Chapter 7: The Weight of Immortality
Lysander stood on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of forest and mountain ranges that made up the mystical realm of Ta Lo. The village below was still, its people resting as the twilight hours stretched into night. He had spent countless nights like this in quiet contemplation since arriving here—more nights than he cared to count.
Immortality.
The word still felt foreign, like a concept pulled from fiction. But for Lysander, it was now his reality. Back in the real world—his world—immortality was something to be dreamed about, fantasized over in books, movies, and shows. Yet here he was, in the MCU, not just alive but immortal, given power far beyond what he'd ever imagined possible.
But with that power came a burden he had never anticipated.
He could feel the energy coursing through his veins—cosmic energy, a gift from the Eternals. It kept his body strong, ageless, and invulnerable to the ravages of time. But no matter how many times he reassured himself that this power was a gift, something in him couldn't help but see it as a curse.
Lysander sat down on the cool grass, his back against a large stone, and stared up at the stars. In the real world, back home, those same stars had once been comforting. They were a constant, something eternal in a life that was fleeting. Now, they felt like a reminder of his new reality. The stars would fade long before he ever would.
He let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of the years stretch before him, endless and empty.
In the months since the Snap, the world outside was still recovering. Half of all life had been wiped out in an instant, and even now, people struggled to rebuild. But for him, time seemed to have stopped. No matter how much the world moved on, he felt stuck—trapped in this immortal body with nowhere to go.
How many people would he lose in the centuries to come? How many friends, companions, even rivals would fade from existence while he remained? He had already lost so much during the Snap—people he cared about, friends from his past life. And now, he was destined to lose more. Everyone he met, everyone he would come to care about, would wither and die, leaving him behind to endure the centuries alone.
Was this truly a gift? Or was it punishment?
The sound of soft footsteps behind him broke his thoughts. He didn't need to turn around to know it was Master Shang. The old man had a way of knowing when Lysander was deep in thought, as if he could sense the weight on his shoulders without saying a word.
"You're thinking about the future again," Shang said quietly, his voice steady as always. He approached slowly, taking a seat beside Lysander on the grass.
Lysander nodded but kept his gaze on the stars. "It's hard not to. When you've got all the time in the world, the future is all there is."
Shang studied him for a moment, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the stars above. "You fear what is to come. That is natural. But fear of the future will not ease the burden you carry."
"I'm not sure anything can ease it," Lysander admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been given this... this power, but all I can think about is how it's going to outlast everyone I care about. I'm going to watch them die. And I'll still be here."
Shang remained silent for a moment, as if contemplating the weight of Lysander's words. Then, he placed a hand on Lysander's shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Immortality is not a curse unless you make it one."
Lysander let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Easy for you to say. You're not going to live for millennia."
"No," Shang agreed. "But I've seen enough lifetimes to understand one thing: Time itself is neither a gift nor a burden. It is what we do with it that matters."
Lysander fell silent, letting those words sink in. He knew Shang was right—he had always known. But knowing it didn't make it any easier to accept.
"I've already lost so much," Lysander said after a moment, his voice barely audible. "My life back home, my friends... they're all gone. And now, I'm just supposed to keep going? To outlive everyone else too?"
Shang's hand remained on his shoulder, steady and unwavering. "You do not have to outlive everyone. You do not have to carry this burden alone. We are here with you now, Lysander. We may not share your immortality, but we share this time."
Lysander finally turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. There was something in Shang's eyes that Lysander hadn't noticed before—a deep understanding, a kind of quiet acceptance that came from years of experience. It was the look of someone who had lived through more than most could imagine and still found a way to move forward.
"You are not alone," Shang repeated, his voice calm and sure. "And you never will be, as long as you choose to walk with others."
Lysander swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. He wanted to believe Shang, wanted to believe that this wasn't a curse, that he could find a way to live with it. But the doubts remained, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.
"Maybe," Lysander said quietly. "But it still feels like I'm just... watching the world move on without me."
Shang stood slowly, his movements deliberate. He turned to face Lysander, offering his hand. "Then stop watching. Start walking."
For a moment, Lysander hesitated, staring at the hand extended toward him. Then, with a deep breath, he reached out and took it, pulling himself to his feet.
As they stood together under the night sky, Lysander felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. The weight of immortality was still there, still heavy on his heart, but it didn't feel quite as suffocating as before. Perhaps, with time, he could learn to carry it. Perhaps, with the people around him, he wouldn't have to carry it alone.