Prologue: Before the Silence
The room was dim, wrapped in the fading gold of a dying day, its light bleeding gently through the heavy curtains like the final sigh of twilight. A hush hung in the air—thick, warm, expectant. The kind of silence that holds its breath for love.
Two figures stood close, drawn to each other by a pull that went deeper than mere desire. They moved slowly, deliberately, as if the space between them was sacred. The air between them shimmered with anticipation, hearts loud in the quiet.
Fingers reached out, brushing skin with a tender hesitation—soft, reverent—then bolder, more certain, as if memorizing the feel of one another. And then, lips met. Not with urgency, but with aching affection, with the kind of care that only love dares.
Their mouths lingered, tasting every second, every breath. Each kiss deepened, not rushed but rooted in something intimate, something meant to be felt in the bones. It was romantic, soul-deep—the kind of kiss that didn't just touch the body, but whispered to the heart.
A kiss to remember. A kiss to hold on to.
A kiss that said I'm here, before the world outside dared to take it away.
A hand rose slowly, reverently, fingers tracing the curve of a cheek with the softest touch—fragile, like a whisper against glass. As if the moment itself were too delicate to hold, too sacred to disturb. The contact was feather-light, trembling with emotion, yet grounded in something deeper than desire.
Lips parted, just slightly—just enough—for the faintest breath to pass between them, a shared exhale that felt like a vow. Eyes lingered on each other, heavy with affection, with the silent weight of everything they didn't need to say.
Then, the hand slid from cheek to neck, warm and deliberate, pulling the other impossibly closer. No more space. No more distance. Their bodies met, pressed together in a slow, seamless embrace, hearts thudding in quiet tandem. Skin against skin. Breath mingling. A stillness wrapped around them, yet the air pulsed with the soft hum of something undeniable—something romantic, something real.
This wasn't just closeness.
It was connection—intimate, tender, and entirely theirs.
A soft laugh escaped, and the connection broke for just a second, enough to see the glint of the ring—catching the light in a way that seemed almost deliberate. The promise it held was far from subtle. There it was, bright against skin, a silent declaration of what would come, if the future allowed it.
The warmth of bodies, now separated by mere inches, hung heavy in the air. A gaze lingered on the ring for a moment longer before the kiss resumed, this time slower, more deliberate. Lips were soft, the kiss deepening, as if this moment could hold them both—if only for a while longer.
A soft laugh escaped—barely more than a breath, yet it broke the moment like a ripple across still water. Their foreheads rested close, the intimacy unbroken, but for a heartbeat, they paused. And in that pause, the light caught it.
The ring.
It gleamed subtly, deliberately, as if the universe had chosen this exact sliver of silence to make its presence known. A glint against warm skin, it spoke volumes without a sound—a promise etched in gold. Not subtle, not hidden. A quiet vow shimmering between them. A future not yet written, but hoped for. Held onto.
The space between them returned, but only by inches, heavy with the heat of what had just passed, with everything still simmering beneath the surface. Eyes flicked down, lingering on the ring—just for a moment. Just long enough to remember.
Then the kiss returned.
Slower now. More intentional. Lips met with quiet urgency, not to consume, but to commit. A kiss full of meaning, of care. A kiss that held them there, suspended in the moment, where time stretched, hearts beat in rhythm, and the world outside didn't matter.
Just this.
Just now.
Just them.
A voice, barely more than a whisper, cut through the stillness—a soft, trembling plea that hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fear and longing.
"Promise me... you'll come back."
The words seemed to hang between them, fragile and yet unyielding—fragile like glass, but resolute like the quiet strength of a heart laid bare. There was no need to say more; the weight of those simple words settled in the space between them, heavy, undeniable. It was a request, a hope, a plea for something more than just the moment.
The ring, still gleaming softly in the dim light, caught their eyes again. It sparkled like the last piece of a dream, a dream so close, yet just out of reach. A promise that neither could break, though neither knew what the future would bring.
There was no need for words, not really, but still, they came—soft, steady, unwavering. A promise carved from something deeper, something unbreakable, as if time itself couldn't unravel it.
"I will. I'll come back. We'll be married. When this is all over, I'll come back."
