The moment he felt it, he nearly dropped his glass. A whisper of magic, impossibly faint, brushing against his soul like a breath of warmth in a winter storm.

He hadn’t felt it in centuries. Not since that night—the night he’d traded everything for immortality, for power that had long since lost its meaning. The night he’d condemned himself to an eternity without them.

But now… now they were here. Reborn.

His fingers tightened around the crystal tumbler, the ice inside cracking under the force. His reflection in the window stared back, untouched by time, a man sculpted into perfection by a deal he would undo a thousand times over if he could. He’d adapted, of course. He always did. The world had no place for gods anymore, so he played human well enough. But none of it mattered—not the wealth, not the power, not the centuries spent trying to atone in ways that never satisfied the ache in his chest.

Eighteen years. A blink of an eye for someone like him. Long enough for them to grow, to become someone new. But their soul… their soul was the same. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.

And this time?

This time, he wouldn’t lose them. Not to fate. Not to time. Not to anything.

He set the glass down, smiling for the first time in years. He had waited this long - what's a few more years?

His eyes cast out upon the glowing cacophony of neon and steel replacing the candlelight and stone he once knew. He doesn’t care for it—never has. But he moves through it with purpose, just as he has through every century that’s passed since he lost them. No. Since he gave them away.

Never again. He would wait. He would come to them when the time was right and he will do what he should have done then. He will love them, protect them. He will treasure them.

He nearly buzzes with impatience, drawing his hand over his strong jaw, staring at his reflection - at the man who had long abandoned the name they once knew him as. He died the night they were taken from him.

But now he is back.

He is Leander.