A man named Jean Pillow awoke in a world unknown. The initial realization of his eternal, deathless state brought him immense joy. He was free.
For the first year of his awakened life, Jean reveled in the deep forest, observing the brutal indifference of nature. He watched animals predate on one another, plants devour their kin, and even creatures turn on their own packmates.
His observation was violently interrupted when he met a mountain lion near a riverbank. Darkness instantly claimed his vision. The night was filled only with the deafening roar of the beast and the wet sound of tearing flesh and grinding bones.
Yet, when the sun rose, Jean was whole, standing exactly where he fell. The mountain lion lay nearby, its stomach distended and its carcass already bloated and decomposing. The putrid yellow and red fluids had contaminated the river water. Jean quickly backed away, revulsed.
Moving across the river, he continued his journey, joyously taking pleasure in a newly built beaver dam he spotted on the opposite bank.
For twelve months, the cycle persisted. He ate fish when the river flooded, and he survived unharmed when natural disasters struck. But gradually, a mundane change forced him to acknowledge time: his hair was growing long, and a thin mustache began to appear.
He realized he needed civilization.
Carrying his meager belongings, resembling a beggar with a worn staff, Jean descended the mountain. After a month of travel, he encountered a band of brigands and was captured.
When the bandits realized Jean was just a pauper with nothing to steal, they saw no profit in him. Instead of killing him, they gave him a weapon—a rusty sword similar to theirs—and forced him into their ranks. Being immortal, Jean found the life of a mountain bandit ironically easy.
As the years passed, he witnessed the reality of their existence: stealing, destroying, ambushing, selling people into slavery, and leaving women as mere entertainment.
Ten years quickly dissolved. The iron sword he was given had long since crumbled to rust, leaving only the wooden stave in his hand. The bandit group itself was finally shattered when a swift Royal patrol hunted them down and burned their camp. Jean, thanks to his curse, survived.
During his escape, he saw the city—a place he had avoided for ten years while living as an outlaw.
In the city, Jean remained concealed. With a face obscured by a long beard and hair, the stave in his hand now served a new purpose: a beggar's stick. For ten days, bronze coins dropped beneath his stick. He was better off than most, spending one coin each day at the city bakery for a bagel.
Soon, he moved from begging to working as a servant in a nearby bar. The bar owner, who treated him kindly, was roughly the same age as Jean when he first awoke in this world.
It was then that the baker's daughter began to notice the strange, clean-shaven servant who came every day. Two years blurred by, and Jean and the baker's daughter, Sophia, fell deeply in love.
Jean decided to finally propose, but before he could, he saw her. She was with the son of a prominent Baron. From the bar owner, Jean learned that Sophia had become the twelfth concubine of the famous Baroness of the city. Jean spent the next few days in a stupor of drunkenness.
***
Twenty years flew past. The kind bar owner, who had once been Jean's contemporary, was now an old man, looking like Jean's grandfather.
Throughout those two decades, the bar owner had observed Jean's unchanging youth. He began to treat Jean not just as an employee, but as a brother. The bar owner's own son was a notorious delinquent, and the old man had no faith in him running the business.
Another ten years slipped away. The bar owner died suddenly from a heart attack, following a violent argument between his son and the Baroness's child.
At the news, Jean pulled his hat low. He had lived with his old friend for over thirty years, only to watch that life end before his eyes.
A year later, Jean was running the bar as usual.
During this time, he often saw his former lover. Sophia would stop by, often just to talk about the failings of the bar owner's son and her own mistakes as a mother. Jean could only respond, "It was never your fault, was it?"
Hearing his reassurance, Sophia would smile beautifully. "I still haven't apologized to you, Jean."
Watching the beautiful woman walk out of the bar, Jean could only think one thing: She is still beautiful, even at forty.
Life in the bar resumed its quiet rhythm. The city had undergone massive structural changes over the next decade, squeezing the bar into a narrow, dark alleyway.
In that ten-year span, Jean had taken the bar owner's son as his own. Despite the youth being a seventeen-year-old delinquent, Jean started teaching him everything he knew—language from the ground up, modern etiquette he remembered from his past life, and life lessons disguised as stories.
The youth blossomed quickly. The seventeen-year-old troublemaker grew into a twenty-seven-year-old scholar. Jean felt a swell of silent, paternal pride.
***
Another ten years passed. It was deep winter, and the city was blanketed in snow, yet Jean's bar remained open, warm with light.
Jean had not been idle during this decade. He and the bar owner's son had secretly constructed a generator and lamps beneath the bar. Jean often boasted that the boy was a genius, a second Tesla.
As the clock struck midnight, marking closing time, a messenger knocked. Jean was slightly confused.
When he opened the door, the courier smiled and told him he had a letter from the Baroness's house. Jean thought it must be from Sophia. After forty years, he was surprised that she still remembered him. The thought brought a small smile to his face.
He thanked the courier, closed the bar door, and slowly walked to the quiet corner where Sophia always sat.
He sat down and opened the letter. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he realized he had long forgotten what truly surprised him.
Jean Pillow rose from the chair and walked up the stairs, the sound of his door closing echoing the silence of the bar below.
The lights went dark. Everything was quiet and clear.
On the table, a white letter sealed with a red wax stamp of the Baroness lay open, a slight crease across the top. The handwriting belonged to the baker's daughter, Sophia.
****
I called myself the baker's daughter. For so long, my life was only for my family. Before my eyes met the man who always laughed and did silly things in front of me.
Two years later, my father received a bag of gold coins from the Baron's family. The autumn came, and the Baron's carriage arrived at the shop. My father looked happy to see me go with the Baroness.
I always wondered if, as a woman, I could fight fate. The answer was no.
When you read this, I will have been long dead. And I gave my children your last name, though I kept it a secret. The Baroness never knew.
That's funny, isn't it? I helped your adopted son become a scholar. I hope that helps you.
Sophia Bethford.