She died when she was forty years old, what she saw when she opened her eyes was a small hand. Illian Heinrich, an old mercenary, had gone back ten years and became a twelve-year-old child, Haven Winter.

“Because you are not Illian Heinrich.”

Julius had built a solid door. That door was only for Illian Heinrich, not for Haven Winter.

“What the hell is Illian Heinrich to you?”

Illian didn't understand him. What is it to him that a forty-year-old woman who used to work as a mercenary, often called lowly, is waiting for him? Illian Heinrich in this. Maybe he's acting like he can't live without Illian. Julius slowly turned and looked at Illian. His dry eyes sank as if they couldn't contain anything.

With those eyes on the subject, Julius said, “My everything.”