He paused, the same unyielding uncertainty carrying through his steps as they began walking to the border.
In truth, he was unsure if he would even be allowed in, and so he made Selvar aware of that concern and offered to go somewhere else first.
He had offered to return to the home Selvar had spoken of and seek rest there first, though Oren knew the chances of strangers helping the Immortal Demon were low.
But Selvar's only reply was that there was no point. "Returning to that place is a waste of time."
So instead of pondering it, they began restating the terms of their deal.
In the end, Selvar's role sounded more like a slave than a hostage, and to play the role convincingly, he consented to having his hands tied behind his back.
That would be his life for now, but if they somehow found a place to stay, he could act freely behind closed doors.
Being a slave, being captured... that, to Oren, was his one and only fear as an immortal.
He must have forgotten the others by now, but it seemed he would soon find what he wanted, and that fear would cease.
Selvar, on the other hand, seemed to mind. Even if he did, the situation would remain the same.
After a while, he reminded Oren that he was not permitted to use humans in creating the Erols, no matter the circumstances.
Other than that, there was nothing else to talk about.
And even if there were topic to discuss, Oren was unsure that he'd speak unless he was answering a question.
He did not mind it, though.
The silence was familiar and calming.
Still, across their short journey, Selvar had repeatedly given him strange looks, not because of who he was, but because of the arrow in his neck, making the Enlightened archer eventually ask.
"Don't you think leaving an arrow in your neck just because you can is quite excessive?"
"It is nothing." His gaze rose from the verdant field to the border growing taller with each step. After a while, he seemed surprised at what Selvar had said. 'Guilt-ridden...?'
...
Just as he suspected, by the time they finally reached the gate, the two men guarding the border immediately regarded them with wary looks.
For who would not be scared of a man with a wound in his neck who still stood proudly, with what, to them, looked like a slave following behind him?
They suddenly raised their weapons, one wielding a spear, the other a sword and shield.
"You are not welcome," they announced in cold tones, unaware of who they faced.
"We are not fooled by such stunts, facades. We know that wound is fake."
Oren stepped closer, Selvar following, his gaze focused on the stone path.
"There are children beyond these walls. Your visage is unsightly. The nightmares you will bring will do more harm than good."
"You will not disturb the performance or disrupt the peace of those who reside here."
As they said the words, they glanced toward the wound, focusing on the bulge in his neck.
Oren paused for a moment.
'Performance?'
He throwned.
"You humans are all the same. You should not judge me by my appearance. I bear no ill will towards you or your home."
Oren observed them for an instant, dismissing the thoughts rushing through his mind.
His gaze shifted briefly toward Selvar.
"Besides, I have brought an Enlightened with me."
The guards' expressions instantly changed.
"An Enlightened...?"
Their eyes fell upon Selvar, who remained several steps behind Oren, his hands bound behind his back.
"You dare drag an Enlightened here as a slave?"
One guard spat toward Selvar.
"You let this happen," one whispered, stepping back slowly. His eyes landed on Oren's neck again.
"That wound... it's... real."
His companion followed his gaze.
For a moment, neither spoke.
"This can't be..." the second guard muttered.
"No! Wait...! Wait! Wait. Wait...." The other's chest heaved.
"You're the Immortal Demon."
"So you already know?" Oren smiled faintly.
As he took a step closer, they stepped back, suddenly aiming their attention towards Selvar, watching the bow on his back, assuming that he had backstabbed his master and tried getting away.
To the guards, that was the only plausible reason, and by shaming his treacherous slave, they thought they would get on his good side.
And so they began cursing at Selvar.
For some reason, he did not respond.
He kept his head down, walking without provocation.
From what Oren knew, it seemed that although he respected himself, what he wanted was above that of arguing with spineless fools.
"Open the gate."
Oren slowly reached for his empty pocket, and only froze when he heard the gate rustle as it opened.
He heard them hurriedly shout, "You may pass!"
...
Oren and Selvar passed the border and entered the greater outer settlements of Everdream.
