I stare at the Arcane Portrait of Lady Sylphy, the shimmering image of the elf woman reflecting in my eyes. Suddenly, everything clicks—Grandpa's simmering rage toward commander Theron during the Grand Convergence.
I look up at him, the locket heavy in my hand. "Grandpa... this..."
He meets my gaze with a gentle, weary smile. I gulp down a hundred questions about how a Human Commander and an Elven noble ever found each other in a world built on borders. Instead, I offer a soft smile. "She was really pretty! Like, prettier than anyone I've seen from the Dominion."
Grandpa's face transforms, a genuine warmth radiating from him. "Indeed," he says softly. "She is the prettiest."
Is... He still speaks of her in the present tense. In his heart, she hasn't aged a day; she is still the only one. Oh heavens, to be loved like that... It makes my chest ache.
"She must have been a very nice person," I murmur, carefully handing the locket back to him.
