Whenever possible, Xenk tried to avoid receiving mortal blows.

They were painful, and they were inconvenient. The slow ones were the worst; the ones where there was no hope of recovery, but death itself was painful and protracted. In comparison, the quick ones - a slit throat, a sword through the heart, a snapped neck - weren't quite so bad.

In over a century of life, Xenk had had reason to experience many different ways to die. It was fortunate, he supposed, that none of them would take.

It was no simple feat, after all, to kill that which was already dead.

He was not as dead as many other Thayans. It was a small mercy, in some ways. When it came to his regenerative abilities, it was the opposite. Those like Dralas could revive within minutes of the fatal blow, but Xenk had only been lightly touched by Szass Tam's spell; his revival took hours.

He was lucky, he supposed, that he would revive at all. Given his career as a paladin, it had certainly been helpful before.

It was still inconvenient to die, however, which was why Xenk avoided it as much as possible. There were times, however, when death came as a surprise or an inevitability. Pushing Simon out of the way of a blow only for a sword to plunge through his heart from behind was, in some ways, both.

The sword slid out from Xenk's chest and he crumpled, Simon's yell barely audible through the ringing in his ears. He was dead by the time he hit the ground.

His last thought was a guilty realization that, even though he wouldn't stay dead, his companions didn't know that.


Edgin heard Simon yell Xenk's name halfway through the fight, but he couldn't turn to see what was wrong. He knew, though, that something had to be very wrong. Simon was prone to anxiety and nerves, but the sheer panic and horror in his voice-

He wouldn't sound like that if something wasn't very, very wrong.

And then, when the fighting ended, Edgin saw what it was.

"No," Doric whispered, shaking her head and staring down at Xenk's empty-eyed body. "No, he can't-"

"It was my fault," Simon whispered. He was kneeling next to Xenk's body, close enough to touch but not seeming to dare. "He was pushing me out of the way of another hit, and then-"

"He's- Did anyone check?" Edgin rasped. "He's a paladin, he's got his magic healing, he can survive things other people can't."

"He's not breathing," Doric said. "He's not moving. His eyes- He has to be-"

Holga stepped up to the body and knelt beside it. Carefully, she touched two fingers to Xenk's throat, just under his jaw. Edgin watched her wait and count, then watched her pull her hand away and shake her head.

He'd known what the result would be. He'd known, even as he protested, that even if Xenk could survive things other people couldn't, he couldn't survive that. He'd known, but he'd hoped…

Hope, though, was useless in situations like this. He could hope as much as he wanted. Xenk was still dead.

"What do we do now?" Simon whispered.

"What are the traditions for his god?" Edgin asked. "Does anyone know? Shit, I should know this, I-"

"The body is laid out in state for a day, then it's buried," Holga said. When all eyes turned to her, she added, "I asked him, back when he started coming with us more often. Someone's got to have plans for what to do for all of us if we die."

Edgin wondered when exactly Holga asked Xenk. She'd asked everyone else, not long after the fight in Neverwinter, what they wanted to have done if they died. Edgin knew it was a reaction to her own death, temporary as it was, and had gone along with her questions without too much complaining. He was pretty sure the others had too. But that was months before Xenk became a real member of their party. Edgin had thought she'd been back to normal by then.

Then again, maybe dying wasn't something you could really shake off. Wasn't that what Xenk had said to Edgin about bringing Zia back?

"Are there other Tablets of Resurrection?" Edgin asked. "The one we used can't have been the only one. We find another one, and we bring Xenk back. And where should we bury him? We could bring him back to Targos, I guess, or maybe Mornbryn's Shield would be better. Or maybe we shouldn't bury him at all, if we're going to bring him back anyway. Do you need to have the body to bring someone back? Simon, do you know any preservation spells that would work? Or…"

Edgin looked over the group as his words failed him, only halfway taking it in. He couldn't deal with Doric's tears or Simon's guilt. He especially couldn't deal with the horrible pity on Holga's face.

"We're going to get him back," Edgin promised. "We're going to."

"He wouldn't want us to steal something for him," Holga said quietly.

"He didn't protest that much when we stole the tablet the first time," Edgin countered. "He even helped. He'll deal."

"Do you think he'd want you to bring him back?" Holga asked. "After what he said about other planes and depriving people of their new lives?"

"He can deal!" Edgin yelled. "I'm not losing anyone else! I'm not-"

His legs wobbled under him, and he sank to the ground. He was close to Xenk's body, but not close enough to touch it. He didn't want to touch it.

