After the battle, the field was heavy with silence, broken only by the work of those who gathered the fallen. There were many bodies to lay to rest, many coffins to prepare for burial.
Among them were the two lovers, their hands still clasped tightly together, as if even death could not part them. The people hesitated for a moment, but no one had the heart to separate their grasp. Instead, they placed them in a single coffin, allowing them to remain as they were found — side by side, hand in hand.
When the earth closed over them, it was not just another burial. It was the quiet honoring of a bond that endured beyond life itself, a gentle mercy in the midst of sorrow. And though the world above moved on, beneath the soil they remained together, undisturbed, forever embraced.
Some said the grass grew greener where they were laid, and in the stillness of certain nights, the breeze carried a softness, as if their whispers lingered in the air. Perhaps it was only imagination, or perhaps it was love refusing to vanish entirely.
The war had taken much, but in that grave lay something untouched — a promise kept, a closeness preserved. In the end, they were not remembered for the tragedy of their deaths, but for the quiet sweetness of having found one another, and of never letting go.