Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~6 min read
Two months after the final battle, Hazel noticed something was different about Orion.
It was subtle at first. A slowness in the morning. Stiffness after training. Small things that might mean nothing.
But through the bond, she felt what he was feeling: concern. Confusion. And underneath it all—fear.
“Orion,” she said one evening as they sat on the porch. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can feel it through the bond.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “I’m aging.”
Hazel’s heart stuttered. “What?”
“I’m aging. Actually aging. For the first time in three hundred years.” He held up his hand. In the fading light, she saw what he meant. Fine lines at his knuckles. Skin that wasn’t quite as smooth as before.
“I thought—the bond made you stronger—”
“It did. Does. But it also made me mortal.” He looked at her. “The binding gave me immortality because I had no attachments. No life beyond service. But now I have you. I have a future. I have—” His voice cracked. “I have everything to live for. And that means I’m human again.”
“How fast?” Hazel asked, her throat tight.
“I don’t know. Normal speed, I think. I’ll age like you age. We’ll grow old together.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? What you said during the bonding ceremony?”
“Yes. But Hazel—” He stood, pacing. “I’ve been a familiar for three hundred years. I’ve never been sick. Never been truly injured. Never felt weak. And now—I’m mortal. Vulnerable. What if I can’t protect you anymore? What if—”
She caught his hand, pulling him to a stop. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m realistic. Mortal familiars can’t fight dark magic. I’m going to get weaker while you get stronger. Eventually I’ll be—”
“My partner,” Hazel interrupted. “My equal. The man I love. That’s what you’ll be. With or without immortality.”
“But—”
“No buts.” She stood, facing him directly. “You spent three hundred years defined by your power. By your usefulness as a weapon. And I understand that’s scary to let go of. But Orion—you’re more than your familiar abilities. You always have been.”
“What if I become a liability? What if loving me puts you in danger because I can’t protect you?”
“Then I’ll protect you.” She touched his face gently. “That’s what partners do. We protect each other. And yes, you’re mortal now. You’ll age. Maybe get sick. Eventually die. But so will I. We’ll do all of it together.”
His eyes were wet. “I’m terrified.”
“I know.” She pulled him into her arms. “But this is what you wanted, remember? A real life. Not immortal servitude. An actual future with me.”
“I wanted it. I still want it. I just—” He held her tighter. “I don’t know how to be human. It’s been three centuries.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together. One day at a time.”
Through the bond, she poured love and certainty into him. Showed him through her feelings what words couldn’t express: that he was enough. That he would always be enough. With or without immortal power.
Slowly, his fear quieted. Replaced by tentative hope.
“A real life,” he murmured. “With you.”
“With me. Growing old together. Having a future that’s ours, not borrowed.”
“I can do that,” he said. “I think I can do that.”
“I know you can.”
They stood together on the porch as night fell, holding each other. Two people who’d found love across three hundred years of loneliness. Who’d broken ancient rules to be together.
And now they’d face the greatest adventure of all: a human lifetime, lived fully, together.
A week later, Meadow called them to her cottage.
“I’ve been researching,” she said, spreading old books across her table. “Trying to understand what your bond has done to Orion’s aging.”
“And?” Orion asked.
“You’re mortal, yes. But not entirely human.” Meadow pointed to a passage. “The bond still gives you enhanced strength. Faster healing than a normal person. You’ll age, but slower than Hazel. Maybe live two hundred years instead of eighty.”
Orion blinked. “What?”
“The bond adapted again. Gave you a compromise. You’re not immortal—but you’re not fully mortal either. You’ll have time together. A long time.”
Hazel felt tears prick her eyes. Through the bond, she felt Orion’s overwhelming relief.
“Two hundred years,” he whispered. “We could have two hundred years.”
“If you’re lucky,” Meadow said. “Maybe more. The bond is unprecedented. It might continue adapting as you age.”
Orion pulled Hazel into his arms. Through the bond, joy flooded between them.
“Two hundred years with you,” he murmured. “That’s—that’s more than I ever dreamed.”
“It’s perfect,” Hazel whispered back.
That night, they talked about the future. Really talked about it for the first time.
“I want kids,” Hazel admitted. “Is that—can we even—”
“I don’t know,” Orion said. “I’ve never heard of a familiar having children. But our bond is different. Maybe it’s possible.”
“We could ask Meadow.”
“Or we could just—try. See what happens.”
She smiled. “I like that idea.”
“What else do you want?” he asked. “For our future.”
“I want to keep teaching. Build the magical education program in Moonridge. Help young witches learn to control their power with love instead of fear.”
“And I’ll teach combat. Self-defense. Help familiars understand they have choices.”
“We’ll build a life here. A real life.”
“Together,” he agreed.
Hazel looked at him—this man who’d given up immortality for love. Who was learning to be human again after three centuries. Who looked at her like she was his whole world.
“I’m glad you’re mortal,” she said softly.
“Why?”
“Because it means when we grow old together, you’ll actually grow old. I won’t watch you stay young while I age. We’ll do it together. Every year, every gray hair, every wrinkle—together.”
His expression softened. “I never thought of it that way.”
“That’s the gift of mortality, Orion. Not just dying together—but living together. Really living.”
He kissed her, deep and slow. Through the bond, she felt his acceptance. His peace.
Three hundred years of immortality had been a prison.
Mortality with her was freedom.
Reader Reactions