ALLWAYS suffering in any reality
will never know peace, He walks through worlds like a curse wearing skin, a man stitched together by smoke, scars, and memory. Every door he opens becomes a grave eventually. Every hand he dares to hold slips cold from his grasp. The stars themselves seem cruel to him. Not hateful. Just certain. Certain that joy will rot in his hands. Certain that love is temporary. Certain that peace is something made for other people. He learns the sound of final goodbyes before he learns the sound of laughter. Cities burn behind him like funeral candles, and the people he protects become names he whispers to the dark. Still— he keeps walking. Not because he believes things will get better, but because stopping would mean letting the pain win completely. There is something monstrous about a soul forced to survive this long. Something exhausted. Something holy. He has stared at death so many times that death itself has become familiar, like an old wolf waiting patiently at the edge of the firelight. And one day, perhaps, it will finally take him violently— with steel through flesh, with fire in his lungs, with the universe tearing his name apart. Or perhaps it will fail again. Because misery is not his punishment alone. It is his destiny. A chain welded to his bones across every universe, every timeline, every version of himself. No matter the world, he loses. No matter the century, he mourns. And no matter how badly fate breaks him, he rises once more— bleeding, furious, half-alive— to continue a journey that will never reward him. A wanderer forbidden from peace. A guardian nobody could save. A man cursed to outlive everything he ever loved.
