A soldier approached, his uniform dusty and torn from the wreckage.
"Sir," he said, saluting. "We've begun searching the ruins of the headquarters. We're trying to recover anything we can—documents, weapons, even bodies."
The governor turned toward the charred remains of the battlefield. Smoke still rose in lazy spirals from the scorched ground. The scent of ash hung thick in the air.
"Good," he said quietly. "But do we have any estimates yet? How many lives were lost?"
The soldier lowered his gaze. "It's difficult to say, sir… but likely in the thousands. This entire area has been reduced to ashes. There's hardly anything left standing."
The governor exhaled slowly, the weight of the devastation settling deeper on his shoulders.
"And casualties outside the battlefield?" he asked after a pause. "Civilians?"
The soldier shook his head. "No, sir. They were evacuated before the fighting began. The early warnings worked."
A faint nod. "At least that's some good news."
The two stood in silence for a moment, the wind whistling softly through what remained of the outpost. The land, once alive with soldiers, command tents, and chatter, was now eerily still.
Then the governor spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "What about Isan? And his son?"
"We managed to get them out," the soldier replied. "Both were injured, but alive. They've been taken to the nearest field hospital. Doctors say they'll need time, but they should recover."
The governor looked toward the distant horizon, where the smoke blurred into the sky. His face was unreadable—somewhere between relief and sorrow.
"Good," he said finally. "Keep me updated on their condition. And I want a full report on any survivors within the next few hours. Prioritize the injured. We owe them that much."
"Yes, sir," the soldier responded, saluting once more before turning to carry out the orders.
The governor remained where he was, staring into the ruins—into the aftermath of war, of choices made and prices paid. The silence around him was louder than any battle cry.
governor's car arrived and he went out of the battlefield.
A few days had passed since the battle. The war may have ended, but for Isan, a different war still raged within him—a war of guilt, regret, and unbearable sorrow.
The field hospital smelled of antiseptic and silence. Isan moved through its halls slowly, his boots echoing off the polished floors. Nurses and doctors gave him brief glances but said nothing. They all knew who he was. They all knew who he had lost.
He reached the small recovery room where his son, Rasin, lay.
The boy was barely conscious, his body wrapped in bandages, his face pale and sunken. Machines surrounded the bed, beeping rhythmically as they monitored the final threads of life still holding on inside him.
Isan stepped inside, his hands trembling.
"Son…" he whispered, kneeling beside the bed. "Are you… are you okay?"
Rasin's eyes fluttered open, his voice barely more than a breath. "Dad…"
"I'm here," Isan said quickly, taking his son's frail hand in both of his. "I'm here, son… I'm so sorry. It's because of me that you're like this. It's all my fault…"
His voice cracked. Tears slid down his weathered face. "You didn't deserve this… none of you did."
Rasin looked at him, a faint, pained smile on his lips.
"Dad… I always wanted… to live a normal, happy life… with you."
Isan froze, his breath catching.
"I told you that… again and again… but you never listened. You never cared about what I wanted."
Isan opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
"I always expected… something like this to happen. You were never really with us… not truly."
Rasin's voice grew weaker with each word, but his gaze remained steady, as if he had carried these thoughts in his heart for years.
"My brothers… you destroyed them too. Their dreams… their spirits. Why? Because they were weak? Because they didn't have the power you wanted?"
Isan's chest tightened, and he squeezed Rasin's hand gently, his tears falling freely now.
"I'm sorry, son," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I… I never listened. I never cared about your words because I was blinded. All I ever wanted was power. I thought if I had control, I could protect everything… protect all of you."
He bowed his head, ashamed. "But I see now. I didn't protect you. I destroyed everything. It was my fault… all of it. I let ambition take your childhood… your peace… your life."
Rasin's breath hitched, but he kept his gaze fixed on his father.
"Dad… everyone in this world wants power. They chase it… even if it means leaving behind the people they love."
Isan looked up, his heart aching at the truth of his son's words.
