Many years later.

Myles, now a retired adventurer, was busy sipping some refreshing evening tea when he felt fingers cover his eyes. The ends of his lips tugged into a warm smile.

"Guess who I am," the one covering his eyes demanded in a voice that was attempting to sound masculine.

"These fingers can only belong to my sweet granddaughter, Clarhyssa," he replied, and the fingers of the person retracted, granting him vision once more.

"Grandpa, you're no fun at all," the 16-year-old with silver-blond hair said, finally standing before him with a pouty look, hands akimbo.

"You wanted me to guess your identity wrong? You didn't give me a...