Wilbur, his figure a silhouette against the inky darkness of the night, leaned back against the ancient, moss-covered stone wall. Stars sparkled like distant memories, each one a reminder of the three lifetimes he had lived and died in, a reminder to himself that this was his fourth, that he was alive.

His fingers traced the rough texture of the weathered stone, feeling the coolness seep through his touch. He exhaled smoke from his mouth, cigar in between his lips as he fiddled with it.