"A kingdom that forgets its people is doomed to burn… even if it is ruled by the noblest of hearts."
The wind carries ashes.
Where once green fields stretched wide, now there is only scorched earth and walls that seem to remember the instant they fell.
The smoke lingers, clinging to the silence, as if even the air itself refuses to forget.
The sky is torn in two: on one side, the clear moon; on the other, heavy clouds that conceal a figure in the distance—neither human nor beast—watching with the stillness of a soulless god.
Among the ruins, two figures remain standing.
One, with eyes as serene as a tranquil sky.
The other, with a gaze burning not with justice, but with something deeper, darker—something that has yet to be named.
Once, they walked together. Once, they spoke of changing everything.
Now, only the trembling resonance of two souls remains, standing before the inevitable.
"Do you remember… when we swore this world would never break us again?"
The voice sounds tired, fractured, as if carrying not words but ghosts.
The other stays silent. No answer is needed: in his hands there is no weapon, yet an invisible weight pulses, as if it longs to devour him from within.
The vow they once shared is now an open wound, impossible to close.
"Tell me… when did we stop fighting for the same thing?"
The wind sweeps across the field, lifting the ashes. What is spoken dissolves. What remains unsaid weighs far more.
Beneath this same sky, a promise was sealed.
A promise born of blood and hope.
A promise that could not survive the weight of truth.
But that… has not yet come to pass.
Let us return to a time when hope was still just a spark.
Not yet a flame.
Not yet a curse.