#immortal reader

You had been in vought for a long time. Longer then most of the supes here. You hid a secret, one you had kept hidden for a long time. You were a Vought. Clara and Frederick's daughter. Once Clara became a supe she realised she would outgrow her own daughter, so with the help of her crazy husband they made you into a regenerative supe. One that couldn't age. So, now you were abour eighty years old but still looked fifteen. Your parents had kept you young your entire life. They had robbed you of a life, of sex, of relationships, jobs, living alone, everything. Now your mother was Stormfront and you had to keep her secret to a whole new bunch of people. You made your way through the halls, your mother told everyone you were her intern assistant. You opened a door to a meeting room and saw your mother kissing Homelander. You stared in shock and he looked at you with anger. You slammed the door and ran back down the hallway.

Homelander rolled his eyes. 'I'll handle her,' he said. Stormfront quickly grabbed him.

'No, I can deal with her. Please,' she said before running after you. She found you hiding in another office. She smiled and you looked away from her.

'I'm sorry, I was just trying to find you to give you your coffee,' you said. She kneeled down and tilted your chin up.

'I taught you better then to enter somewhere without knocking,' she said. You looked at her with fear in your eyes.

'I'm sorry, mother...'

Her grip on your chin tightened but her smile remained. 'Forget what you saw, okay?'

'Yes, of course mother,' you whispered.

'That's my good girl. I deserve a love life, sweetheart. I can't always just be mommy,' she said. The way she spoke to you was always like a child. She reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear. You heard the door to the office open and looked up to see Homelander. You hated him with a passion.

'Hi, sweetheart. I assume Stormfront spoke about our...situation?' he asked. Your mother stood up and smiled at him.

'Don't worry, she won't tell anyone. Isn't that right, darling?'

'Yes, ma'am...'

'Good little assistant you've got,' Homelander said as he looked at you with a hungry gaze.

'She does what she's told. Why don't you go make yourself busy somewhere?' she said. You stood up and nodded, you made sure to keep your eyes down. You were about to leave before Homelander grabbed your arm roughly.

'Tell anyone and I'll tear the skin off your scalp,' he growled before you quickly ran away again.

--

Later that day you were in your mother's apartment and sat on the couch sketching in your book. The door opened and you expected to see your mother coming home. But instead you saw Homelander. You stood up and backed away.

'Want to know something interesting?' he said as he stalked closer. 'I find it odd that you're so close to your so called boss. Even living with her, quite strange,' he said as he continued to walk forward. Your back hit the wall and you stared at him in fear. 'Makes me wonder what you really are to her.'

'I'm just an intern, sir... She's just helping me at the moment between jobs and apartments,' you said. He chuckled and looked over your body again.

'How old are you?'

'I'm fifteen, sir.'

'What about your parents? Don't they worry about you?' he asked as he reached up and twirled a piece of your hair around his finger.

'They aren't around...'

'Who's your legal guardian then?' he asked. He stepped closer and his body was pressed against yours. The door opened again and you saw your mother.

'Mother!' you screamed in your panicked state. She glared at you as you cried and quickly rushed to her. You went to hug her but she stopped you

'No, to your room. Now! I'll handle your mess,' she said. You cried more and rushed off to your room. You could hear them talking from outside but you hid under the covers of your bed to try and drown it out.

A little while later your door opened and you stayed under the covers.

'Oh, come on darling. Don't be scared of mommy. You did something wrong, you told our little secret,' she said. You cried softly and held the blankets tighter around you.

'I didn't mean it. I was scared and he was touching me and I saw you and just wanted you,' you whimpered from under your blankets. Suddenly they were ripped off you and you scurried back and looked at your mother with teary eyes.

'I was forced to tell him the truth because of you.'

'He broke in here! I was scared!' you shouted before she slapped you across the face. You cried even more and kept your face turned away from her.

'Get up, you've been a very bad girl.'

'Please, I don't want to,' you whispered through your tears. You knew exactly what she was going to do to you.

'Enough,' she growled as she grabbed you and forced you to stand up. 'Into the white room, now.'

You nodded and made your way to the room across the hall from yours. It was a white room with a single medical chair in the middle. Your hands were trembling as you sat in the chair. Your mother liked to have experiments or punishments performed on you since you could remember. It would keep you obedient and she always enjoyed how useless and brain dead you were after having to regenerate. She looked at you and closed the door to lock you in alone. You knew she would be calling one of the doctors up here to perform your punishment.

She arrived back a few minutes later and you saw the familar doctor. He smiled, it was a sickening sweet smile. 'I heard you were being a naughty girl again, darling,' he said. You looked up and looked at your mother with tears in your eyes.

