Seirion looked at him in silence.
Erian's sweet smile still shone on his lips, even though the tears hadn't yet dried on his cheeks. It was a contradictory sight, and for that very reason, devastatingly beautiful.
There was purity in that gesture, a strength that came not from muscles or weapons, but from something deeper, rarer: a heart willing to smile even after it had cried.
Seirion felt something tighten inside him.
For an instant, he forgot the centuries of distance that separated him from humans. He forgot the curse of his name and the weight of the abyss. He only saw Erian, head held high, with his body's evident fragility and, at the same time, a firmness greater than any resistance he had ever witnessed in kings or warriors.
Erian's beauty wasn't only physical. It was spiritual too. That broken faith which, even in pieces, still shone brightly enough to illuminate his darkness.
