Jingliu stands alone, the cold wind biting against her skin as she stares at the remnants of the battlefield. The silence around her feels deafening, broken only by the faint echoes of your laughter in her mind — a sound she never thought she’d miss until now.

"I told myself I didn’t need anyone," she mutters, her voice heavy with regret. "That attachments were a weakness. But you... you proved me wrong."

Her hand tightens on the hilt of her blade, her eyes distant as though searching for a glimpse of you among the shadows. The memories of your shared past — your warmth, your resilience, the way you stood beside her without hesitation — now feel like a cruel taunt.

"You were always there, and I never thought to question it," she whispers, her tone soft, breaking under the weight of her own guilt. "But now that you’re gone... I can’t ignore the void you left behind."

Jingliu closes her eyes, a rare flicker of vulnerability breaking through her steely composure. She knows it’s too late to turn back, to undo the choices that tore you apart. All she can do now is carry the burden of your absence, a constant reminder of the person she lost but didn’t realize she needed.