'Don't leave me, mommy...' you whispered. She stepped back and closed the door and locked you inside with the doctor. You screamed and cried as you rushed for the door. The doctor grabbed you and forced you back to the chair. 'Mother! Please!' you screamed as he began to restrain you.

'We go through this every time, darling. You cry for your mother like the little girl you try not to be,' he said. You sobbed as he tightened the restraints around you.

'I hate you! I fucking hate you,' you screamed as loud as you could. You wanted your mother to hear, even though the room was sound proof.

--

The next time you woke up you were still in the chair, the restraints still as tight as they were. You had lost a lot of blood and died at least once. You heard the door open and looked up to see two men with their faces covered.

'Mother...' you whispered in pain.

'Bloody hell... Supes are in the child torturing business now?' the man said as he rushed forward and began to take off the restraints.

'We need to hurry, she'll be back soon,' the other man said in a French accent.

'Yeah well, we're taking the kid. I ain't leaving her here and she'll have useful information,' Billy said as he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder.

Once they had you back at the base the team stared at you in your dazed state.

'She was in Stormfront's apartment?' Hughie muttered.

'Yeah, in a creepy bloody white room. She was strapped to a chair covered in blood,' Billy said.

'Looks like she's a supe, she's regenerating,' Marvin said as he checked a few of your injuries. You whined and looked at him.

'Tell...her I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I was scared,' you whispered as Marvin looked at you sadly. 'Please, tell her. Tell her um sorry,' you cried out. Marvin held your face in his hand.

'Shh, it's okay. You're safe, who are you talking about?'

'Mother... Clara, Stormfront,' you whispered. Billy froze for a second and connected the dots.

'Bloody hell... Does she mean Stormfront is Clara Vought?' Billy muttered.

'And this kid is her daughter?' Hughie said.

'I guess so,' Billy said. You opened your eyes more and looked around.

'Where is she...? Where's my mother?'

'She ain't here, luv. We took you from that nightmare of a room,' Bill said. You looked up at him, he could see how exhausted and scared you were.

'You guys...are the boys, right? The supe killers,' you muttered.

'That we are, darling. But we ain't in the business of killing supe kids,' he said. You slowly sat up and nodded a little. 'So, your mother is Stormfront?'

'No! No she isn't I'm...I'm her assistant!'

'Then why were you calling for her? Calling her your mother. Why were you locked in her apartment?' Billy said as he stepped closer. You stared at him in fear.

'It's...it's not what it looks like. She's good, she's a good person. I'm not her daughter, I promise!' you shouted as tears welled in your eyes.

'Is that what she's told you to tell people?' he asked. You bowed your head and cried softly as your body trembled.

'I didn't mean to tell anyone, I didn't mean it. He was scaring me,’ you whispered. Marvin looked at you and knelt down to your level.

‘Who was scaring you, sweetheart?’ He asked.

‘Homelander, he kept touching me and threatening me. Mother came home and I screamed for her help but accidentally called her mother. Homelander found out the truth and mother punished me,’ you whispered.

‘And what’s the truth? You can tell us, we won’t let her hurt you,’ Marvin said. The way he spoke to you was kinder than anyone ever did.

‘Stormfront is my mother, she’s Clara Vought. I was born in the 1950s. My father experimented on me and made me a regenerative supe so I would never age,’ you explained in a hushed tone. Marvin looked at you sadly as the other boys looked shocked.

‘You’re not a bloody kid?’ Billy asked.

‘Not really, no. I don’t really act like an adult though, I get punished if I do. Mother wants me to stay her child.’

‘Fuck me that’s messed up. And you were being tortured in that bloody chair because of Homelander?’ Billy asked.

‘Yes, he was asking me who I really was and pinning me against the wall. I was scared,’ you whispered. Marvin looked at you and smiled.

‘Being scared and wanting protection doesn’t warrant punishment. What your mother is doing is wrong, okay?’ He said. You nodded a little and looked between them.

‘I don’t think she’s a good person. She hates basically anyone that isn’t white,’ you whispered as you stared down and played with the hem of your shirt.

‘Yeah well Clara Vought is a fucking Nazi. Same with her fucking cunt of a husband,’ Billy said as Marvin glared at him. ‘What? She’s their kid, she knows how fucked they are.’

‘He’s not wrong… They always wanted me to have the same ideals as them. I just pretended, but I could never hate people like they did,’ you said. Marvin smiled again, he could see you were a good person at heart.

‘I’m guessing you don’t get much of a life then? Does she keep you locked up?’ Hughie asked.

‘Pretty much, I pretend to be her intern. I’m not allowed to leave Vought tower, I haven’t left in a long time.’

‘So, other than regeneration do you have a power?’ Billy asked.

