LSoX: I don't know whether to make this into a full-story or just keep it as this. I wrote this back in October, after reading the first books of The Immortals of Alyson Noel (she's an FB friend, cool!). As with great stories, they illicit some sort of reaction, and fan-ficking is my kind of reaction. So, here's it.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Immortals. Saffron, Peter, and the storyline are mine. Cheers!

Notes:

Her name is Saffron

She's of East Asian heritage.

She's an immortal, made by Damen when he was in the East.

He made her because she was dying of the Yellow Fever.

She's like a little sister to him.

She's walked the earth with him, and also "abused" by Drina

That was the reason Saffron left Damen to "find her own path in the world".

She and the other Immortals are "connected" in ways:

Through strong connections via thoughts and emotions which can be opened to each other when chosen or not blocked.

Saffron has loved a mortal, but he's refused her and he ages. (Kind of like how the original story of Blood and Chocolate went, not the movie version.)

One of the original Immortals love her, but she doesn't love him back. It's been that way for centuries.

She watched the city from her window. She had moved into the apartment two weeks ago, loving the small kitchenette and cozy feel of the place. The landlady was a kind grandmotherly figure who lived just down the hall, saying if she needed anything, she was just a knock away.

She caught her semi-see through reflection on the window, her Asian eyes sadly staring back at her. Her olive skin and black hair were faded in the mirror image. Over the years she had experimented with her hair, dying it, perming it, cutting it, growing it until it passed her knees, and even shaved it all off. Out of all, she liked her hair now: shoulder-length and slightly wavy.

Her thoughts fondly rewound to the time she had shaved her head. It was out of choice, but mostly because it was required. He told her if she wanted to join the Monks of Tibet, she had to surrender herself to the ancient orders and protocols of the monastery. He reassured her that she wouldn't go it alone, that he would be by her side every step of the physical and spiritual journey.

She smiled, feeling his brotherly presence in her mind. Despite the distance they had between them now, she could still sense him once in a while when she called out to him. He never left her, not once, not since he found her and made her into what he was.

Damen.

Her maker. He had found her when her country was in turmoil and death was waiting for her upon the Silk Road.

She closed her eyes, allowing her memories to unfold to the time her village was stricken with the Yellow Fever. Her parents and sisters had already passed away because of it. Her only living sibling was her older brother Yuan. They plodded together, weakened from the disease yet still had enough strength in both of them to make it to the big city of China. They sought help, and one kind soul rescued them. They were truly blessed, for this old man owned an herb shop, and within months, she and Yuan were back to health.

Yuan helped the man peddle his wares and herbs around the city. Suddenly, the peace was broken when news of invaders into the city came. All the young men of the city were drafted, required to join the Imperial Armies to defend the kingdom. Yuan was one of them.

The numerous battles that took place beyond the Great Wall soon moved within the city. War and desolation infested the air, and soon she was gripped with the same fear she felt when her village was dying of the Yellow Fever. The old man who had taken her in tried to shield her senses from the gruesome images of blood and gore, but the combats were already inside the city.

One night she and the old man stole away when the battles were not as rampant. As they picked their way through bloody streets and mutilated bodies, her eyes raked over each one, dreading to find her brother among the numbers. Horror filled her senses, death permeating throughout the city.

There was only one way out: through the city's enormous main gate. The old man knew that there would always be guards there, and so they stayed, finding a pattern and time to the switching of the guards. When they had the few seconds to slip through, the old man pushed her forward, hurrying her by.

Then the air was suddenly screaming with clashing metal and groans of despair. She could smell the blood. It made her stomach flip and turn. The sickening stench of death made her dizzy.

Bounding through the shadows, they finally made it to the Road. Finally, the old man turned to her.

"Whatever you do, you are no longer Chun Gai," he said. "You are now called Saffron, the spice," he wearily smiled. "That is your name now, understand?"

"Yes," she nodded. She knew what leaving one's birth name meant: she was never to return to China again.

"And whatever happens, keep to the Road," he nodded to the beaten path. "I've told you about this Road haven't I?"

"Yes," she whispered. "The Silk Road."

"Good," he nodded. Then they took the first steps on the journey that would lead them away from the city, away from the plague, away from the dead. But they weren't on the Road long when they soon saw another skirmish before them. Yells, screams, and grinding metal stabbed the night air. Then something made her bolt toward the battlefield.

"Yuan!" she screamed, recognizing his yells.

Then she saw him, spear in hand, battling a man on a big horse. Yuan was blood-stained. The horseman's strange body attire glinted; the same material was also on his head, hands, and legs. The man on the horse threw aside the metal covering his face, and for a splint second, she stood, mesmerized by his strange white face that was both beautiful and terrifying.

She didn't see the long sword in his hand as it took aim and pierced Yuan in his chest.

"Nooo!" she bellowed with all her energies, cries leaving her body. She saw her brother collapse under the thrust. She felt her knees give under her, sinking to the death-strewn earth, her brother's blood seeping into the soil.

The horseman turned toward her scream and made to move toward her. Then she felt arms grab her as the horse galloped where she had sat seconds ago. She was dragged to a small cave-like shelter, away from the horseman.

