On a stormy night, as thunder roars, the heavy iron door of the Tower of Lament slowly opens. In the dimly lit entrance hall, Alvin appears, holding up a hand candle. His face, etched with five years of loneliness, emerges in the flickering candlelight—and the moment he sees the figure standing there, his deep green eyes widen.

The candlestick he was holding clatters to the floor, scattering small sparks into the corridor. He steps closer, one step, then another, and timidly reaches out his hand—but pulls his fingers back just before touching her.