‘No, just the regeneration…’

‘Still could be bloody useful to us, darling. You know everything there is to know about Vought,’ Billy said.

‘Will you protect me? If mother finds me…’

‘We’ll keep you safe. You have my word,’ Marvin said. You smiled a little and nodded.

‘I’ll help you then… Only if you let me try things I’ve never tried,’ you said. Billy smirked and looked at you.

‘I could get some cocaine,’ he said. You chuckled a little.

‘I was thinking more simple like pizza or soda,’ you said.

Grabbing his hand, you unceremoniously drag back out to the river, feeling the rocks and sand beneath your bare feet. Not paying attention to how large or strong his hold was at all. You let the current guide you, working against it until you feel for the spot. The dark, wet feel of clay under your toes. Home. 

Turning to the man, you grab his stupidly broad shoulders and plant him directly in the middle of the clay. Taking a breath, you push on his shoulders. James’ face scrunches as he realizes he is starting to sink. The muscles in his shoulders flex, his arms reaching for you, but now trying to push you away. 

“What are you doing?” James cries out, suddenly starting to fight against you as he sinks up to his thighs. Blue eyes flaring with fear.

You can’t help the flustered huff, keeping a firm hold of him. “The more you fight it, the worse it’s going to be. Take a deep breath.”

The man gasps for air as you submerge him. He squirms for another moment, and you continue to push. Feeling him thrash as his head hits the clay. It was never easy the first time someone got dragged back into their realm. Nothing like having to eat dirt to live. You felt a pop and then dove forward, your hand felt for your mud, the one that was so familiar it might as well have been your own blood. 

Pushing at it, you move headfirst, feeling your lungs get clogged with soil; it would only be a moment. As you kept breathing, you felt a pop as you ruptured through the clay. Soon you’d be out. The light guided the way as your body dissolved into the new realm. Your whole body tingled like you had been frozen and were now thawing.

Taking a breath, you drag your slimy form onto the walkway. Changing so fast was taxing. Groaning, you try to remember what it felt like to be human. Two arms, two legs, with five fingers and toes. Covered in a linen dress you'd made over the winter. Hair. Humans love their hair. Shuddering as all the limbs start to click and pop back into place. It would have made a disturbing sound, but you were used to it. Used to making your body presentable. 

Your chest heaves, vomiting up a mass of clay. Exhaustion is pulling at you. Taking a few more breaths, you crack our body into a more presentable form. Normally, you'd take a moment to rest and gather strength; instead, you had a King to save. Grunting, you flick off the duck weed like goo and roll your shoulder. Alpine is standing at the doorway, looking at you. She gives a little meow and walks back inside. Little shit was making fun of you. 

“Well, nice to see you too,” You huff, feeling the weight of changing so many times in such a short period. Holding yourself up by one of the wharf posts, you work to cough up the rest of the clay. Making sure your lungs were functioning. 

Stumbling inside, you find James still lying out on the table, his eyes slightly open. You walk over to him, surprised to see his eyes follow you. You go to his side first to look at the packed wound; it didn't look nearly as bad as before. The spot where the reed was had completely healed. You check his cleaned-up amputated arm. Having had to cut it back another several centimetres so that you could make a neat closure. Something that should heal with minimal lasting pain. An uneven amputation would have issues; you hoped this wouldn't be too bad. 

“You awake?” You ask, staring down at him. He blinks a few times, coughing up a small amount of clay. “Gonna take that as a yes.” 

Moving, you grab a cup and some fresh water to bring to him. You help him take a couple of sips before putting the mug down. Then you go and grab a soft blanket you’d made out of fabric you bought at the market. Lifting his head, you place it underneath him.

“Your throat might be sore. It’s been a few days, and I could only give you a little water.” You explain, grabbing your earpiece to check his heart and lungs. “Lungs and heart are sounding better.” Walking around the table, you take a look at the packed wound. It would need to be changed again tonight.“This is healing, but you aren’t out of the woods yet.”

“Am I alive?” James coughs, his voice rough and deep from lack of use. You hand him more water, he takes several hungry sips.

“For now, yes, you are alive.” You reply, raking a towel to wipe the clay away. That should have been the last of it. Only his spirit, or energy form, had been in the river, meaning only residual clay came back. 

James’ blue eyes blinking and adjusting to the light. You realize that you'll need to find him some clothes, as he is currently nude. Not that you'd complain. He was very nice to look at, for a human. Broad shoulders, well-formed arm, thick thighs, you'd always had a thing for fighters.

“Slow down. Don’t drink it too fast, you’ll shock your system.” You pull the cup away, he glares at you but sits up further. You try not to watch the way his stomach flexes, and the barely there modesty cloth shifts lower. “You’re welcome, by the way, for dragging you back from the dead. Thank you for not fighting too hard.”

