastered every art, witnessed every corner of the Earth—and still, I endure.

Immortality is not what I imagined as a child. It is not freedom without cost. It is a paradox: the ultimate gift, and the ultimate burden. Time becomes a friend and a tormentor. Skills, knowledge, and experience accumulate endlessly—but human connection remains fleeting. To love is to lose, and to remember is to ache.

Yet in this vast solitude, I have discovered something few mortals ever see. Life is not defined by its length, but by its depth. Every fleeting human moment I once envied—the laughter, the heartbreak, the fleeting touch of hands—remains precious in memory. And though the world changes, though civilizations vanish, though stars are born and die—I carry the story of it all.

I am eternal. I am alone. I am witness. I am creator. I am memory.

And as the centuries stretch on before me, I do not despair. For to endure is to understand, to witness is to know, and to remember is to exist.

I am immortal. And in that endless existence, I am fully alive.

The first years were deceptively simple. I still


laughed with friends, scraped knees on the


playground, begged for candy, and fell asleep to


bedtime stories. Yet beneath it all, I was different.


I never got sick. I never aged. Every skill I tried to


learn stuck instantly. Reading, writing, drawing,


coding—I absorbed it all like a sponge.


I watched my friends grow, change, and move on.


Some left town, some grew taller, stronger, older—


while I stayed the same. At first, it was funny. I


joked with them about being "forever ten." But


sometimes, when they left and didn't come back, I


felt a strange pang of emptiness. Something was


already starting to separate me from the world.


Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 – Childhood, Rewritten