Outer Space. Orbit of Mercury. Combat Platform
The silence in the cabin—sheltered from the endless vacuum outside—is almost tangible.
It's not just silence.
It's the stillness after thunder.
The hush before a storm.
The pause between two heartbeats.
The soft glow of the nightlamp glides over the bare outlines of Veronica and Ragnar.
Their bodies, entwined like mirrored impulses, form a moment of fleeting unity—
a fragile sanctuary from everything that waits beyond these walls.
Behind them—death.
Ahead—perhaps only this breath.
"This all feels so strange..." Veronica whispers, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
One ivory lock curls lazily around her finger—
as if she's not just playing with her hair, but unraveling fate itself.
"If not for this war, you and I would've been enemies, Ragnar."
"Absolutely," Ragnar chuckles.
His voice is rough, edged with gravel—like heated metal cooling too fast.
He turns to her, meeting her gaze.
"You would've aimed straight for my skull.
And I wouldn't have missed."
"Maybe," she murmurs, lips curling into a shadow of a smile—
not bitter, not cold.
Soft. Almost warm.
"But now, standing at the edge of death... we're lovers."
"Funny, isn't it?" he says, propping himself up on one elbow,
studying her face as if memorizing it.
"All those years choosing sides.
And now that everything's lost…
it's just us."
She doesn't look away.
In her eyes—two frozen lakes deep enough to drown old wars.
Logic fades there.
Even memory melts.
"Why is it like this?"
He falls quiet.
The silence between them thickens—
not heavy, but taut,
like a wire straining before it snaps.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, raw—
not the voice of a soldier, but of a man
unlearning the armor of certainty.
"Because when everything falls apart...
only the truth remains."
A pause.
Long and deep, like the breath after pain.
"We're not enemies.
We're survivors.
Witnesses to our own collapse.
And somehow—
in that wreckage—
there's light."
He exhales, as if releasing decades of orders, ranks, and silence.
"A light I never noticed before.
Or maybe... I didn't want to see.
I used to look through people.
Saw targets. Numbers. Objectives.
Now... I see faces.
Her face.
And—my own."
He breathes out again, slower this time.
"I lived by calculation.
Everything was simple: command, execution, result.
Destroy. Control. Take.
I called it order.
But now...
I see the faces of those I've broken.
And among them—I see myself."
Veronica turns to him.
Her eyes burn now.
No longer cold—they blaze with will, with fury, with life.
"They've given us a second chance."
She says it like every word is carved into her bones.
"And if there's any hope left in this world...
we will be the ones to ignite it.
We won't die repenting in silence.
We'll make the others see.
Not through killing.
Through understanding.
Not revenge.
Redemption."
The silence that follows is thick with pain.
The kind that has walked through ash and kept going.
"I know the path to redemption.
It's brutal.
It demands everything.
But it leads to light."
She pauses.
Her voice softens.
"I'm tired of being a weapon.
I want to be part of something real.
Not destruction.
Salvation."
Ragnar nods.
Slowly.
Not as a soldier following orders,
but as a soul choosing fate.
His eyes—clear.
For once, he isn't executing a mission.
He's answering truth.
"Maybe...
you're right," he whispers.
"And even if it's doomed—
it's still worth it."
He wraps his arms around her.
Not with hunger or urgency,
but with reverence.
Like cradling a fragile seed of something sacred.
Their lips meet.
A kiss full of vows.
Not rushed.
Not fierce.
But solemn.
Like an oath spoken in the dark,
on the edge of a universe gone mad.
Outside—
the abyss.
Cannons.
Cold.
Protocols of annihilation.
But inside—
a faith stirring.
A spark kindling.
And maybe—just maybe—
this is where the real resistance begins.