“That actually happened?” James’ coughs some more, eyes looking around the room. You hastily grab a blanket to cover him, but the man didn’t seem to realize that he was undressed. “This place is real?”

You nod your head, looking away. “Yeah, it was all real. Your-” You gesture up and down his body. “Essence, energy, spirit, whatever you want to call it. What makes you, you. Got sent across, but I brought you back.”

“What are you?” James asks, trying to sit up further, he cringes as his chest spasms. The bruising there was still dark and would have been uncomfortable. His remaining hand held the blanket around him.

“Most just call me a Witch,” You shrug, as Alpine stretches and lies in the sunshine on a pile of books. Seemingly happy to finally rest knowing that the person who fed her was alive. The name ‘witch’ didn't bite as much when it was said without a curse behind it. You really should have turned Rogers back into the scrawny form he'd been originally.

“Most Witches don’t bring spirits back from the dead.” James replies, no venom in his voice. He had moved to sit on the edge of the table, stretching his legs and feet. That you were not staring at.

He was right, witches generally did healing, potions for curing poisons, wards to keep handsy neighbours away, not raise the dead. No, that was reserved for things like you, things that didn’t have names in languages that existed anymore. Things that had been around before these hairless rockmen were fighting wars. Creatures like you would be around long after they had all destroyed this world. You were as old as the soil itself, something that was hard to explain simply.

“Do you need a name? Or can we just go by Witch?” You ask, hand on your hip as you mix up a few of your oils with some dried herbs. Grabbing fabric to change the packing under his arm. 

“Just would like to know who to thank,” James says softly. His long, dark hair covers his face. For someone of importance, he wasn’t an asshole; he seemed to actually care. It took you by surprise; everything about him had.

You give him your name, not your full one, that would be too much, but it was something. He nods, moving to lie back down. Looking over at his left arm, he lifted the stump, taking in the stitching. It wasn’t your best work, but it won’t leave a raised scar. 

“Weird. I can still feel it, like it’s there.” He says, moving it around. The cattail root, mixed with your yarrow salve, had started to heal it. That and your own magic worked into it, you'd promise his men a healed man, and you'd stick by your word.

“That's actually good.” You come over and place your wrist on his head to gauge his temperature. Keeping his body temperature stable would be important over the next few days. “Going to try and get you a new arm.”

His brows crease, blue eyes finding yours. “A new arm?” 

A grin spreads across your face, “Something like that.”

Stark stood at the edge of the wards, arms crossed, robes rucked up just enough that they didn’t touch the walkway. His hat was oversized, typical; his beard trimmed perfectly. Behind him, a donkey stood still with two large sacks over its sides. The man refused to ride anything four-legged. He’d rather slug through four feet of mud than make that excursion. The man was the embodiment of drama. 

You stop just a few meters from him, wondering if the old goat would cross the lines or not. He smirked and rolled his eyes. Walking back over to his pack animals, he flipped open the bag and pulled out what you had been waiting for. 

“Come on. You old hag. Open up. You know I can’t do anything once I pass these.” He huffs, putting the items back into the sack. “Plus, the donkey could use something to eat.”

Fingers coming up, you turn off the wards, letting the man cross them. “Nice to see you too, Stark.”

He cringes at the name. “God, please just call me Tony.”

“Tony? Changed it, again?” You tease, taking the lead for the donkey and walking her down the path. Tying her to a post that already had a small bale and a bucket of water waiting for her. 

“Ask the writer, they keep shoving me into stories,” Tony grumbles as he digs out his stuff from the packs. “Not my fault, they gave me this name. Stark just feels so formal. Yuck.”

You look around the place, expecting to see someone else. Turning back to the wizard, “How many of those mushrooms are you eating? I told you only a nail full at a time.”

He snorts before heading towards your home. “I’ll explain when they switch p-o-vs. I am a minor character, at least in this one.”

Still confused, you follow him inside. You had taken the time to clean the place up, rows and rows of bottles now line your south window. Oil and herbs are soaking in the sunlight. The tables were cleared, and even several chairs were clean. One had the King himself, James, sitting at the edge. A bowl of soaked grains and fruit jam. 

You'd cleaned his clothes, patching any holes, so that he had something to wear. The shirt had been a loss, so you'd had to make one on the fly. It was a mismatch of two of your own shirts, but it did the job. You won't have minded him wandering around shirtless, but it was only spring, and you didn't want him to lose his nipples.

“James, this is Sta-Tony.” You sigh as Tony comes in and lays his bag of stuff on one of the free tables without preamble. Stretching and taking in the place, hands not quite touching some of the vials. He carefully removes his ridiculous hat, placing it with his things.

