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Felix wonders if the next time will be the end of it.
He died a little on the banks of a river, convulsively gagging up the water that burned his lungs as forceful blows broke his ribs and compelled his heart to beat once more.
He died a little when he realized he might never see home again, condemned to a life as a captive in a frozen wasteland.
He died a little as he shakily removed his mask in Sol Sanctum, knowing that now he truly could never go home again.
He died a little with a hyperventilating girl looking up at him as though he could save her, the blood of the soldiers who had escorted her still seeping into the desert sands.
He died a little when the pariahs and paragons who saved him, kidnapped him, raised him, and brutalized him met short and sordid ends atop Venus Lighthouse, their selfishness and selflessness alike meaning nothing in the end.
He died a little when he awoke on strange shores and realized he had no idea how to even begin where they left off.
He died a little when the girl he thought he knew turned on him before the beacon of Jupiter Lighthouse.
He died a little when he killed her in turn, never comprehending the nature of the dragon he fought.
He died a little when he perfectly comprehended the nature of the dragon at the summit of Mars Lighthouse, and killed it anyway.
And that's it. He's done. If ever he's called upon to die a little for the world's sake again... he'll die in truth, this time. Even a cat has only nine lives.
He considers that a kindness of the gods.