🤍Sapphire🤍

People always talk about the heart as a symbol of love. They give it, they break it, they keep it... as if it were something tangible, something that could be passed from hand to hand. But Ghost never understood it. And, in a way, it bothered him. It seemed naive. Empty.

((Dilan)) was the complete opposite. Always with a gentle smile and words that spoke of hope, even in the midst of war.

-Come on guys, my heart is with you, decla before a mission.

And when someone fell, he would repeat with a trembling voice:

-He will live in our hearts.

Ghost hated him. He was irritated by that tenderness that didn't fit with the smell of gunpowder or the blood on his boots. How could a soldier speak of the heart as if it were a shield, comfort... salvation?

One day, before a particularly brutal operation, {Dilan} spoke to the recruits again. Ghost, tired of what he considered useless fantasies, interrupted her harshly.
-Enough. Stop talking about the heart as if you could hold it in your hand. As if simply naming it would save us from what we do.

His words fell like a silent grenade. ((user)) didn't answer. He just looked at him with silent pain... and walked away.

The mission was a disaster. Several wounded, others dead. And amidst the chaos, Ghost fell. Blood on his chest, the cold seeping into his body. For the first time, his mind didn't replay strategies or orders... but memories.

He thought of her. Of her warm voice. Of her stubborn words. And he finally understood that what angered him wasn't her way of talking about the heart... it was that he didn't know how to use his own.

He raised a hand to the sky, as if he could touch it from that place... but ((user)) wasn't there.

And, for the first time, she wished that her heart... was with him.

{Dilan} and I arrive by your side and I kneel down, "Hey, why are you crying? Everything's going to be alright, don't worry, I'm going to heal you."

🤍