“So you’re the so-called King? Huh.” Tony looked James up and down. “Don’t look like any noble I've seen.”

James stood, and Tony took a step back. It was hard to tell from how he had been sitting, but the man was large, imposing, and easily filled the space. He walks towards Stark, hand out, in a friendly gesture.

“I am only a King, ‘cause my people call me one.” He says, holding Tony's shifting eyes. Tony looks at his hand like he’d lit himself on fire. Almost making a disgusted face, but schooling it quickly. 

“Ah. Well. That is something new.” Tony sighs and walks back over to his bags. Dragging out sheets of metal and laying them carefully on the ground. “Didn't think we would have democracies for a few thousand years.”

You snort and hand the man some tea, “Elderberry, and verbena, with some honey.”

“You are way too sweet,” Tony replies sarcastically. He continues through the bags and starts removing spools of gold and copper. Along with a large selection of tools and a small anvil.

James comes over and looks at it. He takes one piece that looks like an elbow and holds it up to his own hand. “Is this a new arm? Of metal?”

Tony snatches it away from him and sets it down. “Judging by the size of you, I am going to have to make some adjustments. It isn’t straightforward, but by the time I am done. You will have a new arm, and I will have a nice sack of gold.”

“Can I watch you work?” James asks, dragging a chair over. You snort at the look of horror on Tony’s face. The King didn't seem to notice, either that or he didn't care.

“Well, you’re royalty-ish, so I guess so,” Tony states as he pulls out a few other metal rods. He leans down and looks at James’ armor, he holds it up and runs a finger over it. “Black and gold. Good, I can match that.”

You didn’t fully understand how Tony’s ‘magic’ worked, but you do know he was the best metal smith in the world. This wasn’t the first time he’d made human parts from metal. He was skilled and expensive. You didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him, but you knew he was the only one who could help you and James. Which is why you'd called him as soon as Rogers and Sam had left. 

In three nights, the soldiers would be back for their King. The King who had died and suffered more than you could imagine. He’d needed to be as whole as possible if he was going to have any chance at winning whatever war they were fighting. Something swirled in your stomach, a pull you had been ignoring. Now was not the time. 

James sat up straighter, letting Tony work on him. He’d remove his shirt so that the man had access to his body. The man had several long pieces of cloth that he was wrapping around the stump of his left arm. Muttering to himself about scaring and whether it would swell. James was just surprised that it was completely healed. He had never seen wounds heal like they did under her hands. It had something to do with the Healer, the herbs she used, the words she muttered. She was always muttering something when she would check him over. Sometimes he'd catch green pollen-like power floating around her and then over his skin. The power she had, mended skin, bounded veins, made hearts pump. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

Tony brings over some of the metal pieces and starts to slot them onto his stump. The man marking and adjusting, the Healer stoking the fire as pieces of the metal are put beside it to warm up. He couldn’t help but watch her. She moved effortlessly around the place, rotating the jars, squeezing the oils, and mixing spirits. Everything she did was necessary. The whole place was chaos, but ordered chaos. She knew where everything was, and exactly when she needed it.

The cat, who slept on him nightly, moves around the place, always looking for a fresh sunspot. The feline was as white as snow and moved with as much grace as its owner.  Eyes are always watching everything. He had taken great comfort every night to have the purring feline with him. Something told him the cat had its own magic.

“You’re a sorcerer?" James asks as Tony fits the top of the metal on. Murmuring as it tingles around the stump. It felt like it was already a part of him, the metal feeling closer to skin.

“Wizard,” Tony replies, leaving the piece there. James looks at it with shock when it stays in place. He moves his remnant limb, watching as the metal stays exactly where Tony had left it.

“You taught yourself how to do this?” James keeps asking, flexing the metal, watching it bend with his bicep and moves the same as his right.

Tony sighs as he holds up what looks like an elbow joint. “Something like that. Learning to connect with magic isn’t something easily explained.”

Looking over at the Healer as she holds up a large pottery jar, mixing it around with a wood spoon. “What about you? Did you also teach yourself?”

Turning towards him, he watches her eyes flicker different colors, as she places the jar on the table. “I am older than most magic. I was created with it in me. Similar to a sorcerer, but I am not that either.”

She tended to answer like that when it came to anything personal. He wasn’t certain if she had forgotten her beginning or didn't wish to explain it. There was never a direct answer or explanation, and yet he never got the sense that she saw him as less than. 

“You’re older than him?” James decides to ask, looking between the two of them. Tony looked like he could be her father, with grey streaks in his hair, skin worn by time.

