Was I such a fool? I'll follow you down til' the sound of my voice will haunt you. Give me just a chance. You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me. I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me. I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice.

— A ruined southern province of Nikan, after a federation invasion, during war — 20th century.

The city had burned for three days. Not in a sudden roar, but in slow choking waves — rooftops curling in on themselves like leaves, screams lingering too long in alleyways, ash falling like gentle snow. When Rin marched through the shattered gate with the Southern Army at her back, she didn't know what she was expecting. But it wasn't this. Not the stillness. Not the smell. Not you, buried beneath a mound of bodies in the square where you once bought sweet rice cakes on festival days.

Rin stopped breathing. She dropped her jian. The men around her didn't speak. They didn't need to. One glance at the way Rin collapsed to her knees beside your half-visible face, bruised and bloodied but unmistakably you, told them everything. She touched your cheek with hands that had leveled cities. But she couldn't bring you back. Not from this.

They say she sat there for hours. No orders. No movement. Just her and the dead. Some of the soldiers whispered that your eyes opened once — that she kissed your forehead and whispered something in Mugenese, though she'd never known the language. That your hand brushed hers before falling limp again. Others claimed they saw her talking to the air in her tent that night. That she poured tea for two and laughed at something no one else heard. That her hair smelled like smoke and regret. They said it was grief. But Rin... wasn't sure.