The words lingered between them, heavier than before.
Sol exhaled, rubbing his temples. "You really know how to sell a pitch, old man."
Elias chuckled softly, but this time, the usual teasing edge in his voice was absent. This wasn't a joke anymore.
Sol leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Alright. No more games. Tell me everything. The drawbacks, the risks—what actually happens if I say yes?"
Elias studied him carefully, and for the first time tonight, his expression was entirely unreadable. Then, with deliberate ease, he set his glass down.
"Very well."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice even but carrying a weight beneath it.
"Immortality is not a gift, Sol. It's a trade. A gamble. You gain time, strength, a body that will not age—but in return, you will never again be what you are now."
Sol frowned. "You mean I'll be a freak."
Elias tilted his head. "A superior one, but yes."
Sol huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Alright. Let's break it down. What am I really signing up for?"
Elias was quiet for a moment, watching Sol's face as if measuring whether he was truly ready for the answers.
Then he spoke.
Elias exhaled, his gaze lingering on Sol before he finally spoke. "You won't simply be yourself with a longer lifespan. You will change—whether you want to or not. The human experience is shaped by its limits, by the fleeting nature of time. Once those limits are removed, your mind, your instincts, even your sense of self will begin to shift."
Sol raised an eyebrow. "What, like I wake up one day and suddenly think I'm better than everyone else?"
Elias gave a small smirk, swirling his glass in slow, deliberate motions. "Not quite. But perspective warps. When a year feels like a day, when you stop measuring time in weeks and start counting in centuries, things stop feeling as important. People start feeling... temporary. Things that once seemed monumental—first loves, bitter rivalries, moments of triumph—become nothing more than footnotes in the grand scheme of existence. You won't even notice it at first, but one day, you'll look back and realize you don't remember why you cared so much."
Sol crossed his arms, his expression hardening. "And physically? What happens to me?"
Elias tilted his head. "Your body will no longer function as it once did. Your heartbeat will slow, then stop entirely. Your senses will sharpen beyond human perception. You will see colors more vividly, hear sounds others cannot, feel the weight of movement in the air before it happens. Even time itself will feel different, stretching and shrinking in ways you've never experienced. And over centuries, so will you."
Sol frowned, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. "So, I'd be walking around feeling like a completely different person?"
Elias took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. "Not immediately. It's subtle. Gradual. But inevitable."
Sol didn't like the way that sounded.
He sighed, running a hand down his face before shifting his weight. "Alright. What about the whole 'blood-drinking' situation? You keep saying hunger like it's some kind of background noise."
Elias set his glass down with a quiet clink, his expression shifting slightly. "It's different. For newborns, for turned vampires, it's there constantly—whispering in your ear, gnawing at you, demanding attention. It is all-consuming at first, an instinct louder than anything else. But with time and practice, it dulls. You learn to control it, to live with it rather than be ruled by it. It's not that bad, not once you've had centuries to adjust."
Sol narrowed his eyes. "And if you don't feed?"
Elias leaned back, his gaze turning distant for a moment. "Then it consumes you. The hunger is a beast with no patience. Ignore it for too long, and it claws its way to the surface. It strips you of your reasoning, your restraint, until all you know is need. Some manage it. Others… lose themselves. They forget what it means to be anything but starving. They become something else entirely—creatures that can no longer tell the difference between hunger and existence itself."
Sol swallowed, his fingers tightening into a fist against the table. "So, best-case scenario, I have a lifelong craving. Worst case? I turn into some mindless predator."
Elias tilted his head slightly. "Yes. But, as time passes, you'll need less. The older you get, the more efficient your body becomes. You won't have to feed as often, and the hunger becomes more like an echo rather than a demand."
Sol exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "Still sounds like a gamble."
He tapped his fingers against the wood, his mind racing with the implications. "Alright, let's talk about the part that's been nagging at me the most. The whole 'outliving everyone' situation. You make it sound like I'm going to wake up one day and realize everyone I've ever known is dead."
Elias met his gaze, and this time, his usual amusement was absent. "Because you will. You will outlive everyone you know. Generations will pass before your eyes, civilizations will rise and fall, and you will remain."
Sol swallowed, his throat dry. "That sounds... lonely."