"Listen!" the old man shook her and made her face him. "Keep to this Road! Do Not Turn Back. Run. Hide. Keep to the Road!" he dictated. She saw the pain in his eyes as he told her this. She understood his double emotions.

"You're not coming with me," she gasped through tears.

"Yuan's ashes will be tended to," he replied. "My old bones won't make the journey. But you, young one, must live on. Promise this! Now go," he gave her one last embrace. "Saffron, my one-time daughter. Take haste!"

For hours she traveled, evading the many military men, strangers on her homeland, and kept to the Road. One night, she felt she couldn't set one foot before the other anymore and collapsed as exhaustion and human weakness pulled through her. She didn't have enough power to pull herself off the Road and hide among the bushes. She was physically done for.

Then she heard the thunder. It got louder and louder, the ground faintly shaking beneath her. Suddenly she felt light, lifted, and a murmur of sounds around her. Then she was on soft grass, being held up by each blade, hundreds of them. She felt sun on her skin, warm air blowing through her hair, and a bright light shining just beyond her closed lids.

"Yuan, Yuan," she whimpered.

"It's ok," said an unfamiliar voice.

"My brother," she wailed, her eyes still closed. She knew she should feel pain, physical pain, emotional pain, but she felt neither. Just the echoes of a torture she had felt moments ago.

"He's gone," said the voice. "But you have a choice; follow him, or live."

All her senses wanted the former, but the old man's voice drummed in her head for the latter. As much as she loved her brother, she had made a promise to the old man she would survive. Then another thought crept into her mind.

"Live," she breathed.

"Then open your eyes," said the stranger. She followed, and then all the pain and agony crashed upon her once again, sending her body wracking and convulsing under the pressure. The stranger poured something into her mouth, something swirly, bitter, flowery and light in flavor. She felt the liquid go in her.

"Sleep."

Days later, the stranger introduced himself as Damen Aguste, a European who had joined the armies march into China. When she heard this, she immediately tried to escape but he stopped her, explaining that he wasn't here to fight the wars but to bring his brother home.

"Brother?" she repeated, the word painful on her tongue. She told him how her own brother was murdered on the field, and she vowed to find the soldier and give him exact revenge.

She found her wounds closed and healed, and was soon up and about. She was in a small village miles from the city. Damen assured her the armies wouldn't pass through this village, it being off the path the armies had set on toward the imperial city. She was well taken care of at the inn he had them stay in. The owner's wife fussed over her like a mother hen, making her miss her own mother.

It was barely the second day when Damen returned with someone. His name was Peter. The moment her eyes met his, she hurled the nearest bowl at him, but Peter caught it with such speed she let out a startled gasp. Damen demanded why she did that.

She slowly shook her head, easing herself out of her memories and back to the present. Damen's brother, who wasn't really his brother but an "adopted" sibling, disgusted her.

Her eyes took in the modern cityscape of Phildawn, the people huddling closer into their coats, the cars zooming on the streets, the flashing neon lights of numerous shops and restaurants. As much as she loved the technological advances and conveniences it brought with its development, she still craved for the simple riverside life she knew as a little girl.

She heard a scuffling sound behind her, but she didn't need to turn to see him. His presence filled her apartment, and she felt the hate boil inside her.

"I didn't call for you," she snapped.

"Damen's my brother, and besides, I was closer," she felt him shrug as he said those words. She wished her senses weren't as sharp so she could tune him out. Her immortal abilities did have its negative aspects.

"He's not your brother," she glanced at him over her shoulder. "He's good. You're evil." She walked away from him, moving toward her kitchenette and boiling some water for tea. Not that she was going to offer any for him.

"Saffron," he said, following her.

"Don't say my name! You have no right!" she hissed at him.

"I love you," he declared. She dropped the teacup she was holding, anticipating the shuddering break of porcelain against tile, but it never came. He had caught it before it touched the floor. He stood before her, his gaze fixed on her alone.

"I've turned away from you times before," she glared at him. "What makes you think I'll change now?"

"Because," he stood up and walked toward her. "Like all things on the earth plane, they will succumb to change. We," he waved to both of them, "may be immortals, but that doesn't mean we are eternity. And you," he reached to a stray lock of hair and twirled it with his index finger, "will grow tired from running. Saffron," he took an inch's step closer, taking her personal space, "sometimes what you're searching for is right here."

"No!" she backed away from him, revulsion and fear coursing through her. "I know what you are," she spat. "I know what you're capable of!" she turned and bolted out the window, springing with effortless force from the windowsill to the next building's rooftop. She knew it was foolish to do so, especially in a populated area such as a city, but fear can make one act rashly. She pumped her legs and continued to run, her immortal speed and strength carrying her over rooftops and city buildings. Soon, the distance brought her to the countryside, where the wilderness suddenly opened to a vast ocean. She breathed in the salty air, letting it sting her airway canal and lungs.

"You run fast," came his voice. "But not far enough."

"I'll never be with you," she said through clenched teeth. "I'll never forgive you," she heard her voice break, tears springing from her eyes. She balled her hands into fists.

"Saffron," he pleaded. "I've said sorry millions of times," he whispered. "Who I was back then isn't who I am now," his voice echoed with pain.

"You," she turned and faced him, feeling the fire in her eyes, willing them to singe him, but he blocked her action with his own telepathic abilities. "You killed my brother!"