Eight hundred years after Adrian's death, Marcus burst into Kieran's sanctuary, eyes bright with something Kieran hadn't seen in centuries: excitement.
"I felt something," Marcus said breathlessly. "Magical signatures, soul energy patterns. Kieran, I think—I think the reincarnation cycle might be beginning."
Kieran's heart, dormant for so long, stuttered. "Where?"
"I'm not certain yet. The signals are faint, scattered. But there's definitely something happening. Soul energy coalescing, the way it does before a major reincarnation."
Hope—dangerous, terrible, beautiful hope—flickered in Kieran's chest for the first time in eight centuries.
"How long?" His voice shook. "How long until we know for sure?"
"Could be months. Could be years. The reincarnation process isn't instantaneous. The soul has to find the right vessel, the right circumstances."
Kieran stood, his body energized in a way it hadn't been in centuries. "We search. We track these signatures. We—"
"We wait," Marcus interrupted gently. "If we interfere with the process, we could disrupt it. The soul has to find its own path back."
"I can't wait. Not anymore. I can't—"
"You've waited eight hundred years. You can wait a little longer."
But waiting, now that hope had been rekindled, was agony. Every day that passed without confirmation felt like a lifetime. Kieran found himself unable to sleep, unable to focus, consumed by the possibility that Adrian—his Adrian—might be coming back.
He cleaned their quarters. Prepared for a return he wasn't sure would happen. Tried to make himself presentable, less like the broken monster he'd become.
Weeks passed. Months. The magical signatures remained faint, inconsistent. Marcus continued monitoring, but his initial excitement dimmed.
"Something's wrong," Marcus finally admitted. "The soul energy is there, but it's not... coalescing properly. It's like something is blocking the reincarnation process."
Kieran felt hope crumble. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know. This is unprecedented. It's like the soul is trying to return but can't find its way."
Eight hundred years of waiting, and even when Adrian's soul attempted to return, something prevented it.
The cruelty was almost poetic.