A Love For Eternity (LokixReader)

Chapter Two

(Your Pov)

1160 A.D.

Probably one of the most boring years of your life. After some 1300 years alive, you no longer cared about the problems of this world. Wars came and went, the same with people, bloodlines, empires, buildings, gods... everything about humanity was adaptable. And as a byproduct, so easily forgettable after the generations.

You learned to keep out of their business. And you tried to keep them out of your own, but unfortunately when one looks the same after 20 years, the phenomenon tends to raise suspicions. But although your body didn't change, it still felt as though you were losing your humanity. A 'normal' human experience lost for you. You were different.

A monster.

That's what the villagers always ended up calling you. Vampire, werewolf, angel, witch, demon- even the occasional assumption of a Wendigo. Some corrupted spirit to forever wander the forests. They shouted names that barely fit your profile. Anything to match what they thought you were.

But in 1160, you found a friend. As drunk as he was after such a night.

It was the late evening, as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. You wandered the fields for wild fruits; an activity you preferred to consume your time. Compared to how most would, anyway. Before you left an area, you would always spare a moment to ask the same questions. 'What year is it?', of course, and 'What would you do if you were immortal?'

The answers varied. But typically they ranged with only near-future foresight. Learn a craft, travel, visit relatives, or follow a bloodline. An activity, not a purpose. But you've tried all of these, and many lose your attention before long. You simply... had too much time for such things. It was a strange feeling.

But tonight, as you explored the area around the village that currently housed you, you found hope.

"But trees dance and waterfalls stop," A voice sang, as laughs were heard rumbling over the crackle of fire. "When she sings, she sings "come home"!" The laughter died as more of these voices joined in, footsteps and jeers tossed about. "But trees dance and waterfalls stop! When she sings, she sings "come home"."

Now, who was this? You had your experiences with hunting parties before, and many did prefer to get dead-drunk after a successful hunt, but few would belt out songs like this. It was curious, and you had learned a thing or two about curiosity. Even if your endeavors killed you, you could trust the spells to keep you alive. You'd wake up again, sometime rather.

"In storm-black mountains, I wander alone." You wandered the edge of the camp, grateful for the darkness arriving. Little chance these hunters would see you spying from the foliage. "Over the glacier I make my way." You could hear six voices, five to that of young men, and one to a fair lady. "In the apple garden stands the maiden fair," With a final push, you manage to score a viewpoint. "and sings, "When will you come home?"!"

Not hunters. These younglings were not hunters.

They were warriors. Dressed in an unfamiliar attire, their metal armor shining in the light from the bonfire. A couple wore helmets, others without. Swords, axes, bows, shields, even weapons you haven't seen yet. Marked with crests you didn't recognise.

"But trees dance and waterfalls stop," You laugh at the blond shouting the words at the top of his lungs, holding a clenched hand to his chest. The group ranged in ages, but looked no older than 17, with the youngest members seeming almost 15. "When she sings, she sings "come home"! When she sings, she sings "come home"!"

In those years, there were fewer rules. Drinking was accepted for children of young age, hunting encouraged, and women were objectified in different ways. It was common, and you learned to live through it. As years passed the social-norm changed, and you adjusted accordingly. One year you were worshiped for surviving a fire, the next stoned for being an evil witch. As were such things with humans.