"Well, he's not quite dead," Daemon countered with a laugh, glancing over at Renji and poking him in the shoulder. "He's... something else. I'd compare you to the demon-dead or the Guardians in my realm, but that's not quite right, either. You don't need blood to sustain you, and as far as I've witnessed, sunlight has no harmful affects on you. But as for the other, yes I am. I'm not sure how time has passed here in comparison to home, but on my last nameday there, I was 1,763."

This was admitted with a casual shrug. In his world, in his race, he was still young, not even to the prime of his life yet. His father had lived over 50,000 years, and that was before he'd become a Guardian, and Daemon had never had the courage to ask him how long ago that had been. At some point, he wondered if you just stopped keeping track.

"That is old to the short-lived races," he explained. "My people are one of the longer lasting races in our realms. I'm still relatively young."