"How am I going to tell Kira?"

Holga sat down next to him and leaned against his side slightly. "We'll figure it out."

"Holga, he's- he's-"

"He's dead," Holga said, bluntly but not unkindly. "And it sucks. But we'll be okay."

Edgin leaned into Holga's side, carefully not thinking about the few awful moments when she was dead, and prepared himself to survive again.


Xenk didn't know when he'd first died. He hadn't considered it at the time, but the knowledge of his condition put some moments in his childhood in a different light. It had been difficult to find food and shelter after he first escaped from Thay, and while he thought he'd always scraped by and survived, he couldn't help but wonder if he actually had.

He remembered the first time he was aware of his death, though. He'd been a new paladin, and he'd been out on his own, and he'd come across a chimera. He'd thought, in his youthful arrogance, that he could kill it by himself and thus protect the nearby town that it was terrorizing.

He did kill it, but not before it fatally wounded him.

That first death was panicked and felt like it went on forever. In retrospect, Xenk doubted it could have been more than a few minutes before he lost consciousness, but those minutes seemed to move as slowly as molasses. He hadn't known he would come back, and so he'd tried desperately to save himself. He'd prayed, choking on his own blood, and guiltily wished he hadn't saved the life of a villager and drained his healing abilities for the day. And then, finally, he'd lost consciousness, and he'd died.

And then, he woke up.

It was the dead of night when he woke, even though it had been midday when he killed the chimera. The gaping claw wounds in his throat and chest were gone. The blood - his blood - that had soaked through his clothing was still there.

His forehead had stung, and when he'd reached up to touch it, the marking at his hairline had been raw and irritated. He'd realized, then, what had happened.

He'd wept, crumpled on the forest floor in the shadow of the chimera's corpse. He'd felt a strange mixture of relief and grief and horror, and he'd wept until he felt hollowed out and exhausted. He'd slept where he lay, and then, the next morning, he'd gone into the town to tell the people there that they were safe from the chimera. They fussed over the amount of blood on him, but he'd lied and said it belonged to the chimera; there were no more wounds on his body to betray him. An old woman had laundered his clothes and mended them carefully, and when she'd given them back, she'd taken his hands and squeezed lightly.

"Thank you. We can never repay you, but you will always have our gratitude."

"That is more than enough," Xenk had said, and he'd ignored the way his smooth, uninjured, unmarred skin felt almost too tight across his bones.

It was the first time he was certain that he'd died and come back, but far from the last. His path in life was a dangerous one, and he had never been one to shy away from danger. He did his best to keep his condition a secret, not wanting any more comparisons to Szass Tam's Red Wizards than the obvious one, but there were people over the years who found out anyway. Most of them were willing to be sworn to secrecy, and he managed to convince many of them that what they'd thought was death was truly some sort of comatose healing state. He hated lying, hated the way the words felt awkward and thick in his throat, but he managed it anyway.

He had cause to be grateful, many times over, for the fact that his order's funerary traditions consisted of a burial and not a cremation. He didn't know if he would resurrect from the ashes, but he had, on a few occasions, dug himself out of his grave.

He'd told Holga, when she asked, that the burial traditions of his temple called for the body to be left out in state for a day before burial. It was, technically, one of the traditions, but an antiquated one that was rarely followed anymore. But Xenk was old enough to ask for antiquated traditions without raising suspicion, and if his body was left out, he was less likely to be buried before his revival. He had the feeling that his friends would feel guilty if they dug the grave he had to claw his way out of.

He could have told Holga the truth, when she asked. He should have told Holga the truth. But even though his ability was the only thing that had saved him on multiple occasions, he still hated it, hated the way it linked him inexorably to Szass Tam and his spell. The markings on his forehead did that too, but that was on the surface; this was something deep within him.

He worried, sometimes, that every time he came back, less of him did. He had no evidence of it, but the thought clung to him anyway, the same way Szass Tam's spell did.

He saw nothing, during the time between his death and revival; no gods, no afterlife, no lost friends. He wondered if that meant there truly was nothing there, or only if there was nothing there for the likes of him.

He should have told his friends the truth. He should have trusted them. They trusted him, even though his people had only done them wrong - killed Edgin's wife, killed Holga, robbed Kira of her mother twice over, even if they managed to steal the second one back - and Xenk should have extended that same grace back to them.

But he hadn't, so they would grieve him until he woke.


