His father died in the first wave of the plague’s attack on their town. It had been of no pain to the boy’s heart to see the old crone die when compared with the sheer amount of hurt he was feeling at seeing his cheese-stick loving girlfriend struggling to survive. (Or maybe it was the plague taking its toll on him as well?)
Mizar and Alcor had announced something recently however- a cure. It was a drastic change of species to be sure, but it was something… IT HAD TO WORK. IT JUST HAD TO WORK! And so he carried his love on his back across desert and water- towards the place that had just recently been a battle field but now was a flowing river. The people around town were calling it Nature’s Spite or something like that, but he didn’t care.
All he cared about was saving her life, his own be forfeit if need be.
He arrived at the camp site, nearly dazed and his love on his back nearly dead from dehydration, but he made it.
He made it and one of the first things he did was nearly walk face first into the back of the Demon Yaovi- the green-black bone-scythe wielding Reaper of Death and Mother of Rebirth- a member of Alcor and Mizar’s army against the Traitor.
She saw his suffering- read it from his heart- and without even needing to speak a word, she guided him to lay his girl down on a soft river bank. And then she worked her magic- it was a spell that she especially excelled at, even though Mizar had been the one to come up with the idea as a cure.
The Reaper took a bottle full of the blood of a wolf, and made his love drink from it. A moment later, she offered the second half of the bottle to him, and he drank. In moments, pain lanced through his side- as if someone had stabbed his stomach and guts with an acid-laced knife and then twisted. Then his ears began to burn, and his spine ached as it began to grow out further past where it normally ended.
Human no-more, the boy and his love were reborn as Lycans- powerful werewolves who would survive the plague that had nearly taken their lives.
Yaovi would observe their recovery, and planed to arrange a small parting gift for them before they left to return home to spread the cure to those who needed it. An older woman, one of the new Lycans as well, would perform the sacred rites of the Soul Bond- binding together the two souls that had traveled so far to escape death… yes, even Death would not separate these two, for that bond would ensure it…
And if the magic failed, Yaovi vowed, quietly, even if only to herself, that she would make sure that those two would continue to reunite at the earliest convenience no-matter what new lives they might lead. Although she doubted that their deaths would happen any time soon. Yes, if things worked out right, they could have decades of decades more before either of them died of natural (Or unnatural) causes.
When Yaovi exited the tent those two were in, she came face to face with Hecate- the Pathfinder. Had she not become used to the shape shifters many forms, she would have been scared for her life to see the Hunter in their present form- all strings and metal bows and pulsing orbs of magic- in the shape of a werewolf. To her credit, Yaovi merely only jumped slightly upon realizing the distance between her and the Hunter/Pathfinder. “Hecate, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The Hunter shifted into something vaguely more humanoid, feminine shape. Interesting, Yaovi observed with a faint smile.
“I…” Hecate’s voice echoed like a plucked string, sounding harmonious and yet powerful all in the same vein. “I thought I recognized their souls for a moment.”
Ah. So that was it.
“You believe they’re the same as the ones so long ago?” Yaovi asked. She knew all too well how the reincarnation cycle could throw someone’s soul for a loop, even across other dimensions and worlds. And with those four…
“No. I don’t,” Hecate’s ‘head’ shook side to side with a faint squeak of a well oiled valve. “Similar… and yet… Different. I was mistaken.”
“Yes, well,” Yaovi put on a joking smile and her best sarcastic voice, “that is why I was chosen to handle the soul part of this operation, and you were chosen to be it’s sheriff.” Without a real ‘face’ at the moment, just a pair of glowing orbs for eyes, it was hard to tell what Hecate’s reaction was, however… Hergie was slinking over, tail swishing and ears twitching. Yaovi considered herself lucky to spot the Thief’s Matron on the hunt, and decided it was of no real harm if she… well, ‘played along.’ So, she continued to speak, in an actually serious tone, “But really now, dear, you got this way when you first saw our powerful little Battle-mage. Surely there’s something to it?”
“No,” Hecate breathed out. “There isn’t. She’s immune to the plague, so she does not need the cure that you gave them.” Those glowing orbs centered on the tent. “The cure that is a curse. Why must our mistakes haunt us so?”
‘You need to open your eyes one day, Hecate,’ Yaovi could practically hear Hergie’s thoughts as she crouched in preparation to jump upon her unsuspecting ‘prey.’ Indeed, there was a faint smirk that preceded the following jump. ‘But that’s not today, is it?’