The words flowed from them, a vow woven into the very air between them, as natural as breathing, yet carrying the weight of a thousand hopes. No hesitation. No doubt. Just the quiet certainty of a love that had already found its way home.
Slowly, the other turned, their eyes shimmering in the dim light. Tears clung to their lashes—silent, delicate. Not tears of sorrow, not yet. These were tears that carried something deeper, something that could not be contained in words alone. They were the tears of love, of something that reached beyond the present, beyond the pain of what might come.
They were tears of hope—of belief—that the future, though uncertain, would be worth the wait. A fragile smile, teetering on the edge of joy and uncertainty, flickered across their face, as if the love between them was strong enough to weather whatever storm was coming.
Hands gently cupped a face, thumbs brushing over trembling cheeks, seeking something—comfort, assurance, anything to ground them in this moment that felt too fragile to hold. The connection was tender, the touch quiet but urgent, as if trying to carve out a space where nothing could break them, where nothing could pull them apart.
And in that touch, the weight of everything was clear—the love, pure and strong, but shadowed by the quiet fear of what might come. The knowledge that promises, no matter how sweet, often carried with them the sharpest kind of truth. That love, in its most beautiful form, often came with the risk of loss.
A kiss followed, gentle but deliberate, a soft pressure that lingered, that said everything words could never touch. It was a kiss that didn't rush, didn't try to fill the silence with noise, but instead spoke with the quiet power of everything unsaid—of everything that needed to be felt, not explained.
Their foreheads rested against each other, closing the space between them, grounding them in the stillness that surrounded them.
"I'll come back. I promise."
The words hung in the air, steady, unwavering. And in response, a single nod, slow and careful, followed by a trembling smile—fragile, as though it could shatter at the slightest breath. Lips quivered, but the smile remained, hiding a depth that only they could understand.
The ring gleamed softly, a reminder of what was yet to come, of the future that was both impossibly close and impossibly distant. It sparkled, not with the certainty of the future, but with the hope of it—of promises made, of dreams whispered in the quiet hours.
They lay together, the world outside carrying on, completely unaware of the vow exchanged in the stillness of that room. But inside, in the quiet cocoon they had created, there was solace. There was peace. For just one moment, the weight of the world was held at bay, cradled in each other's arms, as they found refuge in the shared promise of tomorrow.
And in that stillness, it almost seemed as if nothing else mattered.
______________________
A tremor split the earth—deep, guttural.
Then—nothing.
No sound. No time. Just light.
Blinding. Consuming. Erasing.
And then—
Darkness.
A scream of wind tore across the frozen field, shrill and feral, dragging with it the scent of scorched metal, ash, and the bitter tang of something once alive. Snow spiraled like a broken storm, shards of blackened debris falling around them—weightless, lifeless, like the feathers of something long dead.
In the distance, twisted metal groaned—a long, pained exhale from the bones of the battlefield.
Shadows staggered through the whiteout, barely human in form. Blurred by flurries. Hollowed by shock.
Someone shouted—a name, maybe. Or a prayer. It was ripped away before it ever reached anyone.
The ground was chaos: shattered earth, cracked plating, scorched armor half-buried in frost. A soldier knelt amid it all, gloved hands gripping the limp body in front of them. They shook the shoulders, once, twice, harder.
No movement.
No breath.
Just stillness.
Another sound, low and heavy, murmured from the sky—closer this time. Not thunder. A machine. A monster. Approaching.
"Medic! MEDIC!" a voice cried out—raw, splitting through the wind, breaking against the cold.
Boots carved lines into the snow, a figure falling to their knees beside the two. Hands went to work—fast, frantic. Blood mixed with frost. Fingers pressed down, trembling.
Still no breath. No pulse. Only the sound of panic—of lungs heaving and hearts breaking.
Another hand reached in—dirt-caked, slick with blood. Something slipped between them. A ring. Small. Metallic. Half-lost in red and white.
But no one noticed.
Not yet.
The soldier gritted their teeth, whispering something over and over. A vow. A name. A plea.
But the wind took it.
All that remained was the cold.
The white.
And the silence that followed.