Two weeks and three dead vampire lords later, Adrian started dreaming of his other lives.
The first dream was of Ming Dynasty China. He was Wei—the painter Kieran had mentioned—sitting by a lake with brush and ink, capturing the sunset. He had a wife who brought him tea and kissed his forehead. Children who called him father and showed him their calligraphy practice.
He was happy. Complete.
And he never knew Kieran existed in that life.
Adrian woke crying, and Kieran was there immediately.
"The memories are starting," Adrian said. "I dreamed of being Wei. I had a family, Kieran. I was happy. And I never knew you."
Kieran held him, stroking his hair. "I know. I watched from a distance. You were a brilliant painter. Your landscapes sold for fortunes."
"You were there and I didn't know you?"
"I couldn't tell you. You'd lived a whole life, built a whole existence. Inserting myself would have been selfish." Kieran's voice was strained. "But I watched every exhibition. Bought three of your paintings—they're in storage. I watched you grow old with someone else and told myself it was enough that you were happy."
"How is that fair to you?"
"It's not about fairness. It's about love. Your happiness mattered more than my pain."
Adrian clung to him, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. "I don't know if I'm that selfless."
"You are. You've always been." Kieran kissed his forehead. "You died protecting me, remember? Selflessness is coded into your soul."
Over the following nights, more memories surfaced.
He dreamed of being Zhang, the general. Commanding troops, strategizing battles, dying with a sword in his hand. Kieran had been there—a soldier in his unit—but they'd barely spoken.
He dreamed of being Ethan, the jazz singer in 1940s Shanghai. Performing in smoky clubs, falling in love with a woman named Grace, dying in a bombing raid. Kieran had been in the audience every night, and Ethan had noticed—had even sung to the mysterious beautiful man in the back—but they never spoke.
Six other lives flashed through his dreams. A farmer, a merchant, a scholar, a doctor, a fisherman, a tea house owner. All different. All full. All lived without knowing Kieran existed.
"I lived nine times without you," Adrian said one morning, exhausted from dreams. "Nine whole lives. Had families, careers, loves. How do you compete with that?"
Kieran looked at him seriously. "I don't. Those lives were yours—they made your soul what it is now. Strong, compassionate, experienced. I'm grateful for every one of them, even though I wasn't part of them."
"But if I turn, if I become immortal, those lives are it. I'll never have children, never grow old with someone, never have a normal human experience again. This is my last chance for that."
"I know." Kieran took his hand. "Which is why you need to be absolutely certain. Don't choose immortality because you're being threatened or because you think it's what I want. Choose it because you genuinely want to spend eternity experiencing everything the world has to offer. Or don't choose it, and live this life fully, and I'll be grateful for whatever time we have."
Adrian was quiet for a long moment. "I need to meet them."
"Meet who?"
"The families. The descendants. From my other lives." Adrian sat up. "Wei had children—I saw them in the dream. They'd have descendants now. I want to meet them. I want to see what I left behind in those lives."
Kieran looked uncertain. "Adrian, that might not be a good idea—"
"Please. I need to understand what I'm giving up. What immortality means. And I can't do that without seeing the impact of a full human life."
After a moment, Kieran nodded. "Alright. I'll make arrangements."