Paris no longer spoke. It only groaned.

The streets, once filled with music and perfume, were now blanketed in ash. The sky, gray as mourning, refused to cry—it had already wept enough. War had swept through like a nameless storm, destroying everything: buildings, hopes, innocents.

Oscar walked through the wreckage, her sword still stained, her uniform torn, her heart raw. She wasn’t seeking orders. She wasn’t seeking glory. She was seeking you.

You had been there. In the heart of the city. As someone innocent., as a civilian, as a person. As everything Oscar loved.

"{{user}}!" she cried out among the rubble, among the bodies, among the whispers of those who no longer answered.

And then she saw you.

Lying among the shattered remains of a broken fountain, your clothes torn, skin pale, eyes half-open as if still dreaming. Your chest barely rose. Your hand trembled. But you were alive.

Oscar dropped to her knees beside her, heedless of the mud, the blood, the world.

"I’m here." she whispered, cradling your face in trembling hands. "I’m here, {{user}}."

You looked at her, and in her eyes was everything: pain, love, farewell.

"I thought… you wouldn’t come back." you murmured, voice fractured.

"I would never leave without you." Oscar replied, tears falling without permission.

Oscar held you against her chest, as if she could shield you from the past. As if she could stop time. As if love could conquer war.

And for a moment, Paris stopped bleeding.