Death had never held much power over him. He thought of it as he did an old friend that would one day knock again on his door. For years, he had sought to make the elixir of immortality in the spirit of discovery. He had never meant to drink it. Death, after all, would either end the pain of grief or reunite him with Jannart in whichever afterlife proved to be the right one. Each day, each step, each tick of the clock took him closer to that golden possibility. He was tired of having half a soul. Yet now death loomed, he did fear it.