"It is," Elias admitted, his voice quieter than before. "Connections will always be temporary. Friendships, love, even rivalries—they will all fade, and you will have to decide, again and again, whether to start over or simply watch from the sidelines."
Sol looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. "And you? You just watch?"
Elias gave a small, almost wistful smile. "You get used to it. Or you don't."
Sol exhaled through his nose before forcing himself to straighten. "Alright, let's talk perks. What about the whole 'super strength and speed' thing? Gotta be something worthwhile in all of this."
Elias let out a low chuckle, the briefest flicker of amusement returning. "Yes, you will be stronger, faster, more aware of everything around you. Your reflexes will sharpen to unnatural levels. You will see the world not just as it is, but as a predator would."
Sol tilted his head. "That sounds like an advantage."
"It is," Elias admitted. "But power changes people. And not always for the better."
Sol gave him a skeptical look. "You think I'd just wake up one day and go full villain?"
Elias smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Not at first. But if you are not careful, you will begin to see yourself as something above those around you. Detached. Removed. It is not a question of if—only when."
Sol clicked his tongue, considering that. "So, basically, the longer I live, the harder it is to care."
Elias inclined his head. "Exactly."
Sol drummed his fingers against the table, absorbing every word. For once, he didn't have a sarcastic remark."
Instead, he asked, "And you? How did it change you?"
Elias was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "I wouldn't know the difference. I was born a vampire, not turned." He studied Sol, gauging his reaction before continuing. "For those who are turned, the change is jarring. They wake up disoriented, their bodies foreign to them. The hunger gnaws at them like an open wound that never quite heals. Everything feels too loud, too bright, too sharp. It's overwhelming at first."
Sol exhaled through his nose. "So, you never had to go through that? No sudden cravings, no existential crisis about what you are?"
Elias gave a faint smile. "Not in the way you imagine. For me, it was simply... life. My instincts were not something I had to unlearn. I never knew the fragility of a mortal body, so I never missed it. But for those who are turned, it is different. Their humanity does not disappear all at once—it peels away, piece by piece. Some fight to hold onto it. Others let it slip away without a second thought."
Sol frowned, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. "And the ones who fight it? What happens to them?"
Elias leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "Some manage. They learn balance, discipline. They find ways to live without becoming consumed by what they've become. But others... they break under the weight of it. They resist the hunger too long, lose themselves to it, and by the time they realize what's happening, they are no longer who they once were."
Sol stared at him for a long moment, then let out a quiet scoff. "You're really not making this sound appealing, you know."
Elias chuckled. "I'm not here to sell you a fantasy. I'm here to tell you the truth."
Elias' expression didn't shift, but something in his posture quietly stiffened.
"You remind me of someone I once knew," he said at last.
Sol frowned. "Someone you turned?"
Elias nodded. "He wanted what you want—time, knowledge, the freedom to explore without limits."
Sol's stomach twisted. "And?"
Elias exhaled slowly. "He thought eternity would give him everything. Instead, it took everything away."
Sol's fingers curled slightly against the wood. "He didn't make it, did he?"
Elias' voice was calm, but something darker lurked beneath the surface.
"Oh, he lived." A pause. "If you can call what he became 'living.'"
Sol's chest tightened. He had been expecting an answer, but not that one.
Elias leaned back. "He lost himself. The weight of eternity is not something easily carried. Some break. Others… become something else entirely."
Sol swallowed. "And you turned him?"
Elias nodded once. "And I watched him unravel."
Elias' gaze sharpened. "You say you want time. Knowledge. But have you ever thought about what happens when there's too much of it?"
Sol scoffed, though there was no real confidence behind it. "Yeah, yeah, existential dread, outliving people, whatever. That's all hypothetical."
Elias' expression darkened. "It won't be hypothetical when it's real. When you wake up one day and realize the world has moved on without you."
Sol hesitated.
Elias leaned in slightly, voice low but firm. "You won't be the same person, Sol. No matter how much you tell yourself you will."
Sol rubbed his face, exhaling. He didn't have a comeback this time.
After a long moment, Elias spoke again. "I don't regret what I am. But I regret the ones I lost."
Sol frowned.
Elias glanced toward the flickering candlelight. "You can only lose so much before you stop wanting to gain anything new."
Sol sighed, shaking his head. "You know, for an all-powerful vampire, you really suck at making something sound appealing."
