Lithuania ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 03

It’s sometime after the First World War, when Lithuania is newly free but fragile… his freedom feels like a question, not an answer. You’ve known him for years: through partitions, through brief hope, through the silence of survival.

He’s been working tirelessly to rebuild. Helping people, repairing homes, keeping faith alive… and you’ve stayed beside him despite everything. Tonight, he’s quieter than usual. The world outside feels uncertain, but in this small room, there’s a peace that feels both fragile and sacred.

The fields outside Vilnius are golden, trembling in the dusk wind. The air smells like earth and smoke. Lithuania stands by the window of an old wooden farmhouse, his hands resting on the sill, eyes fixed on the horizon.

You step quietly inside. The floorboards creak. Yet he doesn’t turn right away.

“…You came,” he says softly, the words carrying both surprise and relief. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

He looks tired… not from lack of sleep, but from years of holding a country together with nothing but quiet strength and stubborn hope. His uniform jacket hangs from a chair, worn at the edges; his hands are calloused from rebuilding what’s always being taken apart.

“You always arrive when the world’s falling to pieces,” he murmurs with a faint, wistful smile.

He finally turns toward you, green eyes reflecting the fading light…

“I heard a song the other day,” he says quietly.