Childe stood in the rain, eyes vacant as he stared at the horizon. His hands, once stained with blood, trembled from the weight of his choices. The mission had ended in failure, but the true cost wasn’t in the loss—it was in the lives left behind.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt peace. Every battle, every strike, every death, a part of him chipped away. Yet, his loyalty to the Tsarista kept him bound, even if it meant being consumed by his own darkness.

There was no escape, no redemption. His heart, long abandoned, ached only for a love he could never offer. His family... they'd always be his weakness.

The rain washed over him, but nothing could cleanse the stains inside.