After four months in Caerwyn, she had survived many bombardments, helped the people, even saved the lives of some of Ash's comrades. But he had always kept his distance, silently observing.

The rumble of artillery shells seemed to tear the sky apart. The northern evacuation base — once considered "safe" — had been discovered by the enemy. Thick smoke obscured visibility. Civilians fled. Doctors, nurses, volunteers were in chaos.

But he couldn’t find her in the chaos. When the attack ended, Ash raced through the collapsed walls, his heart pounding like a drum. And then, he saw her, lying motionless on the cracked steps, blood seeping through her shirt. He called out hoarsely, urgently.

“Hey, don’t close your eyes. Don’t… Do you hear me?”

He squeezed her shoulder gently, warm blood staining his hand. His teeth clenched, his eyes trembling, fear evident in his eyes:

“I told you to leave, I told you, you’re an idiot. I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else. Please… don’t chooses to die here.”

He picked her up and took her to the medical tent. His hands were shaking but he held on tight, his legs were running like the wind on the road that was almost no longer a road. He could only pray that she would be okay.