(From "Until I Can Sleep Beside You")
The world returned in fragments — light first, then sound.
The soft flutter of curtains. The muted rustle of a servant's skirt. The distant toll of the duke's manor bell.
Then pain. A deep, familiar ache behind his eyes, like someone had poured centuries into a single skull.
Cael Aurelion opened his eyes.
Above him, the ceiling was painted with cherubs and moons — a scene he'd stared at once before, though the faces of the cherubs had been younger then, untouched by the fading of time. The scent of lilacs drifted from a nearby vase, faintly wilted.
He turned his head, silver hair spilling over the pillow like threads of starlight. It felt heavy — heavier than it should have been for someone newly awakened. His pale hand rose weakly to his chest, and he exhaled a long, trembling breath.
"It happened again."
The whisper left his lips before he even meant to speak.
The maid attending him froze. "Y–Young Master Cael? You're awake?"
He didn't respond at first. His eyes — an otherworldly shade of pale amethyst — focused on nothing, like he was staring through the room itself. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the window. Beyond it, the world glowed in morning gold, the kind of light he'd seen rise a thousand times across a thousand lives.
He'd hoped he wouldn't see it again.
"How long," he murmured, his voice calm but worn, "was I asleep?"
"F–Five years, my lord," she stammered. "You fell into fever after the fire at the estate. The physician said it was a miracle you lived at all—"
"Five years…" Cael repeated quietly, eyes narrowing. "No. Fifty."
The maid blinked. "Pardon?"
He turned his head slightly toward her. The morning light caught the silver of his lashes, the ethereal gleam of someone who wasn't entirely human anymore.
"This is the fiftieth," he said simply. "The fiftieth time."
Her confusion only deepened, but Cael was no longer listening. His gaze was already drifting inward — past the walls of the room, past the weight of this fragile body — to memories scattered like dust across lifetimes.
A battlefield of silver flame.
A tower of scholars collapsing in the snow.
A prince with blood on his hands and tears on his lips.
And always — always — a pair of dark eyes reaching for him, too late.
He closed his eyes again, exhaustion creeping through him like mist.
I asked for rest, he thought. And the gods mock me with life.
The door opened suddenly — his half-brother's voice booming in disbelief, the servants rushing to announce the miracle that the "sleeping ghost" had awoken.
But Cael barely noticed them.
Because in that crowd, standing silently at the door in the armor of a new recruit, was a young knight with deep brown eyes — eyes that flickered with a faint, startled recognition.
Their gazes met. For the first time in fifty lifetimes, Cael felt his heart tremble.
He found me again.
And with that realization, a single tear slipped from his pale lashes — silver as moonlight.