Immortality
Chapter I - Rebirth
Men are forever haunted by eternity. It was this fear that drove Hitler to start WWII, this fear that drove Alexander the Great to conquer to the unknown. It had been three thousand years, and his name had yet to fade. But soon. His dreams told him as much.
He did not know what drove him to return to Earth. To return to mortality. Three thousand years in Elysium, second only to the Isles of the Blessed, should've been spent in an eternity of bliss. But every time a new hero entered paradise, with fresh tales of their exploits, he yearned to return. To feel pain again, so that pleasure had a definition. To feel heartbreak, so that love was not just a hollow word. The Underworld in itself was a curse, a curse that only those in Elysium could be free of.
It was the day of a new arrival, Charles Beckendorf. As usual, the welcoming committee was congratulating him on his arrival to Elysium. He looked the stranger up and down. His figure was stout, yet muscular. He was an African as far as he could tell, with large callous hands. To him, he looked more like a criminal then a hero, but looks are always deceiving. Just take Helen of Troy for example, and the catastrophe she made with her looks.
He emerged from the shadow of a Roman villa, approaching the fountain where the crowd had gathered around Charles. People parted as he walked towards him. He surveyed him again. Even though the new arrival wore a tough and indifferent façade, he could tell that he was intimidated by my scrutiny.
"You've heard stories of Elysium, haven't you mortal?" Achilles' bluntly asked. His voice was firm, cold from the many lives he had taken. Some said that the only person who had a more frightening voice was Hades himself.
The boy flinched as soon as he uttered the word mortal. "I am no mortal…Achilles."
Achilles frowned. Everyone knew who he was. It was more of a burden to him then an honor. "Demigod then? Fair well in Elysium. Enjoy it while you still feel your mortal side. Because believe me," Achilles turned around and started walking away, "it gets old quickly. You'll see in a century or so." Whispers erupted among the crowd. Live in Elysium for a few centuries and everyone becomes a gossiper.
Achilles was wearing exactly what he was wearing when he entered Elysium some three thousand years ago: A flowing blue robe, the edges decorated by geometric designs sown in golden thread. It was extremely comfortable, and It dragged on the ground whenever the wind wasn't blowing (and he could will the wind to blow whenever he wanted to), but never got dirty. Whether it was because the clothing of Elysium never dirtied, or that the streets were always clean, he would never know.
Every time a renaissance artist entered Elysium, they would disappoint when they saw Achilles. Most portrayed him as the perfect image of the male species, which could've been true. His skin was not flawless, as many idealistic painters had portrayed him. His bodies bore as many scars as people had fingers and toes. His hair changed to his liking, though today, it was a bit shorter then normal, with his molten bronze hair flowing only down to his shoulders. He had intense, pale greenish-blue eyes, like the color of the sea on a stormy day.
He sighed, remembering when the Underworld was limited to the Greeks. Remembering his anger when he discovered that Patroclus had not achieved Elysium. Or Eudoros. Or Briseis. Briseis of all people deserved Elysium. He sighed once more. Too much nostalgia.
He had been thinking about it for six years. At the eve of each New Year, he always backed away from asking for it. Asking for a return to Earth.
Truth to be told, life in Elysium was boring. Nothing new ever happened. Only the same old stories, stacked upon the older. Achilles yearned for a return. But at the same time, he feared it. He feared that it would knock away everything he had established centuries earlier. He feared that he would not be as great as before.
He was determined not to back off today. Few people dared to leave Elysium, fearing that they would not make it back in the next life. But he was Achilles. He was supposed to know no fear. He cursed Homer for making up those rumors. It gave him a reputation to live up to, and one that he grew tired of each passing day.
He journeyed out of the center neighborhood of Elysium, passing an ever evolving cluster of buildings. From ancient Greek palaces, to Chinese pavilions, to modern chateaus, one could see the evolution of architectural history just from walking through the place. And every year, a new ring of houses were added. Before, it was every decade, then every century, but the amount of new people was hard to keep up with.
Achilles passed an advertisement by Hades, pleading citizens of Elysium to consider being reborn, to at least temporarily ease the traffic. Fortunately for him, people rarely chose the path. If everyone did, there wouldn't be any glory in doing so, wouldn't it?
He fazed through the gates of Elysium, a reminder that he was still a shade, a citizen of the bleak Underworld. No he told himself. Tomorrow, he will no longer wake up to paradise. As soon as he walked a short distance from Elysium, he began to feel things he hadn't felt in centuries; pain, the weight of air itself, and the diverse textures of the Underworld. Things that he had been shielded from too long.
He continued to walk towards the pavilion where people were being judged. Ever so slowly, different aspects of life returned: the scar on the back of his neck, the weight of the robes on his shoulders, the tiresome walk up hill. It was like reopening old wounds, unlocking a dusty treasure that had been hidden for hundreds of years.
It didn't feel like a long time before he reached the tent. There was a single empty line, the only opening out of the Underworld for the deceased. A sign hung overhead bearing the words, "From Elysium. Rebirth contracts signed here!"
He took a breath, feeling a refreshing sensation: his heart beat. First faintly and slowly, like a newborn baby. He entered the tent.
A bored looking attendant snoozed in the chair. "You must not get a lot of people here for you to be in that state," remarked Achilles.
He instantly woke up before choking on the drool that had collected in his mouth. Achilles simply smirked. "Wha-? Oh, so you're here to be reborn?"
Achilles took a minute, before nodding firmly.
I will not back out this time.
"Just fill out this form and sign down there. And please, do it in Ancient Greek or Hades might throw the form away," drawled the attendant. He went back to snoring as soon Achilles picked up the pen.
"No wonder there are no people waiting to be reborn," Achilles muttered as he filled out the first two lines, "No one from the newer generations know ancient Greek, or any Greek for the matter."
The first few questions were simple enough. Typical things like name, parents, birth place. The only one that he was stumped on was birth date.
Then, the questions became harder. Love interests, regrets, accomplishments. Who read this stuff anyways? Aphrodite?
As his hand reached the bottom of the paper, he noticed that he started to write slower. Part of him still didn't want to leave.
Soon, only his signature was left. That was also when the "what ifs" started to barrage his brain.
What if I die as a newborn?
What if I forget my past life?
What if I don't make it back to Elysium?
He painstakingly forced his hand to the paper.
Aχιλλεύς
As soon as the pen left the paper, all Achilles could see was black. And then came an overwhelming wave of new sensations, the most prominent being the first cries of a newborn.
So how was that? I don't think it's that good, but hopefully I'm wrong. Review!
