The scene shifted. No more Asgard, no more Dark Elves. Instead, grainy footage of Shafi appeared—younger, wearing the same blue jacket he wore the day he left. He was sitting in a small, windowless room filled with old VHS tapes, DVDs, and spools of film. A single bulb swung overhead.
He smiled. Then he started packing a bag.
“Little brother. You found the secret reel.”
He laughed. Lost cinematic signature? Probably just a virus. But Shafi had always believed in movie magic—the kind where a frame of light could hold a memory forever.