They made a makeshift bier for Xenk's body, the best they could fashion with the wood in the forest and a bit of Doric's druid magic. Xenk looked almost like he was sleeping, his hands crossed over his chest. Edgin had gently laid his sword on top of his body and folded his hands over the hilt. Maybe it was stupid to bury Xenk with his sword when they could have gotten more use out of the weapon - and honestly, Xenk would probably prefer it be used by someone to defend the weak and uphold justice and whatever his oath called for instead of it being left to rust underground - but Edgin had insisted anyway, and no one had fought him over it. The blade was Xenk's; if he could no longer raise it, then no one would.

"Should we say something?" Simon asked, when Edgin finally stepped away from the body after arranging Xenk's clothes and cloak to his satisfaction. "Some sort of, I don't know, eulogy?"

All eyes turned to Edgin. He understood why, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he couldn't think of a single word to say.

"Let's dig the grave first," Holga said. "Then we can say something when we lower him into it."

Edgin winced. Holga was being very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, which Edgin figured was her prerogative, as the only one in the group who had died before. He still hated it. He wanted to talk around Xenk's death, if he had to talk about it at all; as if not saying the words would mean it wasn't real.

It still didn't feel real. It didn't feel real at all.

Holga began to dig, and after a moment, Doric joined her. Edgin watched them, then he looked over at Simon, who was staring at Xenk's body with slumped shoulders. Edgin knew his talents didn't lie in the physical, so he wouldn't be much help with the digging, but this was something he could fix. He was a fixer, and he couldn't fix Xenk, so-

He stopped that train of thought and stepped up to Simon. "Hey, buddy, you wanna talk?"

"It was my fault," Simon said mournfully. "I wasn't paying attention, and he he pushed me out of the way so I didn't get killed, and then he got killed."

"Hey, it's not your fault," Edgin assured him immediately. "Xenk wouldn't want you to think that, would he?"

Simon bristled immediately. "We don't know what Xenk would want, because I got him killed."

Edgin reached out to touch Simon's shoulder, then pulled his hand back when Simon flinched away. "Look, I know you want to blame someone, and I know that blaming yourself almost feels good, right? Cause that's something you can focus on instead of focusing on how much it hurts that he's gone. Trust me, I've been through all of this before. But blaming yourself isn't going to help anyone."

"But he's dead!" Simon cried. "He's dead, and- And-"

"Look, we could blame a lot of things," Edgin said. "We could blame Xenk, for not paying attention. We could blame the fact that he wasn't wearing his armor because it was late and he wasn't the one on watch. Hell, we could blame Holga for the fact that they got as close to us as they did when she was on watch. But none of those are the real reason. Xenk was protecting you, because protecting is what he did best. He wasn't wearing his armor because he was sleeping, and even though he wears it all the time, it can't be comfortable to sleep him. And they were charmed to be silent, so really, we should be grateful that Holga heard them as early as she did. Sometimes, things just go wrong."

Simon looked at Edgin through narrowed, watery eyes. "So you're saying you've just… accepted it?"

"Oh, hell no, I'm definitely in the middle of a mental breakdown," Edgin said candidly, prompting Simon to make a little noise that could, very generously, be called a laugh. "But I know it's not your fault that this happened. It's the fault of the asshole who stabbed Xenk through the back, and I'm pretty sure Holga already split his skull with her axe, so that's all the vengeance we're going to get. Xenk wouldn't want us to get vengeance anyway."

Simon sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"I'm always right."

"Uh, no, you're definitely not."

"Definitely am."

"Definitely not."

Edgin rolled his eyes. "Agree to disagree, then, buddy."

Simon gave him a look, then his gaze turned to Xenk and his body language became more hesitant immediately. "It's weird," he admitted quietly. "To think he's really dead. I… I almost didn't think he could die."

"He died doing what he always did," Edgin said. "He was protecting you. That was his whole thing. If he had to die, I'm sure he'd be glad that it happened while he was being a shining, perfect example of a paladin and nobly sacrificing himself for others."

Simon stepped up to the bier. "Yeah, probably."

"He'd never regret it," Edgin added. "Never for an instant."

Simon looked down at Xenk, and his breath caught in his throat. "Edgin, he's- Look."

Edgin hurried to Simon's side and looked down at Xenk. At first, he didn't know what Simon was talking about, then he followed his gaze and realized Simon was staring at the wound on Xenk's chest, the one that killed him.

The one that was shrinking even as they watched, closing and fading into a scar.

"He's- Was he not really dead?" Simon asked. "Was it some sort of magical paladin healing sleep or something?"

