"Are you still going to deny your feelings for me?"
Her voice trembled, frayed by blood and breathlessness. The words slipped from her lips like a dying ember, soft yet furious.
A gash split her chest wide, soaking her torn tunic, but her eyes—her eyes held love.
A desperate plea. A last question.
Around them, the wind screamed across the cliffside, thick with the scent of fire, smoke, and the bitter finality of war.
"I... I am—"
He tried. The words lodged in his throat. His hand reached for her, always reaching, but never finding.
The ledge cracked beneath her feet.
His heart stopped.
"No!"
She fell.
Time unraveled, thought vanished. Only instinct remained.
He dove after her.
The world turned into weightless chaos. Wind lashed his skin. He caught her, arms clutching her to him, just before they hit the cliff base.
The landing shattered his body. Pain roared through his spine.
But she was in his arms.
Unmoving.
He cradled her head, brushing tangled hair from her blood-slicked face. Her lips parted slightly. Still. Breathless. Hollow.
"Wake up..." His voice cracked. "Please..."
Nothing.
"Please!"
His scream fractured the silence, swallowed by cannons and dark shadows. He shook her. Gently, then violently. She didn't stir.
His knees buckled. Blood soaked his chest and arms—hers, his—he didn't know. Didn't care.
The battle was over. But at what cost?
.
.
.
Long after they fell, they stood beneath a different sky.
The river was calm that day. The mountains bathed in sunset, and the birds sailed homeward through the soft evening gold.
A boy and a girl lingered by the water, unburdened by time or duty. She sat comfortably on his back, arms around his shoulders, chin against his neck. He stood steady beneath her, heart quiet and full.
Then, suddenly, she whispered, "Should I tell you something?"
"What?"
"I love you."
"Heh. I know."
"Do you love me?"
"Do I need to say it?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll need to wait a long time."
"Can't you say it now?"
"Don't want to."
She went quiet. Too quiet.
He felt it. The way her hands slipped from his shoulders, the cold creeping into her skin. Her body slumped softly against him.
He called her name.
No answer.
He could have set her down. Could have screamed. Could have run for help.
But he didn't. He didn't dare let her go.
"I still haven't told you," he whispered. He wanted to stop time. But couldn't.
"Didn't you say you could wait however long I take?"
He swallowed, voice trembling.
"I'm telling you now. It's going to take me a long time to say that--" His grip tightened.
"That I love you."
"Do you hear me?"
Silence.
"Hey."
"Get up."
He stood there for hours, she was still on his back.
The girl he loved with his very being was slowly leaving him, and he could feel her turning cold.
The sun vanished. The stars were weeping.
The moon watched, a pale mourner in the sky.
Still, he stood there.
Still, he hoped.
When dawn came again, he still held her in his arms.
She remained pressed to him, frozen in time.
He imagined she was still there—her hand in his, her smile promising she'd never leave.
But she did. Once again.
.
.
.