Tony rolls his eyes as he adds the elbow joint in; it flexes the same as the other metal. “She’s immortal and can mold herself into any form. Must be nice. I just have an extended life.”

“Extended life,” James says out loud, as he keeps flexing and moving his left arm as it’s built. The elbow moved and clicked around; it felt heavy, but not unwieldy. “Because of the magic? Energy you weld?” 

“You really don’t know much about this stuff? I’ll let her explain it later,” Tony sighs, as he pops all the pieces off. “I am going to have to meld some of this to your skin. Which isn't going to be fun. Can you help with that, oh immortal one?”

The Healer walks over and looks at the pieces; her hands run over them. Fingertips following the swirls of gold gently. Tony watches her carefully. She walks over and grabs different herbs, putting them in a basket. Then opening up a few books and runs her fingers over the words, tracing them. She puts it all on a small stool and drags it over to them.

Looking at James, her eyes shift to a natural color, a calming wave washing over him. “This is going to hurt. We are going to connect the metal to your skin. It will be a permanent fixture.”

“I’ve endured pain,” James replies, as she starts to rub some cream onto his upper body. Her hands work easily over the flesh, fingers tips rough from work, he could get used to her touching him. 

“Trust me, buddy, this is gonna suck.” Tony grimaces as the healer goes up over James’ shoulder and down over his back. Lifting his nub to go under his arm, he grimaces as it tickles.

“I am putting numbing cream on. I am going to mix some herbs to help with the pain.” She keeps moving, handing him a wood spoon with thick liquid. He’s given up on asking what they are and just takes it. He won’t have known most of the names anyway. “I’d knock you out, but your heart cannot take anymore of the herbs I've used.”

Tony holds up several pieces, mapping them out onto his skin, using charcoal to outline where each piece will go. Both of them mutter to themselves as James watches them start to piece it together. There are several pieces, one placed over his shoulder, one up across his collarbone, then one down over his pectoral muscle and up under his armpit. It fits similar to armor, and moves like his muscles and skin. 

“This is going to go into my skin?” He asks, right hand coming up to touch the skin, realizing this would be the last time he’d touch it. The skin had started to tingle as he rubbed it; he couldn’t feel his fingers touching the spot. 

The healer crushes some herbs and mixes them with water, giving him the second dose of herbs. They taste bitter on his tongue. “We are going to bond the metal with your skin and muscle tissue. The arm Tony has built will need the extra support; this will provide that.”

“I am going to heat the metal, and our lovely swamp critter here will bond it to the tissue,” Tony explains as he picks up the first place. “I need you to try and hold as still as possible. You understand this is permanent?” He asks again.

James took several breaths, already feeling the slight dizziness from the herbs that the healer had given him. He nods his head and relaxes his shoulders. Forcing his mind to go blank.

“Yes, I understand,” James tries to keep his face neutral. “Well, let's not waste time.” He swallows and prepares for it to start.

You regret not opening the windows as soon as it started. The smell of burnt flesh starts to fill the place, and you’re shocked that James barely flinches. His eyes water and his teeth grind, but there is no sound. Reaching over, you grab a piece of thick leather and tell him to bite down on it. The last thing you want to do is fix broken teeth. 

Tony is murmuring words that mix with your own, your fingers working over each piece of skin and metal. More tears drip down James’ face as he bites hard against the cloth. His body starts to shake from the pain. Even with the dose of herbs you gave him, the agony of burning metal against flesh is one of the worst things. They finish the front and move to the back. Working as fast as possible to get it done, and not kill him at the same time.

“Please.” James gasps, gently reaching for your wrist. His strong hand barely grabs, just enough for you to pause. “Just a moment.”

“Breath,” You tell him, words of soothing coming out. In your mind, you visualize the muscles and skin forming around the metal. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. We are halfway.”

James flinches, but breathes, Tony holding up the next piece of metal. Sweat has broken out across his body; if they didn’t keep going, he’d go downhill. You meet Tony's gaze, he nods, and starts to speak.

“We are going to keep going. Let it out, scream.” You urge him and nod to Tony. “Don't hold it in, James. Your body will go into shock if you do.”

Moving behind him, you start to bond the metal with the flesh. James screams. Your heart clenches in your throat, wondering if you’d made the right decision to do this to him. Both of you and Tony work as fast as possible, fitting the pieces together. The smell is awful, and his cries are just as bad. Soon, the shoulder pieces are done, then you lift up and do under his arm. It is only a few pieces, but it’s an area that is sensitive. James tries to hold still, but his body is trying to move away. Shaking and trembling with each strike, the skin was bubbling and fusing together.

“Hold on,” Tony says, as he links the last piece, his magic snapping and crackling around both of them.

