I never questioned the strange little ritual. Every year on my birthday, my grandfather would hand me a single green plastic soldier. No card. No explanation.
Just a silent, knowing smile as he placed the toy into my palm, wrapped in old newspaper, as if it was part of some secret only he understood.
At first, I figured it was just Grandpa being Grandpa — quirky, playful, full of quiet mischief. But I never imagined that, decades later, those tiny green soldiers would lead me straight into the most incredible mystery of my life.