The border itself was gargantuan, yet its size did not compare even to the smallest cliff faces of the Unison Mountains.
Forged from stone, brick, and wood, it looked delicate yet protective, allowing the people within to feel at ease.
Oren smiled darkly, his voice breaking the awkward silence between them.
"You see how fast they changed? That is the speed at which mortals can change. But do not fall for it. Just because they let us in, does not mean we belong here, and it does not mean they will want us here."
Selvar snarled, surprising Oren slightly.
"This is their home. Even if their job is not to protect it, they will not regard people like you and me kindly."
As he said that, Oren heard a cry, then a shout from strangers.
It started with a few wary glares from windows and doors, then people discreetly followed them.
"Who are they?" a woman asked from across the street.
"How is he alive...? What, he even has a slave!" An older man screamed from afar.
Amongst the few, there was also a group of concerned and curious people who felt entitled to know who it was entering their district.
And so, the shouts slowly turned into a small crowd of curious bystanders.
Oren's face was at first an empty smile, then sincere, and finally a dark grimace as he realised the attention they drew was truly boundless.
And because of this, there would be many problems in the future.
It seemed no matter where he went, humans would always put the pieces between him and his past together.
They passed their hatred onto the next generation, for unlike the older men and women, the children behind the grey wall were oblivious to such morals and understanding.
Their opinions were mostly ethical and emotional, but built from the twisted and possibly sincere views of the adults around them.
The crowd continued to grow, larger and larger, then slowly began to dissipate, again and again, in a cycle that lasted till noon.
It was a performance to get the news that he had arrived out into the public.
Still, he did not know if the villagers knew who he truly was, a myth he was called, but if the guards could connect that he was immortal to his visage and demeanour, then anyone could.
They eventually found themselves before an old manor, closest to the edge of Everdream, where the mountains began to jut upwards, forming its peak.
The interaction with the keeper, a woman of around forty years, had confused him, even when he told himself to maintain a calm and endearing facade.
She seemed to not believe him.
His goal was to sway the people, and yet he did not need to lie to her.
She was already lying to herself.
But for some reason, maybe because he looked unhealthy, she took a liking to Selvar, though Oren suspected it was because of his looks.
When he thought on it, it was a plausible reason for why they had been given free housing for a day and why she was open to giving Selvar his own room.
Originally, the manor had once been maintained for tourists, for the lake outside and the beautiful view from the guests' room balconies.
But the visitors had gradually stopped booking in over the past few years.
Oren assumed that was the reason the keeper seemed lonely and why she assumed the ever-present fog was to blame, as did the locals.
Around that time of the day was also when the locals came to the manor.
Despite not living there, they apparently kept the keeper company often.
But of course, he did not find any of this out himself.
Selvar did, playing his part perfectly and coaxing information out of them, whilst Oren himself remained upstairs, organising his next step.
Yet the nobleman would never have done this for himself.
This was Oren's first real command, and in doing so, he discovered that the lake beside the manor was what gave this part of Unison its name.
The Lake District.
There were also animals occupying it.
They had sneakily said that to Selvar, assuming by his pale undertones and tired grey eyes that he wasn't fed, and that if he ever got hungry, he could sneak away at night and catch the fish.
If that wasn't enough, they would apparently feed him themselves.
This made Oren scoff. 'Of course I feed him.'
But even then, they hadn't eaten together before.
In a way, their sincerity and concern made Oren understand why the village had many names such as Everdream.
"This is quite the dream, don't you think?" Oren chuckled, sparing a glance towards Selvar.
"Actually, I must say this place is quite pleasant for an outer district. It's one of the nicest I've seen I my life."
Selvar paused for a moment, "In all your life?"
He considered it for a while then added calmly, "Where are you off to? We've already made your immortality known to most of the Lake District. So Is it really necessary to go back outside?"
"I am going to take the arrow out, though we have done what's needed, I would rather do this now than in the morning."