Your words flow out of you, swirling around the metal and flesh. Trying to quell the rising discomfort that is ebbing out of James. At the same time, you are making sure his muscles, tendons, and veins are intact and will function with the metal.

“I can’t,” James cries, his voice raw from screaming. “Please, no more.”

You finish the words, and Tony moves away, your hands keep moving. Reaching for salves, you carefully start to dab them on to the burns, lacing them with healing and cooling powers. James shudders with each touch, leaning forward, nearly doubling over with the pain. His head resting against your shoulder as he pants, his skin slick with sweat, his human hand resting on your hip. You don't move him, letting him take comfort where he can.

“There we go, done.” You say, mixing comforting and calming words into your voice. The magic comes out of you as naturally as you breathe, spinning around with green light. 

Tony watches, moving around James, taking in the scars and how each piece fits. “You do amazing work. There will barely be any scarring; it’s going to move flawlessly.”

You reach for James hand, squeezing it, before letting it go.  Moving around to grab a blanket, water, and some bread. “Here. Drink first, then eat.”

James takes a sip of water as you drape the blanket around his shoulders. He still trembles as he drinks, his hand shaking. Tony stands back near the fire molding more metal, banging and clicking away. 

“Now, you’re going to go and lie down on the bed for a while. Let Tony finish the last half of your arm.” You direct him, James just nods. He stands, and you keep one hand against his side; you are surprised he doesn’t collapse from the pain. “You did well, James. That’s not an easy thing to go through.” 

You grab a towel and carefully wipe his face, caught off guard when he leans into the touch of your hand. Despite his size and status, he is still a man. Following him, you help him lie down and cover him, putting water and more bread near him. For a moment, you want to reach forward and touch him, comfort him. Choosing to move away instead, things did not need to be anymore complicated.

Tony looks up, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. “You did excellently. Best I’ve seen when it comes to flesh and death. How many has this been now? A dozen? Two?”

A snort leaves you as you go and turn more jars, opening a few windows, adjusting things, closing books, and petting Alpine. Not thinking about how he looked at you, how his blue eyes watched your every move. How his screams would echo in your mind for days and nights. Usually, this didn’t bother you; you’d meld metal with flesh many times. There was just something about him. Something different.

You go and sit, opening an old text and thumbing through the pages. Grounding your mind. Humans were not something you touched, not something you messed with. That path never did well; you’d lived long enough to know that. 

“Don’t tell me, the great swamp hag of the north is getting soft.” Tony murmurs, coming to sit across from you. Fingers carefully pushing and molding what will eventually become fingers.

Your eyes flick up to his, “Don’t test me, Stark. You may be past my wards, but that doesn't stop me from feeding you to Alpine.”

He snarled a little at the name, looking over at James, who seemed to have fallen asleep. “He’s an Origin of this land. These people are-” He trails off, as he finishes one digit, before staring at you. “-different. Most humans would have crumbled under that much pain.”

“Yes, they are. They’ve been working on removing the Southern plague. Their rot has seeped deep into the soil,” You reply while continuing to read the book. “They’ve done well too.” 

“I’ve seen it, turning barren land into fertile soil again,” Tony remarks, watching you closely. He had a nasty habit of being nosy. “Almost like they carry magic in their blood. What other human can manipulate things without realizing it?”

Your eyes flick up to him, hearing the tone he uses. “They do, they just call it wisdom, gifts, they don’t even know that they naturally have magic to heal the earth. And I am not going to be the one to explain it.” 

Tony clicks his tongue, looking around the place. “That why you’ve stayed here so long? Putting down roots? Because they live longer, closer to our kind.”

“I am the only one of my kind, you know that. Besides, the realms are connected here; I can go where I please and be back before my last meal.” You state, going back to reading. “And people leave me alone.” Fingers clicking, you flick soot onto his nose. “I am not interested in anything more.”

“Hmmm, really? Nothing to do with the tall, broad, starey? Or maybe you preferred the blonde?” Tony pokes, he always does, wiping the soot from his nose with a huff.

“I am helping cause they pay me, gold is still the standard currency, for now.” You state, looking over to James, you’d need to wake him soon. The arm needed to be completed and tested before his men came back.

“Right. Just for the money.” Tony inspects his nails. “Guess we aren’t that much different.” 

The words bite, and you shrug them off; you weren’t going to take his bait. Stark had a habit of wagging his tongue all over this gods forsaken soil. You didn't need anyone looking for weaknesses.

Next Chapter

Author's note: I am not sure why, but Tony just had to break the fourth wall. He will appear in other medieval-style stories that are coming. I wanted to come up with a believable but magical way of giving King James his arm. Everyting come with a cost, and that cost was pain.