"You were one of them. I'm not angry, Dad. I don't blame you. Maybe the world made you that way. Maybe it makes us all that way eventually."
Isan gripped his son's hand tighter, shaking his head. "No, Rasin. I made those choices. The world didn't force me. I did this… and I can't undo it."
Rasin gave a faint smile, eyes dimming.
"You don't need to say sorry, Dad… I just want one thing from you…"
Isan leaned closer, desperate to hold on to every second.
"Take care of my brothers," Rasin said, his voice barely a whisper now. "Give them a chance to live… not like I did… but truly live."
Isan nodded, unable to speak.
"I want to say goodbye… I might not survive, Dad. But please… tell my brothers I said goodbye too."
He closed his eyes slowly. "Goodbye, Dad… goodbye everyone… goodbye…"
The soft, steady beeping from the monitor halted. A long, shrill tone replaced it.
Isan froze.
"No…" he choked. "No… please…"
The doctors rushed in, but it was too late. The boy who had longed for a normal life, who had spoken his truth even in his final breaths, was gone.
Isan stood in the corner, numb, hollowed out from within. He couldn't feel the room, or the people moving around him. He could only hear Rasin's last words, echoing in his mind like a final judgment.
In that moment, something shattered inside him.
The weight of what he had done—what he had taken from his sons in pursuit of strength and glory—crashed down like an avalanche. He had thought power would protect his family. But in the end, it had only torn them apart.
His ambition had cost him his son's life.
And no apology would ever bring him back.
Isan walked out of the room slowly, each step heavier than the last. The war was over, but the price had only just begun to be paid. Now, all he had left was a promise to keep—and the burden of a guilt he would carry for the rest of his days.
Inside the hospital walls of Meteosity, time seemed to move slower for Maria.
Three days had passed since the war ended, since Isaac had died. And in those three long days, Maria hadn't slept a single hour. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't rest—haunted by memories, by guilt, by the echo of a voice she could never hear again.
Isaac.
They had fought side by side, laughed together, argued like siblings and bonded like best friends. But now… he was gone. And Maria could still feel the emptiness in the space where he once stood.
Eventually, exhaustion took hold. Her head slumped against the hospital bed's edge, and she finally slipped into sleep.
But her dreams weren't dreams at all—they felt too vivid, too real.
She found herself standing in a quiet, otherworldly field. The sky was a deep purple, stars twinkling faintly above her. The grass beneath her feet shimmered like silver threads under moonlight. A strange peace surrounded her, but her heart remained heavy—until she heard a familiar voice behind her.
"Hey, Maria…"
She turned sharply.
There he was.
Isaac stood before her, not bloodied, not broken—just as she remembered him before the chaos began. He looked calm. At peace. But there was sadness in his eyes, the kind of sorrow that lingered beyond death.
Maria gasped, taking a trembling step toward him. "Isaac… is it really you?"
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. It's me."
Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to run to him, to hold him, to say everything she'd never had the chance to say. But she froze as he began to speak again.
"I know you've been hurting," he said. "I know my death hit you hard. We've been best friends since the day we met, Maria. You were… the most important person in my life."
His voice cracked slightly. "I never got to tell you how I really felt. I always wanted to protect you… to live a life beside you. But I let my ego get in the way. After Hellesa defeated me… after I saw you leave with them… I felt like you abandoned me. And I let that anger fester."
Maria shook her head, her voice catching in her throat. "Isaac, no—"
But he held up a hand, stopping her gently.
"You don't need to blame yourself for what happened. My death… I caused it. I made choices—terrible ones. I let bitterness and pride guide me. I started the fire that became a war. I made enemies out of friends, and friends into casualties."
He looked down. "I deserved what happened. I was the reason things escalated… the reason more people died than ever should have."
"No…" Maria whispered, reaching toward him.
But again, Isaac stepped back.
"Maria," he said, softly now, "You need to move on. Stop crying over me. Stop carrying my death like it's your burden to bear. It's not."
