The Protagonist Speaks

Dear readers, tonight with us is an immortal training in an order dedicated to healing. When a beloved mortal falls deathly ill, she must travel back to her mortal origins in the sixth century to save him.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I don’t remember where I grew up. My past is a fog I can’t quite lift. I’ve tried to shape it, to grasp something solid, but the memories dissolve as I reach for them.

Michael found me wandering in Paris. He took me in, became my teacher and guardian. He said we were different. At first, I thought he meant we didn’t belong. Later, I learned he meant we were immortal.

He brought me to his chateau in France and trained me in the immortal arts. He told me we were part of a society called the Group of World Servers, devoted to healing human fear because it blocked their evolution and their capacity to accept us among them. We were not meant to take their pain away, but to minister to it so they could heal themselves.

But to return to your question: if I had a hometown, I don’t know its name. Whether there were trees or towers, winters or summers, all of it is lost to me. What I do know is that I didn’t just lose a home; I lost the story of where I began. That absence has shaped me more than any place could have.

And yet sometimes I dream of a woman with bright eyes and a voice that commands the wind. Her name rises like a forgotten incantation—Cerridwen. I don’t know if she is memory, myth, or the shadow of who I once was. But she walks with me, quiet and ancient, in the blood I carry.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

If I did, they’re gone. I sometimes believe I’m older than anyone knows—possibly centuries old. If there were toys, they might have been hand-carved, or stitched from scraps. Or maybe there were none at all.

Even if I once held something dear—a doll, a book, a worn blanket—I no longer remember the feel of it. And without memory, joy becomes something abstract. A shadow, shaped more by faith than experience.

The absence of memory is its own grief. A quiet, aching kind.

What do you do now?

I’m a healer. I once travelled with Michael to places torn by war and suffering. But I live in tension with the vows I took.

I have the power to fully heal—to stop death, erase pain, restore a body to wholeness—but I’m forbidden to use it. The rules say we can calm and comfort, but never intervene. Not even when a child lies dying in front of me.

I don’t believe I chose this life. Because if I had, I would have chosen differently. I argue with Michael. I push the limits. I carry guilt like it has been sewn into my skin.

Right now, I’m on a break while Michael travels in Europe. He left me with the Bensons in Coriander, New Hampshire. A mortal family. I’ve been attending high school and pretending to be eighteen forever.

They say our mission is to help humanity evolve on its own terms. But what use is power if you must keep it hidden? What kind of oath demands you let someone die when you could save them?

So what I do now is live in that space between obedience and defiance. I try to honour my role without losing my soul. And in quiet moments, I wonder who I might have been, if choice had been mine.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I wouldn’t call it an adventure. It was a reckoning. A collapse. A return. And maybe a kind of resurrection.

I discovered I’m not just immortal. I’m something more—tied to an ancient prophecy that speaks of a child born to an immortal who might one day bridge the mortal and immortal worlds.

But none of it mattered when Damien fell ill.

Damien is mortal. Fierce and brilliant, stubborn and kind. He loved me for who I was, not for what I might become. When he grew sick, and the light began to leave his eyes, the world shrank to the pain of watching him fade.

Michael told me it was too late. That even my power couldn’t reach him. But I couldn’t accept that.

So he gave me an elixir and said I had to return to the moment I became immortal. Only there would I discover what Emila truly was. He would not explain further.

So I drank. I went back through time, through memory, and became my former self—Cerridwen, High Priestess of the Isle of the Mists.

I didn’t do it because I was chosen. I did it for Damien. Because loving him is the one thing I never doubted. And I would risk everything to save him.