In the quiet corners of Grieg Cemetery, east of the White City, Valdren walked slowly between ancient headstones, his long white robe fluttering gently in the winter breeze. His signature blue hair shimmered under the sunlight, swaying like a memory in the wind. In his hands, he held a bouquet of pure white flowers.
He moved with the stillness of a man carrying something sacred—until he stopped before a particular grave.
He looked down at the inscription carved into the stone.
"Here lies the dearest and kindest daughter—Wesila Valdren Kaldras. Forever alive in our hearts."
A soft smile spread across his face, the same warm and radiant smile he always wore.
"Hello, my darling. How have you been?"
He knelt quietly beside the grave and gently placed the flowers down.
"I brought you some beautiful blooms," he murmured. Then scratched his head and chuckled softly.
