The autofill tried to help. All categories. All time. All regions. He ignored it. He hit Enter.

"Yeah," his father had replied. "Cool."

"Dad, what's a Lich King?" he'd asked.

The cursor blinked. A pale, vertical pulse in the dark heart of the search bar.

He smiled a thin, sad smile. He wasn't looking for a CD key. He wasn't looking for a torrent. He was looking for something the search engine couldn't index.

"No," Leo smiled, tears finally pricking at his eyes. "Remember the night we defended the World Tree? You played the Keeper of the Grove. You kept entangling my own units."

Then life happened. The way it always does. High school. College. A job in a city far from that basement. The crossover cable was lost to a move. The desktops were recycled. His father's hands, once so deft on the keyboard, grew stiff with arthritis. They stopped talking about strategy and started talking about blood pressure and mortgage rates.

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[Sir_Leo]: For Lordaeron.

"Hey, Dad," Leo said. "Remember the Night Elves?"