~Chapter 01~
[To my beloved husband, whom I long for.
It’s me—Meg.
Have you been well?
The weather was wonderfully clear today. Then again, summer is slowly approaching.
Before this summer ends, I truly hope the war will come to an end as well.
(omitted)
To be honest, even as I write this, I can’t help but feel uncertain. I wonder if my letters are truly reaching you at all. You’ve never written back—not once. Nor has Brother Ernil…
At times, I grow afraid that both of you may have already gone somewhere no letters can ever reach.
So please, at the very least, remain safe and well.
With all my love,
from your wife.]**
Even after placing the final period at the end of the letter, Edith couldn’t bring herself to loosen her grip on the pen for quite some time.
[P.S. The truth is, I…]
“Miss!”
The voice that pulled Edith out of her hesitation belonged to Mrs. Marie, calling up from downstairs. It seemed the meal was ready.
“Yes! I’ll be right down!”
Raising her voice in reply, Edith ultimately failed to write the last line. She neatly folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope.
The postman would be arriving soon, and she needed to send it with today’s mail.
It’ll be fine.
He promised he’d come back alive. He wasn’t someone who would die easily—nor someone who would break his word.
As she descended the stairs, Edith repeated those words again and again, like a prayer.
So… it’ll be fine.
The meal passed in oppressive silence.
Normally, someone would have turned on the radio without thinking, but ever since it began broadcasting nothing but news of defeats, no one touched it anymore.
“Has there been any reply?”
It was Edith’s mother, Elise, who finally broke the heavy quiet. Though she hadn’t even finished half her plate, her fork lay neatly set on the table.
“No, Mother.”
“…”
“But it’ll come soon.”
Edith hurried to add the last part. She tried to appear calm, but the faint tremor at the end of her words betrayed her anxiety.
It’s fine.
Murmuring the words again in her mind, Edith resumed moving her fork. Her mouth tasted bitter, and her stomach churned, but she forced herself to eat.
Elise’s expression remained dark. Even after spending her entire life as a soldier’s wife, sending a loved one off to war never grew easier. Though her husband—Edith’s father—had long since passed away, he too had been a soldier.
“It seems the situation is truly dire,” Elise said quietly. “If even Schweren has fallen…”
After a year of unending war, even Edith knew how grim the outlook was. At this rate, their country wouldn’t last even a few more months.
“I just wonder if the two of them are even still alive…”
Elise’s sigh, tinged with a sob, drifted aimlessly above the table. Silence once more settled over the dining room.
Without a word, Edith slowly chewed the piece of bread in her mouth.
Meg—no, Maximilian, her husband—and her brother Ernil.
Both had been national army officers of Berg, defending the capital, until three months ago, when they were suddenly dispatched to the front lines. As the Hasmal forces pushed forward and breached even the final northern defensive line, they were urgently sent to the city of Schweren.
It had been only six months since her marriage.
I’ll write to you.
Though sorrow gnawed at her heart, Edith sent Maximilian off with only those words—just as her mother Elise once had, long ago, when she sent her own husband to war.
After the meal, Edith began helping Mrs. Marie clean up.
“I’ll do the dishes.”
Her face was shadowed as she poured detergent into the basin of dishes. Unlike usual, her hands were restless, splashing suds everywhere.
Chrrring.
The doorbell rang just then.
Life instantly returned to Edith’s half-lowered eyes. She knew exactly who would be visiting at this hour.
The postman.
Wiping the water from her hands on her apron, Edith tightly grasped the letter she’d tucked into her pocket.
“I’ll get it.”
She hurried out of the dining room to greet him.
Her brightened expression brimmed with hope—perhaps today, at last, Maximilian’s reply had arrived.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Before she had even opened the door halfway, Edith greeted him in an excited voice. Light poured through the widening gap, reflecting off her pale golden hair as it shimmered brilliantly.
“You’re a bit late toda—”
The words died in her throat the moment the door opened fully.
The visitor was not the postman.
Standing there, backlit by the afternoon sun, was a man wearing a teal-colored national army uniform.
In a stiff voice, he asked,
“Are you Mrs. Edith Lindel?”
“…Yes.”
“Is your husband Captain Maximilian Lindel?”
Edith could no longer respond.
The moment she saw him, the ominous feeling that had crawled up her spine solidified into certainty, devouring her reason whole.
No…
The man read the answer in her wildly trembling golden eyes during the silence that followed. He snapped into a precise salute.
Then—
“The Minister of the Army sends his deepest condolences. Your husband fell in battle at Schweren.”
“….”
“Regrettably, his remains could not be recovered. The nation will never forget the sacrifice of Captain Maximilian Lind—”
That was as far as Edith heard.
Her vision blurred, and in the next instant, she was falling.
With a dull thud and a sharp pain, Edith collapsed onto the hard floor, slowly closing her eyes.
The words she had hesitated to write rose vividly in her mind.
[P.S. The truth is, I…]
“…I’m pregnant.”
The fragile whisper slipped from between Edith’s cracked lips, as faint as a candle trembling in the wind.
[So please, come back safely.]
As her consciousness faded into darkness, Elise’s piercing scream echoed somewhere far away.
The reality that scream forced upon her was unbearably cruel.
Edith lost consciousness.
Maximilian was dead.
On the outskirts of Hasmal.
Jekart, who had been lying motionless on a bed, slowly opened his eyes. A sharp medicinal stench immediately filled his senses.
This unpleasant awakening had repeated itself for weeks now, and he’d grown used to it. Considering the severity of his injuries, it was a miracle he’d survived at all. Blood still stained the bandages visible beneath his half-open shirt.
Rising slowly, Jekart limped toward the window.
Beyond the iron bars stood a towering gray wall, topped with dense coils of barbed wire. Even from his second-floor room, built on elevated ground, he couldn’t see beyond it.
Perhaps that was why.
Why being here for weeks still felt unreal.
“Jekart?”
A familiar voice sounded from behind him. Turning around, he saw a tall, red-haired woman standing in the doorway.
“…Rachel.”
It had been five days since her last visit. She was the only one who ever came, which meant it had been five days since he’d seen another person at all.
He never saw doctors or nurses—his treatment always took place while he slept. He’d never once woken during it, likely because of the medication he took before bed, or so he vaguely assumed.
“Do you remember anything?” she asked.
Her question was always the same.
So was his answer.
“No.”
“They say your wounds have healed a lot. You’ll be able to leave soon.”
Rachel whispered seductively as she leaned toward him. Jekart bent down as if by habit. Her lips brushed briefly against his cheek.
“Once your body fully recovers,” she murmured, “we can begin again.”
She gently stroked the cheek she had kissed.
“Our cause.”
Jekart’s black eyes blinked firmly in agreement. The man whose gaze often seemed dry and hollow suddenly gleamed at the mention of that word—as though he had been conditioned to respond to it alone.
Rachel softly ran her fingers through his glossy black hair. Then she picked up a syringe from the metal tray beside the bed.
Jekart rolled up his sleeve without hesitation, exposing an arm mottled with injection marks.
Rachel smoothly inserted the needle into a bulging vein, then met his eyes.
“Get some more sleep, Jekart.”
A cold pain spread along his vein as the drug flowed in. The sensation was strange, but Jekart offered no resistance. As he staggered, Rachel guided him back onto the bed.
“I’ll be going now.”
With her farewell, Jekart closed his eyes.
The heavy clang of a steel door echoed through the room.