Her heart shattered at those words. All this time, she thought she could've saved him if she had stayed. If she had chosen differently. But now he stood before her, taking that weight from her shoulders.
"You still have so much ahead of you," he continued. "And I know you, Maria. You'll find your way again. You'll rise. I know your heart."
He hesitated, then added, "That boy… Izaki. I know you have feelings for him."
Maria blinked, surprised by his words.
Isaac gave a sad chuckle. "That's why I tried to kill him. I was angry. Jealous. I hated how easily he stepped into your life while I was falling apart. But now… now I see."
His voice softened even more.
"Zenix… the others… they're all gone. Our group, our dreams, everything we once stood for—it all collapsed. And now I'm gone too. But that doesn't mean your life is over."
Maria felt tears falling freely down her cheeks. She tried to hold onto his presence, to freeze the moment, but he was already beginning to fade. The edges of his figure blurred like mist in the wind.
"Live, Maria," he said, his voice now an echo. "Live a happy life without me. It'll be hard… but you have to keep going."
And then, just before he disappeared completely, he added with a faint, almost invisible smile:
"I love you."
The words struck her like a wave.
And then he was gone.
Maria stood alone in that dreamscape, unable to move, her chest tight with emotion. The moment was over, but the impact of it lingered deep in her soul. She sank to her knees as the dream faded and the world around her dissolved into light.
She awoke with tears soaking her pillow. Her breathing was unsteady, but something inside her felt… different. Lighter.
It still hurt—God, it hurt—but Isaac's words had left a mark. Not one of pain, but of peace. For the first time since his death, Maria didn't feel like she was drowning in guilt.
He had given her closure.
He had given her permission to let go.
She sat up slowly, brushing away the tears, and looked out the hospital window. The sun was rising—soft orange and pink streaking across the sky like a quiet promise.
She whispered his name once under her breath.
"Thank you, Isaac."
And though she would never see him again, she knew he had heard her.
Now, it was time to honor his last words.
Time to live.
A soft light filtered through the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the marble floor of the chamber. The steady rhythm of a heart monitor hummed faintly in the background, underscoring the silence like a quiet drumbeat of life. Hellesa stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. The world returned to her in a blur—white ceilings, the distant rustle of cloth, the scent of antiseptic and fading incense.
Then a voice—a familiar one, trembling with relief and emotion.
"Hellesa! Finally... you're awake."
She turned her head slowly, muscles aching as though she'd carried the weight of the world. Her gaze settled on a man standing beside her bed, his eyes welling with unshed tears. His clothes bore the crest of the High Council, but it wasn't the insignia that caught her attention—it was his face.
"Huh... who are you?" Her voice cracked, dry and uncertain.
The man stepped closer, his hands slightly trembling as if he were holding something fragile and precious.
"I'm your father… Raphael," he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke the words.
Hellesa stared at him, blinking slowly, trying to match the name with the fragments of memory buried deep within her. A name that had once been spoken in whispers, in stories, in dreams. A name that had been absent when she needed it most.
"Did... did the war end?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Did we survive?"
Raphael's expression lit up with pride and overwhelming joy. He nodded eagerly, his shoulders sagging as though finally free of a burden too heavy to bear.
"Yes, Hellesa. We did. We won." He reached for her hand, gripping it gently. "And it was because of you. You saved us all."
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Relief. Pain. Joy. It all came rushing in at once.
"Dad..." she whispered, the word feeling strange and wonderful on her tongue. "I finally get to meet you… after all these years. After everything… You left me."
Raphael's face fell, and for a moment, the pride in his eyes was replaced by guilt—deep, aching, and raw.
"I know," he said, voice rough with emotion. "I left when you needed me most. Not a day has passed that I didn't regret it. But I had to go… the circumstances forced my hand. Everything I did, I did to protect you and your brother. I thought it was the only way. But I was wrong… so wrong."
