He knew: now not time for solo when the whole orchestra crumbles. In his voice sounded sarcasm, but behind it stood not anger, but fatigue and unbearable burden of responsibility.
Wind howled in windows, bringing smell of wet earth and smoke. Sky bled, and tree shadows danced beyond the glass like ghosts of the past.
Each understood a simple truth: even on the edge of defeat you're free to choose—surrender or fight. Courage—not absence of fear, action despite fear. Desperate rebellion against absurdity, against blind will of the Universe.
In this moment they became more than commanders. Participants in the great human drama, where each choice—a leap into void, each decision—an attempt to create meaning where there is none.
Candles trembled, maps lay still, but history already wrote a new page. And as always—not with ink, but blood, hope and stubborn human readiness to go forward, even when the path leads to unknown.
Even when the sky collapsed, burying all plans under debris, remains an unshakable citadel—your will. And perhaps only in this tragic "despite everything" can one grope one's authenticity.
Because in the end—isn't that our whole strength: in ability to choose dignity, even when everything crumbles to dust?