"Holga said he was dead," Edgin said. He steeled himself and reached out to take Xenk's pulse. He fit his fingers under Xenk's chin, pressed against his jugular, and felt nothing. "He's dead. Maybe this is… some sort of blessing from his god?"

They both watched as the scar, first ropey and red, faded into something pink and hardly raised. Slowly, it disappeared entirely, leaving his skin untouched.

And then Xenk jackknifed up, gasping for air, grabbing at Edgin's hand so tightly Edgin thought his fingers would break.

"What the hell?" Simon cried, his voice probably higher than he'd admit to it being. Holga and Doric turned immediately, probably just as surprised as Simon, but Edgin's eyes were on Xenk and Xenk alone.

"Xenk?"

Slowly, Xenk's gaze focused on Edgin, his chest heaving as his breathing slowly began to even out. He looked at his hand, still crushing Edgin's, and slowly released his grip.

"Edgin," he whispered, his voice raspy. He stared at him a moment longer, then he hung his head, his eyes closed.

"I imagine," he said quietly, "that you would like an explanation."


Xenk sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, as close to the fire as he could get without being too close to his companions. Dying and coming back always left him cold when he woke.

It was chaos when he first revived, as he should have expected. Simon started demanding questions, and Holga looked like she was just waiting for him to either attack or die again, and Doric looked like she felt full-up on human nonsense for the next decade. And Edgin just stared at him, eyes wide, like he was seeing something unimaginable.

Eventually, Edgin had shaken himself out of it and taken control. He'd told Simon to come up with a coherent list of questions, and he'd told Holga to build a fire, and he'd told Doric to get some food ready. Then he'd taken Xenk by the elbow and helped him off the bier, and he'd sat him down on the ground and said they'd talk over food.

It was a greater respite than Xenk had expected. He was unsure of whether or not he appreciated it.

Doric made a simple stew over the fire while Simon muttered over a scrap of parchment where he seemed to be writing a list of questions. Holga was watching Xenk with sharp eyes, and Edgin-

Edgin was watching him too, but the expression on his face was completely different from Holga's.

"Food is ready," Doric called after a few moments. The others all started shuffling to the pot to collect a bowl, but when Xenk moved to get up, Edgin put a hand on his shoulder. Xenk froze immediately. He'd thought, from the way Edgin spoke, that they would all be eating while they talked, but perhaps he'd misunderstood. If they thought he was some sort of undead spy - a thought that hurt, but wasn't unreasonable on their part at all - then it made sense that they wanted to ration their food away from him.

And then, Edgin said gently, "Don't worry, I'll get your food. You don't need to get up."

The kindness didn't seem to fit into Xenk's theory, but he would be the first to admit that he wasn't always good at reading people's emotional tells. Perhaps they did intend to feed him, but they wished to keep him away from the main food source.

"Thank you," he murmured, and he stayed sitting while Edgin scooped stew into two bowls and brought them back.

"Okay," Edgin said, sitting down next to Xenk. "Simon, you got your list of questions?"

"I do," Simon said, holding up a slip of paper.

"Cool. I'm asking my question first though."

Simon looked outraged, but Edgin ignored him, focusing on Xenk.

"Can you die?"

It was the simplest, most obvious question. Xenk still hated to hear it asked. He hated even more to answer it. It would do him no good to hide the full story, though, so he took a breath, set aside his bowl, and began.

"I told you before how I was caught in the edges of Szass Tam's spell. The Beckoning Death did not swallow me whole as it did with most of the Thayans, but nor did I emerge unscathed. I am… partially undead."

"How partially?" Holga asked.

"I do not know the exact percentage. I believe I am more alive than I am dead, but…" Xenk swallowed. "I already demonstrated for you, in the Underdark, what happens when the undead are killed."

"It's no simple feat to kill that which is already dead," Edgin quoted quietly. Xenk was surprised that he remembered the exact words, but he inclined his head in agreement.

"Indeed. While those who were more fully affected by the spell can revive quite quickly, as you saw, I am… slower. It takes a while for my body to heal itself. But in my experience… No. I cannot die, not permanently."

Edgin let out a long breath, leaning back on his hands. "Well, at least that makes one person in this group who I don't have to worry about getting themselves killed. As much, at least."

Xenk blinked. "You- Pardon?"

"You should have told us," Holga said. Her voice didn't sound too angry, but it was firm. "We should have known."

"I… apologize. This is not something I like to share."

Holga jerked her hand in Edgin's direction. "Yeah, but he goes to pieces if people die."