She studied him for a moment. He looked older than she imagined—lines etched deeply into his face, hair streaked with grey. But behind his weary eyes, she saw the truth. Not just a man, but a father—a broken one, longing to make things right.
"There's no need for forgiveness," she said finally, her voice softer now. "You did what you thought was best. I understand now. Life... hasn't been easy for any of us."
A heavy silence passed between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full of the things that didn't need to be said—regrets, apologies, love unspoken but deeply felt.
Raphael knelt beside her bed, lowering his head. "Meeting you again after all this time…" His voice cracked again, and he wiped his eyes quickly. "I never thought I'd get the chance. But here you are. Alive. Strong. Brave. And you made me proud, more than I could ever put into words."
He looked at her then, a hopeful glimmer lighting up his tired face.
"Hellesa," he said. "Let's go home. Let's start over—live the life we should've had, all those years ago. I've dreamed of it for fifteen years. I just wanted to come back and live in peace with you and your brother. No more battles. No more running. Just... family."
Hellesa didn't answer at once. She turned her head, staring at the sky visible through the open balcony beyond the curtains. It was calm now—clear, unbroken, free of smoke and fire. She remembered the battlefield, the loss, the choices. And yet, here she was. Still breathing. Still capable of dreaming.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her father's hand.
"Home," she said quietly, testing the word. It felt unfamiliar, like a melody long forgotten. But it was beautiful. "Yes… let's go home."
Raphael's face crumpled with emotion. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the back of her hand, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.
"I promise you," he said, voice thick with emotion. "From this day forward… I won't leave you again. We'll build something new, together. A life worth living. One you deserve."
For the first time in a long while, Hellesa allowed herself to believe in a future not defined by war or sacrifice. She closed her eyes briefly, holding onto that image: a quiet house, laughter, peace, and the warmth of family.
She had fought so hard, lost so much. But maybe now—just maybe—it had all led to this moment.
A new beginning.
The door swung open with a burst of energy as Izaki stepped into the room. His eyes widened the moment he saw her.
"Hellesa!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief and joy. "You're awake… after all these days!"
He rushed to her bedside, his footsteps echoing in the quiet chamber. Without hesitation, he leaned in, concern evident in his gaze. "How do you feel now?"
Hellesa gave him a gentle smile, her eyes soft with warmth. "Better," she said, her voice steadier than before. "Better… and happier than ever."
From across the room, Raphael turned toward them, his heart full at the sight of his children together again. He took a step forward, his voice filled with quiet hope.
"Izaki," he called, "we're going back. Back to our home… to a life where we can finally live in peace."
Izaki's eyes lit up, a flash of emotion crossing his face. "What?" he said, almost in disbelief. "We're really going back?" His voice trembled slightly. "I've waited for years to see that place again. To feel like we belonged somewhere."
Raphael approached him slowly, the weight of past mistakes pressing down on him. He looked into Izaki's eyes and spoke with a quiet sincerity.
"I'm sorry, Izaki," he said. "I left you and your sister when you were still so young. You had to grow up too fast—to earn, to protect, to take on responsibilities that should never have been yours. I left a heavy burden on you… and I regret that every day."
There was a moment of silence before Izaki stepped forward and reached out, placing a firm hand over his father's.
"Dad…" he said softly, "I understand. I always wondered why you left, but deep down, I hoped you had a reason. And I never gave up on the idea that you'd return someday."
His voice grew steadier as he went on. "When I joined the organization, I began to see your hand in everything. Even if we didn't speak, you were guiding me. Protecting me. And because of that… because of you… we survived."
Raphael's eyes welled with tears, his heart aching with both sorrow and gratitude. "You've grown into a strong man, Izaki. I'm proud of you… more than you'll ever know."
The three stood in silence for a moment, the gravity of the past balanced by the promise of the future. After years of separation, of pain, of survival—they were finally together again. And this time, they wouldn't let go.
Izaki looked over at Hellesa, her smile still soft, her presence grounding. Then he turned back to Raphael and nodded.
"Let's go home," he said. "Together."