The fire was small. Controlled.
Not for warmth. Not for food.
For ritual.
Tae-Jun stood, barely. His leg still hurt, but he'd gotten stronger. Just enough to move with effort — and choice.
Yul was kneeling near the flames, staring into them with a quiet that didn't look like fear anymore. It looked like resolve.
---
They didn't speak — they hadn't needed to for days.
But everything about the scene said "this is the end of something."
Tae-Jun took off his military jacket.
Bloodstained. Torn.
The patch still visible on the shoulder.
He threw it into the fire.
It curled instantly, fabric twisting as flames devoured the symbol of everything he'd been.
Yul watched. His eyes didn't blink.
Then — slowly — he pulled off his own jacket.
He hesitated.
Tae-Jun saw it.
> Maybe he was thinking of his brother.
Of orders.
Of the name on his dog tag.
But then he breathed in.
And let it go.
The foreign jacket landed on top of Tae-Jun's. Both burned together — crackling, collapsing, becoming one mass of black.
---
> Entry Twelve.
I used to believe my uniform made me a soldier.
Now I know it only made me a target.
He burned his too.
And that means something I don't have words for.
We're not enemies anymore.
We're not soldiers either.
We're just two boys in a war neither of us asked for.
And for the first time… maybe we're free.
---
They sat together near the embers.
Tae-Jun leaned against Yul's shoulder.
No one spoke.
Nothing needed to be said.
The fire had already spoken for them.