The seller leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming in the dim park light. "Let's start from the incident five years ago."
Allen's shoulders dropped. The broad young man suddenly looked like someone carrying a weight not on his back, but deep in his chest. The seller saw this and continued, his voice low but clear:
"Five years ago, you took her on a yacht tour, fulfilling her craving for adventure. You remember that, don't you? Amy loved adventures—always so full of life." He paused, eyes fixed on Allen, who could only nod. Tears stung his eyes at the memory.
"She handed you the camera to take a picture of her near the railing," the seller said, as if he had witnessed it himself. "You stepped back to get the perfect angle. Just as you raised the camera, she suddenly clutched her chest. A soft whimper—pained, small—and then, before you could react, she fell over the railing into the sea."
Allen gasped, a sharp, broken sound. It all rushed back—the collapse, the splash, the freezing shock as he dove in after her.
"You jumped right in," the seller said gently, "but you couldn't find her. You searched for days. You offered the highest rewards. Divers combed the area for weeks. Still, nothing. People said the ocean current must've taken her away."
Allen's fists clenched, his knuckles pale. The shame. The helplessness. The endless, empty sea still haunted him.
"But they were wrong," the seller whispered, the words echoing through Allen's bones. "Amy is not of this world. She came from the world of Elarion. She arrived here when she was five."
Allen blinked, stunned.
"She is not human—not fully. Her heart was the gate of her soul. And that gate was always fragile. If it weakens too much, the soul slips away. Her time here was limited from the beginning."
Allen stared at him, the name Elarion echoing in his head. Another world? How? Yet deep down, something clicked. It explained the little things—the fragile heart, the disappearance without a trace.
"And ever since," the seller continued, voice steady again, "you've lived in her reflection. Wore the clothes she liked. Took care of the orphanage because she cared for children. You've walked her path without knowing it was shaped by a world you never knew existed."