“You’re immortal,” Bassander said. “That’s proof. That’s a sign.” “He’s half mortal!” someone interjected. Was it Crim? “Half mortal?” someone echoed, quieter than the first. And then it began for true. “Halfmortal!” someone repeated, and made of the joke a cry. A declaration. A name. “Hadrian Halfmortal! He died! We all saw it! Halfmortal!”
