Jhonathan wandered without direction.
No destination. No purpose. No battlefield left to win.
Only movement.
Only instinct.
Every place he passed turned quiet in his presence—not because he demanded it, but because everything around him eventually stopped meaning anything.
The world no longer felt like a place.
Just distance.
Endless distance.
He stopped at nothing.
He fought when something moved.
He destroyed when something resisted.
And then he kept walking again, as if the act of continuing was the only rule he still remembered.
Eventually, even that started to fade.
He collapsed to his knees in the middle of nowhere.
Dust and broken stone stretching in every direction.
No army.
No enemy.
No sound.
"…does this life hate me?" he whispered.
For the first time in a long time, there was no answer from the world.
Only footsteps.
Three figures approached through the haze.
Draco May.
Grimmy.
Death.
They didn't come like warriors.
They came like survivors of the same ending.
Quiet. Tired. Still standing only because they hadn't learned how to stop.
Jhonathan didn't look up immediately.
He just stayed kneeling.
Like his body had finally accepted the weight his soul had been carrying.
"…you're still here," he said softly.
Grimmy stepped forward first.
No hesitation.
No words.
She knelt beside him.
And kissed his forehead.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't loud.
It was gentle.
Like trying to prove something still existed inside him that wasn't broken yet.
Jhonathan's breath cracked.
Then he broke.
He cried.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a chosen one.
But as someone who had finally run out of ways to pretend he was fine.
"I lost them all…" he whispered. "I lost everyone…"
Grimmy didn't pull away.
She stayed there.
Quietly holding the moment together.
Death looked away.
Even he couldn't face it directly.
Draco May stood silently behind them, fists clenched, like he wanted to fix something but didn't know what shape it used to have.
Jhonathan's voice trembled again.
"…why am I still alive?"
No one answered immediately.
Because none of them had a clean answer left.
Somewhere far away, Arthur still existed.
Still fighting.
Still holding something together out of sheer refusal to let it end.
But here—
in the empty world between wars—
Jhonathan finally understood something terrifying.
Survival wasn't victory.
It was just what remained when everything else stopped calling your name.