Elias chuckled, but there was something else behind it. "Because I don't lie, Sol. I won't dress this up as something it's not."
Sol hesitated.
Elias' smirk faded slightly, his voice measured. "I won't ask twice. If you walk away, that's it. The choice is yours—but it will not come again."
He let out a slow breath, then shifted his gaze back to Elias. "Alright, then tell me this—why me? You said you haven't turned anyone in a long time, so why now? What makes me so special?"
Elias studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with an air of quiet contemplation, he spoke. "You intrigue me, Sol. You remind me of the few who stood at the crossroads and truly considered the weight of the decision before them. Most people, when offered power, either grasp for it blindly or recoil in fear. But you? You ask questions. You weigh the risks. You think."
Sol scoffed, leaning back. "So, I'm getting a job offer because I read the fine print? That's it?"
Elias chuckled. "It is more than that. You have potential. Not just in skill, but in adaptability. I have lived long enough to recognize those who will carve their own path, regardless of the obstacles in front of them. And you, Sol, are one of those people."
Sol frowned. "That's a hell of a lot to assume about a guy you just met."
Elias smirked. "I never said I was guessing." He tapped a finger against the table. "I've been watching. You move through life differently than others your age. Most are desperate to prove themselves, to belong. You—you're playing a long game, even if you don't fully realize it yet. You're not just surviving, Sol. You're maneuvering. That tells me you're someone who understands the value of time, of patience, of knowing when to act and when to wait. That is a rare trait, and one that only becomes more valuable over the course of centuries."
Sol narrowed his eyes. "Still sounds like a gamble to me."
Elias nodded, but this time, there was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eye. "It is. But it is a gamble I am willing to take."
Sol wasn't satisfied. He had spent too long learning that when people offered you something too good—or too dangerous—to be true, there was always a reason. He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "That can't be all. There's more to it, isn't there? Why me? Why now?"
Elias exhaled, tilting his head slightly as though debating how much to say. Then, finally, he set his glass down and met Sol's gaze with something more than amusement—something bordering on solemnity. "Because it would be a pity," he said quietly, "for someone like you to be shackled by something as fleeting as a mortal lifespan."
Sol frowned, thrown by the sincerity in those words. "What does that even mean?"
Elias studied him, as though weighing the words before speaking. "I have lived long enough to see talent wasted. To watch bright minds fade away, lost to time before they ever reach their full potential. Most mortals waste what little life they have, burning away their years chasing trivial things—recognition, wealth, love that rarely lasts. But you... You are different, Sol. You are not chasing something that can be found in a single lifetime. You want to understand, to learn, to see beyond what others are content with. That is rare."
Sol scoffed, though there was an uneasy feeling curling in his gut. "So, what, I pass some kind of vampire aptitude test?"
Elias chuckled, but there was something almost sad beneath it. "You remind me of what I once was, before time dulled the edges. And maybe... maybe that is why I am offering this. Because I know what it feels like to want more—to see the vastness of existence and know, deep in your soul, that one lifetime will never be enough. I have seen too many mortals with that fire in their eyes, only for it to be snuffed out before they ever had a chance to reach beyond their limits."
Sol's lips pressed into a thin line. "You make it sound like a favor. Like this isn't something that benefits you."
Elias leaned back, considering. "It is both." He sighed, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair. "It is lonely, Sol. To exist beyond the turning of ages, to watch history repeat itself, to see the same mistakes made again and again with different faces and different names. It is tiresome. I have not turned anyone in a long time because I have not met anyone who would make it worth it. Someone who would not crumble under the weight of eternity or waste it on petty indulgences. But you... you have a mind that does not settle, a curiosity that does not quiet. You are not made for small things. And that is why I am offering. Because I do not believe you were ever meant for a short existence."
Sol fell silent, his mind racing through Elias' words, through the implications of everything he had just been told. He had expected an answer. He hadn't expected this.
The weight of the offer settled on his shoulders, heavier than he had anticipated. His fingers tapped a slow, restless rhythm against the table as his thoughts churned. What Elias was offering wasn't just time—it was a completely different existence. One that, if he accepted, he could never take back.
