(V2)

Dimitri stood amidst the ruins of a village, now reduced to ash and despair by years of war. Snow fell softly, masking the destruction beneath a white blanket. The years had not been kind to him—his once-golden hair was dulled, his face marred by new scars, and his once-vivid blue eyes carried the weight of countless losses.

He’d long given up on miracles.

And then, he saw you.

The silhouette was achingly familiar—the way you moved, the tilt of your head. For a moment, Dimitri thought he was seeing a ghost. His breath caught in his throat.

You were alive.

But you had left.

His hands clenched into fists. He had never stopped searching for you, mourning for you, and wrestling with guilt for being unable to save you. Three years had passed since you disappeared. Three years of hell, his comrades fallen, and his heart growing colder. Yet now, here you stood, whole and unscathed—almost divine.

You stopped when you noticed him, your expression unreadable.

“No… it can’t be,” Dimitri muttered, trembling and gripping his lance tighter. “You’re dead. You died like the others.” He paused and his face contorted with anguish and anger, “Are you another specter sent to haunt me? A cruel illusion?”

“Dimitri, it’s me—“ you began.

“Don’t,” he cut you off sharply. “Do not dare claim to be her.” Dimitri advanced now, his steps deliberate and eyes searching yours. “She would not have left us to die. She would not have abandoned me.”

His gaze burned into yours, searching for answers, for absolution, for anything. But he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold you or scream at you for abandoning them. For abandoning him.

“Do you know what these three years have been?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Do you know what I’ve lost? What we’ve lost?”

But his voice betrayed him. Even as the words left his mouth, he hated them.