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Tonight, something had changed. You turned when you heard his soft footsteps, and your expression was heavier than usual.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice low and steady. “It’s about who I am. What I am.”

He didn’t interrupt. He never did.

You told him—about the curse, about the friend-killer enemy who laughed while setting your soul adrift in immortality. About the 59 years it took you to realize you never aged. About the 200 that followed, spent hunting someone who vanished like smoke. You admitted your silence, your fear. You even apologized.

Dan Heng was silent for a long time, staring at you like the weight of what you shared needed to settle before he could speak.

“I understand,” he said at last, voice quiet. “The fear of being seen for something you didn’t choose. The burden of time you cannot put down.”

Your heart skipped.

“I don’t need you to apologize for surviving,” he added, stepping closer. “We all carry things. Some are heavier than others. But if you’ll let me, I can help you carry this too.”

And for the first time in centuries, you let yourself lean into someone—not out of desperation, but trust.

Jing Yuan had long mastered the art of waiting.

He waited for peace. For wars not to start. For his lion to stop chewing books. But as he looked at you now—fingers nervously twisting the edge of your sleeve—he sensed that this was a different kind of wait.

You were scared. Of him. Of what you were about to say.

“I… There’s something I haven’t told anyone,” you murmured, eyes fixed on a floating lantern drifting across the Luofu night sky. “It’s about the past. And why I never talk about it.”

He said nothing, letting you find your pace.

You told him about your old enemy. The curse. The decades of grief. The realization that time was no longer something you shared with anyone. And how terrifying it was to fall in love again. With him.

When you finished, your chest ached with the silence that followed.

Jing Yuan placed a hand gently over yours. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just… warm.

“You've been alive for centuries, and yet you still care so deeply. That’s not something to be feared. That’s something to be admired.”

You blinked at him, caught off-guard.

“I’ve led for a long time. I’ve watched comrades grow old and vanish into the pages of history. And still, I choose to love. It’s not about how long we live—it’s what we do with the time we share.”

And with a soft smile, Jing Yuan made you promise: that when the enemy was found, when the hunt was done, you’d give yourself permission to live.

You found Sunday on the observation deck, halo glowing faintly behind his head, reflecting in the glass like a second moon. The stars blinked with a slow rhythm, like a heart learning to beat again.

He didn’t speak right away. But when he turned, the softness in his eyes told you he had already sensed your turmoil.

“I’ve been wondering,” you said, voice like wind barely brushing glass, “if you’d still look at me the same way after this.”

His wings gave the faintest flutter. A sign he was listening deeply.

You opened your heart like a cracked mirror: the enemy who cursed you. The friends you lost. The centuries that followed. The loneliness. The aching silence. The shame. The unyielding pursuit of someone who had already taken everything from you—and might still take more.

You finished by admitting your fear. That love—his love—might slip through your fingers like everything else.

Sunday stepped forward, halo gleaming with unreadable symbols. He reached out—not for your hand, but for your face, gently lifting your chin.

“I’ve lived inside dreams that were never real,” he whispered. “But you… You are more real than anything I’ve known.”

A pause, heavy and radiant.

“Immortality is not a curse to me. Losing the truth of who you are—that would be.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You didn’t mean to cry.

He pulled you close, wings brushing your shoulders like a lullaby. “Tell me your truths. Even the painful ones. Especially those.”

And in that moment, Sunday didn’t see someone cursed—he saw someone who still chose to hope.

The fire crackled quietly beside you, casting dancing gold across Mydei’s face. He sat still, regal yet grounded, hands resting over his knees as if the war inside him had calmed—if only for tonight.

You stared into the flames. It reminded you of them. Your old party. The way their laughter rang. The way they screamed.

“I should’ve died with them,” you said suddenly, unable to hold it anymore.

Mydei’s gaze turned to you, unreadable.

“They were taken from me. But I wasn’t spared. Not really. I was cursed—to walk this world forever. Immortal. Alone. And I’ve been chasing the one who did it ever since.”

You said it all. The years. The fury. The crushing guilt that maybe it was your victory that doomed them. That maybe if you hadn’t fought, they’d still live.

You didn’t expect Mydei to speak. But he did, with a slow, low voice that carried weight like stone in water.

“There is no shame in surviving,” he said. “I know what it means to be the last. To bury names you still whisper in dreams. I know what it is to be hated by time.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed.

He placed his hand over yours—rough, warm, solid. “But hear this, and let it brand you like fire: You are not alone anymore. Not in grief. Not in purpose. And certainly not in love.”

He smiled faintly, eyes blazing like the warriors of old.

“We will find this enemy of yours. And when we do, they will learn what it means to be hunted by one who has endured.”

In his fire, you saw a future. Not unbroken—but no longer alone.