He stands over her.
Blood drips from his blade, staining the scorched earth. Around them, the battlefield is silent, thousands watching, none daring to breathe. Her breathing is shallow. Her sword lies broken at her side. She can't move.
He walks forward, not as a conqueror, but like a mourner approaching a grave.
"You know…" he says softly, kneeling beside her, brushing blood-matted strands of hair from her face. "I used to dream we'd escape together. Just disappear. No war. No titles. No masks. No right or wrong."
His voice cracks. A tremble he never let the world see.
"You were a hero. A radiant, stubborn, beautiful fool. And I... I loved that about you."
He cups her chin, raising her face to meet his eyes, eyes not of triumph, but of mourning.
"I never hated you. Not once. Not even when you tried to kill me."
A breath. Shallow. Ragged.
"But you could only ever be a hero. And I... I could only ever be this."
He smiles. It's broken.
"You were bound to ideals. I was bound to pain. That's all that ever separated us. The world gave us the same curse, but only one of us was allowed to dream."
She coughs blood. He presses his trembling hand to her cheek.
"I wanted to fight beside you. To burn the world with you. Not alone. But they made you their symbol… and me, their shadow."
His voice tightens, cracking with fury and something else. Something deeper.
"So here we are. You dying in their name. Me killing in mine. And none of them lifted a damn finger to stop it."
He leans in. Kisses her forehead. It's not passion. It's farewell.
"If there's another life... let's choose each other before the world does."
--
Her thoughts, fading, but clear.
So warm...
Even now, with my blood on his hands, he's gentle. Like he always was... when no one was looking.
He still remembers. The alleyways. The rain. That stupid, stolen scarf he wrapped around my bruised wrist like it was silk.
I thought I could save him. I thought if I stood tall enough... he'd see there was another way. But maybe… maybe I just wanted him to follow me.
But he never followed anyone.
He was always ahead of the fire... or inside it.
His hand brushes her cheek. It aches, not from the touch, but from everything it means.
I never stopped loving you.
Not when you vanished. Not when you returned in black. Not even now.
You're crying behind your eyes, aren't you? You always did that. I knew. I always knew.
She tries to speak. Her lips don't move. But her heart does.
I'm sorry. Not because I lost. But because we could've been more.
We should've been family. Lovers. Monsters together... or saints.
Anything but this.
He kisses her forehead. She exhales. Her heart slows.
If there's another life... find me first.
--
Back in his arms, she stares at him, blood soaking his coat, her breath trembling.
He says it again, soft, mourning:
"If there's another life... let's choose each other before the world does."
But just as he starts to pull away,
"...Liar."
He freezes.
Her voice. Weak. Cracked. But hers.
She smiles, a thin, trembling line. Not with bitterness. But with truth.
"You always let the world choose for you. Back then… and even now."
His jaw clenches. A sharp breath escapes him.
"I would've walked with you... through the fire. The blood. All of it. I would've stood beside you. But you never asked."
Her hand lifts. Barely. He catches it and holds it to his chest like it's sacred.
"You were always… afraid of being loved, weren't you?"
He doesn't speak. Can't.
She smiles again. Fainter. But real.
"If there's another life..."
Her grip tightens, for a second,
"...don't run from me this time."
Then it fades.
Her eyes close. Her hand falls still.
No miracle. No return. Only silence.
And for a long moment, so does he. Still. Silent. Hollow.
He stares at her face, as if blinking might make her vanish.
But she already has.
A tremor hits his jaw. Then his brow. Then his fingers, fingers that crushed armies, now too weak to hold a girl.
And then,
The scream.
Not of victory. Not of rage.
But grief.
A raw, primal, soul-breaking scream, ripping from a heart the world thought long since turned to stone. It echoes like a curse. A funeral dirge for gods.
Even the heavens dim.
And then, he reaches into his coat.
The crystal.
Glowing with divine power. The key to end the world. His reason. His war. His purpose.
He looks at it, and laughs.
A hollow, broken laugh.
"Is this what you wanted?" he whispers. "Is this what I gave everything for?"
He closes his fist.
And crushes it.
A sound like thunder cracks the sky. Light erupts, then dies in ash.
The weapon meant to erase the world… gone.
Just like her.
And in that instant,
He chooses.
He rises.
Her sword, still slick with her blood, in his hand.
No longer villain. No longer man.
A force.
He charges.
The onlookers, silent moments ago, scatter in terror.
Knights. Paladins. Mages. All those who stood by as she fell, now prey.
He fights not for justice. Not for revenge.
But for sorrow.
Each strike is grief. Each step, wrath.
They strike him, blades, spells, arrows. He bleeds. He burns. But he doesn't fall.
Hours pass.
A massacre.
Until no one remains.
He stumbles.
Wounded beyond saving. Dripping with blood, his own and theirs.
He walks.
Back to her.
Where her body lies, untouched by chaos.
He falls to his knees. Then to his side.
He pulls her close. Forehead to forehead. Fingers entwined.
The moon sees them last.
Two children of the slums.
A hero who died for the world.
A villain who died hating it.
But together, at the end, as they were always meant to be.
And as his final breath leaves him,
He smiles.