This isn't the life Till was prepared for. Fighting every single day was routine, yet the reality of a supposed "freedom" hit harder than anticipated. He could still smell the smoke, feel the ash beneath cold fingertips, blaring lights and noise and a scarlet horizon that reminded him of the ones he lost. Would it have mattered if he ran away that day?

Like a phoenix, he too would rise from the rubble. The fragile flower persists.