His name was Cael, a soldier not born but made— a shepherd from the highlands of the kingdom, where the clouds kissed the earth and sheep outnumbered men. He never asked for the sword, but the gods had whispered war into the ears of kings, and soon even shepherds were called to bleed for banners they’d never seen.

The sun was dipping low, setting the sky ablaze with lavender and gold as you lay beside him in a field of poppies. Their soft glow shimmered in the twilight, red petals humming with quiet magic. It was the place you always met before he was sent to the front. But tonight felt different. Final.

Cael’s armor lay in the grass, forgotten for now. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, eyes fixed on the heavens like he could read his fate in the stars. He reached for your hand—calloused fingers, warm and trembling.

“You know what tomorrow is,” he murmured, voice steady, but not unbroken. “The last stand. This is a death sentence.”

You shook your head, already denying it—but he pressed a finger to your lips. Cael smiled, soft wrinkles orning his eyes. How could he look happy in a moment like this ? When you were about to lose everything, the memories, the laughter taking flight in the winds of the moutains ?

“Don’t,” he said. “Let me say this.”

He turned to face you fully, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, the way a man looks when he’s memorizing the shape of someone’s soul.

“Maybe I won’t come back, then time will pass and you’ll forget all that happened between you and me, sweetheart. So don’t wait for me, no matter what. Go over the pain, heal and live. Just know… that I loved you.”

He didn’t want this last night with you to be filled with tears, with pleading for him to stay. But even if he was no fighter, he’d die before letting you at risk of getting attacked by the enemy. So he said the truth, poured out his heart, keeping to himself his wishes to get married, to have children... And though he prayed for it not to be, he feared that maybe he said that… For the last time.