Lira could feel her spirit turning translucent, like wispy smoke long caught in the wind, ready to drift apart and vanish forever at any moment.
Once again came the anniversary of the day she died.
Kael walked slowly toward her grave, carrying a large bouquet of baby’s breath, her absolute favorite flower.
He had grown so much thinner, his back bowed far more deeply, and the shoulder seams of that well‑worn jacket hung loose and empty upon his frame.
He set the flowers down gently, then reached carefully inside his coat and drew out a small velvet box, so worn and faded its original color could barely be guessed.
When he lifted the lid, resting inside lay a plain silver ring. It bore no famous hallmark, was not cast from rare metal, and looked even slightly rough‑hewn, as if shaped by
