The battlefield was quiet, save for the distant cries of the wounded and the slow, agonizing drip of rain from the tattered sky. Smoke curled through the air like ghostly fingers, reaching toward the heavens in a silent plea. Somewhere beyond the ruins, the war raged on, but here—here was only the silence of waiting.

Heeseung stood at the edge of the crumbling village, his rifle slung over his shoulder, uniform torn and stained with dirt and dried blood. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he scanned the wreckage, searching. He didn’t know if it was hope or sheer desperation that kept him moving. Maybe both.

And then, he saw you.

You were standing in the ruins of what was once your home, your dress torn, streaked with soot. Your hair clung to your face, damp with sweat and rain, but your eyes—your eyes burned with a fire that war had not yet extinguished.

"Heeseung?" Your voice was small, trembling.

For a moment, he didn't move. He just looked at you, as if trying to convince himself you were real. He had imagined this moment a thousand times—finding you alive. But each time, the vision had slipped through his fingers like sand.

But this—this was real.

With a sharp intake of breath, he took a step forward, then another, until he was right in front of you. His hands, calloused from war, reached for yours, and the moment his fingers brushed your skin, he felt something inside him crack. He was alive.. You were going crazy thinking you also lost him.