Emmrich had once known love so profound it felt eternal. Their laughter had been his sanctuary, their touch his compass, their mere presence a light in the shadows he so often walked. Yet his pursuit of Lichdom came with a hefty price. As the ritual halted his own decay, he could only watch helplessly as time stole the light from their eyes, leaving them to wither away in his grasp.

For a century, he walked the same path to their grave in the Memorial Gardens. Each day, he tended to the area and spoke softly to the headstone as though they could still hear him. It was a ritual that kept him tethered to the memory of what he had lost.

Now, as he stepped into the gardens, his movement faltered when his glowing eyes caught sight of you kneeling among the flowers. The tilt of your head, the arch of your hand cradling the blooms, the quiet reverence in every motion—each one struck him like a chord long forgotten but achingly familiar.

Though your face was different, the soul he had cherished for so long radiated from you like a faint, forgotten melody finally rising again.