Selvar raised an eyebrow, then nodded as Oren left his room and eventually made his way downstairs.
As he reached the door, a wavering voice called out to him from the hallway.
"Can't sleep...? Are the beds not comfy enough? Are the rooms not to your liking? Are they not good enough?"
The keeper's words slurred as Oren froze.
'Why is she awake?'
A faint stench of liquor reached him.
"No, this place is fine. To be honest, I was surprised. This village..."
She suddenly raised her voice.
"Dont lie to me. Are you really the, the demon immortal? The guards... they were passing by earlier."
"You might be a slave owner, but you can't be real, can you...?"
She closed her eyes, pointing a trembling finger towards his neck.
"Myths are supposed to be fake. Just like that thing in your neck. It's just a toy, isn't it?"
'Toy?'
Oren laughed lightly, but then he noticed something.
She was drunk.
She had been drinking all along, all by herself, but for some reason, it felt forced, unreal almost.
Letting out a deep breath, he went to leave, but as he did, he heard.
"Please listen, just don't drive away the few who visit this manor and you can stay."
"You needn't worry," he said, pulling the door open, "I mean no harm. My presence here is an omen of prosperity..."
Without elaborating, Oren walked out the door.
The large door slammed shut behind him.
...
Oren made his way through the quiet streets, the lights of the village slowly fading behind him as he followed the path toward the lake. Since it was beside the manor, it did not take much time to get there.
The pure lake mirrored the rugged mountain and calm grey sky. Beneath the water lay a bed of dark silt, mud and scattered stones.
But there was also something else.
The sound of the water grew louder with every step.
'Is that a fish?'
He focused on the lake for a moment, then stepped towards the water's edge.
But before he could pull the arrow out of his neck, a shadowy figure crouching in the distance caught his attention.
He turned in their direction and began walking towards them.
...It was a man, sitting at the water's edge.
He was crying.
It sounded as though he was drowning in an unbearable sadness, alone in the darkness of night.
All Oren could do was watch from a distance as the man slowly sank his legs into the lake.
Something about the sight unsettled him, and his heartbeat sped up ever so slightly, a sombre expression settling on Oren's face.
The man gradually leaned forward, as though preparing to fall in.
Then he froze.
Again and again, monotonously, he repeated the same motion.
He looked lost... almost bewitched.
'Should I stop him?' Oren thought.
He looked away, searching the area for someone who could possibly help.
But there was no one else.
Who would help the man?
Oren knew what the man was going to do.
He knew it all too well.
Perhaps the man even reminded him of himself in a way.
When he was younger, back in his village, around the time he first realised he was cursed by immortality.
Back then, he too had tried many things.
He had even experienced what this man was about to do.
But in the end, when he did it, he woke up in the same place he started.
No water could take his breath away, no blade could kill him and no fire could cinder his life to ash.
There was no way out.
He could not escape his fate, nor the role forced upon him by the world.
A world so twisted that it felt fake... It all began when everyone changed, and when they did, he began to find hope within Erols.
Oren stepped forward, then again.
In an instant, he reached the man and stood behind him, a warm smile slowly appearing on his face as he spoke.
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
The man froze.
His crying stopped almost immediately as he slowly turned to face Oren.
A bittersweet smile appearing on his face.
"I don't know... It's all so pointlessly difficult. If i do this... then mayb—"
He closed his mouth.
A final tear dripped from his eye.
Staring at the scars lining Oren's face, fear and horror began to seep into the man's expression.
As his gaze landed on his neck, he screamed, "Reaper... Demon..."
His hand trembled as he drew in a shallow, hurried breath. "I'm sorry! I won't do it! I won't, ever again! I won't, I promise I won't."
He jumped, falling onto the ground before quickly picking himself up and running down the path towards Lake District.
'Well... atleast that worked.'
Oren couldn't help but sigh as he stepped towards the water's edge, where the man had been sitting.
'This spot will do just fine.'
His fingers wrapped around the shaft of the arrow.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
Then he pulled.