Wrote this around Valentine's day, and figured I'd post it here. Enjoy!
The first time, he's a man. He stands in a void, staring into nothingness, and he sees not what is, but what can be. Golden spots of light dance on his hands. He stretches them out, and creations sings as it bursts into existence. Colors harmonize as they surge to adorn this new world. He creates deep valleys and mountains that reach to the heavens, scorching deserts and icy expanses. And then all that's left is life. He reaches out: from the ground rise races of creatures- intelligent, crafty, and oh, so alive.
He watches over his creations, watches them strive and learn and struggle. He creates for himself two companions, making them his heirs until the first is ripped away by his adversary. He observes his world with a certain aloofness, a natural superiority, a ruler looking down at the peasants that litter his streets. He created them, but he is not them. He does not need them. He has everything he could want.
Because before all this, he created her. She stands beside him, his soulmate, two beacons of light reflecting their light and love to the creation. She glows, she laughs, she lights up his world.
Then his adversary strikes, that terrible force that stole his heir but still hungers, still is unsatisfied, still desires. It strikes, and she dies, and he falls.
He leaves his place in the mountains and descends to his creation, rallying them behind him in an attack against his adversary. It is only the first of many. He splits the world, dividing it in half, banishing the demon and his followers for good.
Then his rage subsides, and he cries.
This victory is not without its costs. The land has been touched by war, and the after effects will not fade swiftly. The world that once sang now screams for help as the life within tears itself apart. He himself has sustained many injuries, losing an eye to a cursed blade. He doubts this wound will ever heal completely. And he can feel himself growing old, can feel his power ebbing away. He can't help anymore, not like this.
He preserves her spirit, his final act before death, a spirit to surpass all others, to exist forever and welcome the deceased to the afterlife. He hopes that she will welcome him, that they might find peace and happiness together like they once had.
He names her Preeminent.
He passes on.
His next life is spent as a pirate. He's a crew member aboard Misfortune's Keep, sailing the high seas and raiding the primitive costal civilizations. He enjoys this life, the salty spray in his hair, the freedom from being the one to hold everything together.
Regeneration was a surprise, although in hindsight he should have suspected it. He created this world, after all, it only makes sense that his spirit is tied to it. But he is not his former life. He wants to make a new life for himself. And so he rides the waves to new adventures, forgetting his past as he looks forward to the future.
Then Nadakhan brings a woman on board. They lock eyes, and suddenly it's all flooding back.
He's different, with an eyepatch and dark skin, and she's different, with short hair and breeches. But he knows, he recognizes her -how could he not?
And she remembers too, he learns, one daring night as he approaches her chambers. Their meetings become regular. They speak and laugh and bask in the glow of each other's presence.
But their luck doesn't hold. Someone snitches, and suddenly, they're being ripped apart. He's arrested for treason against the captain, beaten and thrown into the slave holds. The night is long. It is lonely. It is dark.
Nadakhan drags him out the next morning. He tries to force him into making a wish, but he refuses The last thing he sees is the blade arching down.
The third life sees him hatching from an egg, a Venomari child, a member of the serpentine tribes. War is in full swing, the ripples created by the first battle still affecting the world millennia after. He wonders if he'll find her in this life, too, as he trains and hunts and ascends through the ranks.
This time, he loses his eye during a slither pit. There's excruciating pain as his own venom eats away at his nerves, destroying his vision and rendering the eye useless and deadened. The injury gives him hope, in some roundabout way, that the cycle will continue and they will somehow meet.
Suddenly, full war breaks out. The land-dwellers have broken the hard-won peace treaties, betraying their motives and trust. He's swept up into the outrage like everyone else, bitter anger and snapping fangs and lashing tails. They rally together, all five tribes as one, and they attack.
He fights with a fury on the battlefield, a whirlwind of acid and blades, thirsting for revenge and intent on getting it. He feels so far removed from his first life and wonders how he stayed so impartial, so aloof, so above it all. Now he is alive. Now he truly lives.
And then the inevitable happens. There's a pain in his chest. He stares at the arrow, confused and shocked into inaction. When he lifts his eyes, a warrior looms proudly above him. Her eyes are alight with a hidden fire, and her blade is drawn to seal the final blow.
He can't look away. Her eyes betray her. Snakes can't cry, and yet his vision blurs as he sinks to the ground. He doesn't break the stare.
"You were always… created…. to be the greatest."
He catches the way her eyes widen right before the world dims.
He enters his next life to the flashes of a camera. For a moment, everything seems perfect. A man beams down, face lined with the creases of a person who enjoys laughter. "Jay," he says. "My son."
But then the world flips. Something's wrong with the woman. People rush about, shouting. He's set off to the side, falling asleep to the flat tone of a monitor.
A few days later, he finds himself on the doorstep of a trailer.
He grows, forgetting those first few days as he flourishes and thrives in the care of those who care for him. He grows into a new personality as well. Gone are the days of constant seriousness; if he is to continue living forever, he might as well try and enjoy it. So he adjusts, overcompensates sometimes, trying to find a personality that fits this life and reflects himself.
Eventually, he grows out of the junkyard and moves to the city. He takes up school, learns about the advancements the world has made, enjoying the peace and quiet that graces this life. There is no war, and he thinks he is happy for that.
But an old man shows up and offers to train him in the ways of a ninja, and he realizes just how much he depended on the action. He accepts the offer. Swords glint, and he dodges and leaps and races around a courtyard. It's also during this time he learns he is to protect the weapons of his first life. The old man gives him three helpers and sends them off on a nation-wide scavenger hunt.
Soon he learns they are not only helpers, but teammates.
They capture the weapons, lose them, and stare up at the blackened spires of the temple. The sword is no longer inside, but something in there still calls to his spirit, still leaves a yearning in his chest.
When the temple splits open, he realizes why.
She sits astride a dragon's neck, almost an exact copy of her second life. Her smile falters as she stares at him. He sees her eyes widen as they rest on his eye scar, and he knows that she knows.
She throws herself off the dragon, running as he runs to her, and then they're in each other's arms. He chokes back a sob, but he can't keep the tears from welling in his eyes. She's here. She's here, and nothing, no Nadakhan, no wars, not even the cycle of life and death will rip her away.
"I'm sorry!"
"No don't be. It's okay. We were enemies then. Now we can be allies."
He knows that this doesn't mean this life will be without its battles. They'll have plenty of troubles, of woes, of threats to face in the coming years. But this time, they'll have each other. This time they'll be together. He relaxes into her embrace, his soul singing.
This time, he is a man. And nothing will change that.