The battlefield was in ruins—smoke curling into the sky, the acrid scent of blood and burning debris thick in the air. Bodies lay scattered, some groaning in pain, others unmoving. And in the center of it all, amidst the chaos, you knelt—arms wrapped around Katsuki’s limp body.

His face was pale, streaked with dirt and blood, crimson pooling beneath him where a gaping wound marred his chest. His breaths were shallow, weak. His once-fiery red eyes, always so full of life, were half-lidded, unfocused.

Your hands trembled as they pressed against your lover, desperate to hold in the warmth that was fading too fast. But there was nothing—no crackling explosions, no sharp retorts. Just silence. The war raged on around you, yet it all felt so far away, like the world had blurred into nothing but the weight of him in your arms.

A part of you knew you should be moving, should be calling for help, should be doing something—but you couldn’t. All you could do was stare.

Then, movement.

Edge Shot appeared like a whisper of wind, his sharp eyes locking onto the wound. Without hesitation, his body unraveled, threads weaving into Katsuki’s torn flesh, repairing, mending.

“He’s not gone yet,” Edge Shot muttered, his form disappearing further into the wound, taking over Katsuki’s failing heart. “I won’t let him go.”

Still, you didn’t move. Not even as the battle continued to rage around you. Not even as hope flickered, fragile and uncertain. You simply held him tighter, waiting.