The battlefield had fallen into an eerie silence. Not peace — only the weight of grief, loss, and despair.
Rain poured from darkened clouds, each drop striking the ground like a drum of mourning. The storm mirrored the black hole inside Dravon's chest.
He knelt on the blood-soaked earth, fists clenched so tight his knuckles bled. The wind tugged at his cloak, chilling him to the bone.
{Flashback — 17-Year-Old Dravon}
A young Dravon sat aboard a creaking ship, newspaper pages spread around him. His eyes caught a headline — bold, cold, merciless.
"It's… about Ryuta…" he murmured, trembling.
Tears ran freely down his cheeks as a scream tore from his throat, raw and choked.
"RYUTA—CAPTAIN! HOW… HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?!"
He slammed his fist against the wooden wall, the impact leaving bruises, blood mixing with the rain that had started to drizzle through the deck's cracks.
Erik Traz appeared, cautious. "Calm down, Dravon…"
Dravon collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, head bowing to the floor.
"Captain… is executed…" he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Erik's eyes widened. He could only watch as Dravon's body shook with grief, lost in despair.
{Back to the Present}
Dravon's gaze fell on Orimo's lifeless body, eyes wide and unseeing. His mind screamed at him, yet no sound came.
"I swore I'd protect you, Orimo…," he whispered through bloodied teeth. "I let you die… I failed you…"
The word escaped, brittle and breaking: "Sorry…"
His body slumped, collapsing onto the wet ground. Rain poured over him, soaking his hair, his cloak, his blood-stained hands.
The roar of the battlefield continued, but Dravon had gone silent — unconscious, shattered, broken.
Sora Nithel watched from a distance, eyes cold and pale. He turned away, retreating into the navy headquarters, leaving the storm and the ruined battlefield behind.
Dravon's last whispered words echoed faintly over the rain:
"Sorry…"
And darkness claimed him.