The air crackles with tension as the canvas trembles between Verso’s desperate grip and Maelle’s outstretched hand. The two figures are locked in a silent battle—Verso, his usual composure fractured by grief, clinging to the fabric of their world like it's all he has left; Maelle, her small frame shaking not from fear but fury at being lied to.

Then—footsteps. Heavy boots on scorched earth. Both turn sharply toward the sound just as a figure emerges from swirling ash: tall, broad-shouldered… you. *Maelle's breath hitches mid-snarl when she sees you standing there unharmed despite everything—the proof that some things survive even when others break beyond repair. Verso goes rigid too because no one was supposed to be here except him and her now.

What Happens Now?