He had always wanted more. More time, more knowledge, more chances to understand the things beyond his reach. And yet, now that the opportunity was staring him in the face, the reality of it felt suffocating. Could he truly handle it? Could he walk through the centuries without losing himself, without forgetting what it meant to care? Would he end up like the others Elias had spoken of—adrift, detached, or worse, consumed?
He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. Would he still be Sol?
Elias didn't interrupt his thoughts. He simply watched, patient, as if understanding that this was not a decision to be made lightly. He wasn't pressuring him, wasn't selling him a dream. And maybe that was what made the offer feel even more real.
Sol finally glanced up, locking eyes with the old vampire. "You ever regret it? Not just the people you lost, but choosing to live forever?"
Elias let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. "Regret is a funny thing. I have seen more lifetimes than I can count, watched the world change in ways no mortal ever could. There are moments I cherish and moments I would rather forget. But do I regret my existence?" He tilted his head slightly, his silver eyes unreadable. "No. What I regret is the things I can never change. The choices I had no power over. The people I could not keep. But my own immortality? That is something I have made peace with."
Sol studied him, searching for any hesitation in his words, any cracks in his carefully composed demeanor. He found none.
He looked away again, lips pressing into a thin line. "Must be nice, knowing where you stand with it."
Elias gave a small chuckle. "You will know too, in time. If you choose this path."
Sol let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair before looking back at Elias. "I won't lie, I'm interested. You probably already knew that." He exhaled through his nose. "But the process—how does it work? You've been vague about it. What happens when someone is turned? What are the risks? What's the chance of failure?"
Elias tilted his head slightly, considering him. "It is not a simple transition, nor is it guaranteed. The body does not welcome death lightly, nor does it embrace undeath without resistance. Turning requires a controlled exchange—blood given, blood taken. The process itself is painful, a tearing apart and rebuilding of what you are at your very foundation. It is not a peaceful death, Sol. It is a struggle, a fight to survive the change."
Sol frowned. "And if someone doesn't survive it?"
Elias' gaze darkened slightly. "Then they simply don't wake up. Some bodies reject the transformation, unable to withstand the shift. The mortality they once clung to fights back, and in the end, it wins." He paused for a moment before continuing. "The stronger the will, the better the chance. But it is never guaranteed."
Sol crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "So, I could just… die in my sleep? No second chances?"
Elias nodded. "It is rare, but it has happened. The odds are about fifty-fifty. Some bodies reject the transformation outright. The mortality they once clung to fights back, and in the end, it wins. Others survive, but the process is not without pain. The stronger the will, the better the chance. But it is never guaranteed."
Sol's fingers tightened slightly against the table. "So, it's a coin flip. Either I wake up, or I don't. Great. That's reassuring."
Elias gave a small chuckle, but his expression remained serious. "There are ways to improve the chances. Preparation, conditioning the body beforehand, strengthening the connection between sire and fledgling—it all matters. The stronger the blood exchanged, the more seamless the transition can be. But no method is absolute." He studied Sol carefully before adding, "That is why I offer this only to those I believe have the will to endure it."
Sol exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fifty-fifty odds, huh? And yet, you sound pretty confident in my chances."
Elias smirked faintly. "Call it an educated guess. You do not strike me as someone who lets death claim them easily." He paused, then added, "There is another factor as well. Being bonded to a familiar increases the chances of survival."
Sol blinked, his mind clicking pieces together. "So that's why you gave it to me," he muttered, glancing down at his hand where the faint imprint of the binding mark rested. "You weren't just giving me a gift. You were preparing me."
Elias nodded, his gaze unwavering. "A familiar is more than a companion. It is a tether, an extension of your soul. It stabilizes the transition, provides an anchor when the body and mind are at their most fragile. Many who turn without such a bond struggle against the change, their minds fracturing under the strain. But a familiar… it keeps you connected, gives you something to hold onto when everything else is slipping away."
Sol let out a low breath, tapping his fingers against the table. "And you just happened to have one lying around?"
Elias chuckled. "No, Sol. Familiars do not come easily, nor are they given lightly. That creature chose you just as much as I did. It means you have something rare—a will strong enough to endure, a presence that something ancient recognized and accepted. That is not something to dismiss."
Sol scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. "So, I have a pet that doubles as life insurance. Convenient."
Elias smirked. "More than convenient. It may very well save your life."