Leo was shocked.
Cassian was dead.
The thought didn't come all at once, it settled slowly, piece by piece, like something heavy sinking into water.
He hadn't known him long.
A few days. A few conversations.
Training. Small talks. Shared moments that didn't seem important at the time.
But they were.
Cassian had been there.
Laughing. Talking. Fighting beside them.
Alive.
And now.
Gone. Just like that.
No goodbye. No last words.
Just a moment.
And then nothing.
Leo felt something tighten inside him.
Not overwhelming grief. Not yet.
Just a sharp, quiet emptiness.
He was… my first connection here.
Not Theron's.
His. And now it was gone.
Movement. Fast.
Too fast.
Theron didn't have time to think.
A blade came from the side, low, precise, aimed to kill.
He turned. Blocked.
But it was too late.
The force of the strike threw him off balance, his footing slipping in the blood-soaked ground.
The enemy didn't stop.
A second strike followed immediately.
Clean. Ruthless.
Theron raised his arm to react.
Steel met flesh. For a split second.
There was no pain.
Just a strange, hollow sensation.
Then.
His hand was gone.
It hit the ground somewhere behind him.
Blood followed. A lot of it.
Theron staggered back, his breathing breaking for the first time.
Leo felt it. The shock.
The sudden collapse of control.
What.
There was no time.
The enemy stepped in again.
A final strike.
Theron tried to move. Too slow.
The blade drove deep into his side.
Through armor. Through flesh.
Everything stopped. The world tilted.
The strength left his body all at once.
His legs gave out. He fell. Hard.
The ground met him without mercy, the impact sending a dull echo through his fading senses.
Leo felt it too. Everything. The pain. The blood.
The weakness spreading like poison through the body.
We're… dying.
Theron's vision blurred.
Darkness crept in from the edges.
The sounds of battle became distant again, like they were underwater.
Fading.
Fading
His head turned slightly.
Not by choice.
Just… the last movement his body could manage.
In the distance.
Two figures. Clashing.
Green. Purple.
The Commander.
The Sword of Dream.
Their blades met again, a flash of power cutting through the chaos, like the world itself was bending around them.
Still fighting. Still standing.
While everything else. Fell apart.
Leo watched it.
Quiet. Distant.
So this is how it ends…
No answers. No understanding.
Just.
War.
Theron's breathing slowed.
Unsteady. Fading.
The battlefield dimmed.
The figures blurred. Light turned to shadow.
And the last thing they saw.
Was the clash of green and purple.
Before everything.
Went dark.
Pain came back before sight.
Dull at first. Then sharper.
Pulling him upward.
Theron's eyes opened slowly.
The world above him was unfamiliar, wooden beams, rough cloth stretched across a frame, dim light filtering through. The air smelled thick… herbs, blood, and something bitter.
Voices murmured around him.
Low. Tired.
"…he's waking up." A woman's voice.
Close.
Theron tried to move.
Pain shot through his body instantly.
His breath hitched.
"Don't," the voice said firmly. "You're barely held together as it is."
His vision cleared slightly.
A woman leaned over him, sleeves rolled up, hands stained faintly red despite being cleaned. A healer.
Her eyes scanned him quickly, checking.
"You're lucky," she said, not unkindly, but without softness either. "Most don't make it back with wounds like yours."
Theron didn't answer. His body felt… wrong.
Heavy. Weak.
Then.
He noticed. His arm.
Or rather.
What was left of it.
Below the elbow.
Nothing.
Just thick bandaging where his hand used to be.
For a moment. He didn't react. Didn't think.
Just stared. The absence felt unreal.
Like his body hadn't caught up with reality yet.
"…we had to take it," the healer said, quieter now. "It was that or lose you entirely."
Silence. Theron looked away. Slowly.
The tent came into focus.
Rows of injured soldiers lay around him.
Some unconscious.
Some awake, but barely.
One man clutched his side, teeth gritted as a healer pressed down on a wound. Another stared blankly at the ceiling, whispering something over and over under his breath.
A soldier nearby cried out suddenly, a raw, broken sound, before it was cut off by exhaustion.
Bandages. Blood. Missing limbs. Broken bodies.
The war.
Didn't end on the battlefield.
It followed them here.
Theron watched in silence.
No words. No reaction.
Just… looking.
Then his eyes closed. Not fully by choice.
His body was too tired.
Sleep came again. Heavy. Unavoidable.
The next time he woke.
The world was moving. Slowly. Rocking.
The sound of wheels creaking beneath him.
Theron opened his eyes again, blinking against the light.
Sky.
Open sky this time. Gray.
Endless.
He was lying on something hard.
A cart. Wooden. Rough. Around him.
Other soldiers.
Injured like him. Some awake. Most not.
Bandaged. Still. Quiet.
The battlefield was gone.
The camp too.
Only the road remained. Stretching forward.
Taking them away.
"…we're heading back," someone muttered weakly from nearby.
Another voice answered, tired. "Those who can't fight anymore…"
Theron didn't move. Didn't speak.
He just stared upward.
The wind brushed lightly against his face. Cold.
The war continued somewhere behind them.
But not for him. Not anymore.
His body lay still on the cart, carried away from the front.
A soldier who survived.
But not whole.
And as the wheels kept turning.
He drifted back into silence.
-----------
A month passed.
Theron woke slowly. Not from rest.
From pain. It was constant now.
No sharp spikes, no sudden shocks, just a deep, endless ache that filled his entire body, like something was eating away at him from the inside.
His eyes opened halfway.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar, but this time it wasn't a battlefield tent.
It was quieter. Still.
A recovery room.
Or what passed for one.
The air smelled faintly of herbs, but weaker than before. Like even the treatment had lost its strength.
His body felt… lighter.
Not in a good way. Empty.
He tried to move.
Nothing responded the way it should.
His chest rose slowly. Breathing felt heavy.
Every inhale took effort.
Leo felt it too.
Every second of it. The weakness. The fading strength.
Something's wrong…
No.
He already knew.
Theron wasn't recovering.
He was dying.
Time had worn him down.
The wounds. The blood loss. The infection.
His body had been fighting.
And losing.
Theron's eyes shifted slightly. The room was quiet.
No other soldiers this time.
No shouting. No pain around him. Just silence.
His remaining hand rested weakly at his side, fingers barely twitching.
His breathing grew uneven.
Leo felt a tightness in his chest.
A slow, creeping realization.
No…
He had survived the battlefield.
Survived the war. Survived everything.
Only to end like this. In a bed. Alone.
Theron exhaled slowly.
His eyes drifted. Unfocused. Tired.
Leo didn't know what to do.
Couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
He was trapped.
Watching it happen. Feeling it happen.
Am I… dying too?
The thought came quietly. Not panicked.
Just… there.
Because if Theron died.
What would happen to him?
Would he disappear?
Or would he be left behind?
Alone. Forever.
Theron's breathing slowed further.
Each breath longer than the last. Weaker. Fainter.
His chest barely moved now.
Leo felt it slipping. The connection. The body.
Life itself.
This is it…
No battle. No final stand. No meaning.
Just.
An ending.
Theron's eyes began to close.
Slowly.
Like he didn't have the strength to keep them open anymore.
No resistance. No struggle.
Just acceptance.
That final moment.
That thin line. Breaking.
Theron closed his eyes.
And never opened them again.