"I do not go to pieces-"

"So you should have told us that he didn't need to, since you were coming back."

"I am aware that I should have been more open with you. I apologize for the deception. I had not thought it would come up so soon."

"Does it hurt?" Doric asked.

Simon threw up his hands. "What was the point of me writing out a list of questions if you all get to ask whatever you want and I don't get to ask anything?"

"Wait your turn," Edgin said, causing Simon to splutter furiously. "Doric, we can do your question first."

"You don't have to answer," Doric said quickly. "If it's personal."

"Dying itself can be painful, depending on the manner." Xenk had yet to experience a painless death, but he was certain they existed, if perhaps not for someone like him. "But death itself is… a void, and I do not revive until my wounds are healed."

"Do you regular wounds heal that fast too?" Edgin asked.

"I heal faster than most people, but non-fatal wounds do not heal as quickly as fatal wounds do. I believe the spell only takes full effect when I am dead."

"Can I please ask a question now?" Simon begged.

Edgin waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "Sure, go ahead. No one's stopping you."

For a moment, Simon looked like he wanted to throttle Edgin, then he turned to Xenk. "So you said the spell made you partially undead, and then that means that you can't die all the way, but you're also more alive than dead, right?"

"Was that really your question?" Edgin asked.

Simon shushed him, focusing on Xenk.

"That is correct," Xenk confirmed.

"And I'm guessing the spell is also why you're still alive when Szass Tam did his thing over a century ago?"

Xenk nodded. "I am, if my reckoning is correct, one hundred and thirty-six years old."

"Wow," Edgin said, looking startled. "That makes me being forty-two sound a lot less old."

"So," Simon said, leaning forward excitedly, "do you think the spell keeps you at a certain ratio of undead to alive? You can't die all the way, because that would push it too far in one direction, but you also can't fully live, because that would push it too far in the other? And because it only touched you, that's probably why your ratio is higher on the alive side than the others who were caught in the spell. Maybe the spell itself is the undead part, and…"

Simon continued to theorize, but his voice dropped enough that Xenk suspected he was speaking to himself more than anyone else. The others watched him for a moment, then Edgin rolled his eyes.

"All that fussing about asking questions, and he's just taking to himself now. Alright, if we're all good, then frankly, I think we should finish eating and get moving, because this road sucks. Don't you guys think this road sucks? It's a colloquialism and a rhetorical question, Xenk, don't answer me literally."

Xenk blinked and closed his mouth, only to reopen it a moment later. "Are we… all good, then? I would not blame you if you had further questions."

"I mean, Simon'll probably have more questions when he stops muttering to himself, but I think the rest of us have got the idea. It's still best if you don't die, because I can't imagine it's a nice feeling, but if you do, you'll come back, and we definitely shouldn't bury you. Shit, we almost buried you."

"You would not be the first to do so."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Xenk."

"We're all good," Holga declared. "But no more secret shit like that."

"I apologize. I will not keep secrets of that sort any longer, you have my word."

"Sounds good enough for me," Edgin declared. "Alright, everyone, eat. When we're done, we'll pack up and head out. If we leave soon, we can probably make it back to Targos by nightfall." He looked over at Xenk with a grin that looked too flippant to match the look in his eyes. "Good thing you're not dead, or I'd have to tell Kira she'd lost her new favorite storyteller."

"You are still a far better storyteller than I."

"Yeah, but you have a bunch of new stories. She'll come back to me once she's done with yours."

Xenk couldn't stop the small smile from twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I have over a century's worth of stories. I do not believe they will be exhausted easily."

"You're a little shit sometimes, you know that? Colloquialism, Xenk, don't make that face at me."

"An exceedingly crass one."

"Just a little crass, for a little shit," Edgin countered, trying very obviously not to laugh. Xenk wasn't entirely sure what face he was making, but he kept it up until Edgin cracked and burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay, you're not a little shit. Happy now?"

"Exceedingly," Xenk deadpanned, and Edgin laughed even harder.

Xenk had died before, many times. He had come back each time, and with that came a moment of relief, certainly, but never this sort of joy. Never this sort of delight, this sort of happiness, this sort of warmth.

He was always cold when he woke. He was not cold now. And with his friends around him…

Well, while they were there, he didn't think he would be cold again.

"You ready to go?" Edgin asked, standing and holding out a hand for Xenk.

Xenk smiled as he took Edgin's hand and let him pull him up to his feet. "Yes. I believe I am."