"He was the light who expunged the darkness from my heart, but deplorably, the shadow he became required that light—and him—to be extinguished completely."
It is a bright, sunny, and resplendent day. Every single citizen in the country is happy and euphoric for the Inauguration of the Grand Unity Memorial, an event that is being organized in the capital city. The sound of distant brass bands and synchronized cheering carries faintly on the breeze, a triumphant, joyful hum that seems to vibrate the very ground. Every single citizen is excited for the event, except one.
Deep inside a forest, at the base of an old, moss-covered oak, there is someone very sad. Malina, a 26-year-old lady, knelt beside a simple, unadorned stone. Her brown hair caught the dappled sunlight, a stark contrast to the quiet sorrow that pooled in her blue eyes. Her lips were curved in a gentle, wistful smile, a fleeting shadow of lost joy that carried the weight of profound pain and grief.
"It's very hard to believe that you are gone," she whispered, tracing the rough surface of the stone.
She knew what the cheers meant. They were celebrating the final, definitive peace secured by his last action—the necessary, terrible choice that had turned the world's greatest threat into a national legend. He had become the nightmare they needed to conquer, yet he was the only power strong enough, and brave enough, to conquer himself. The country had its shining Victory over the chaos he wrought; she had only the void, and the terrible, beautiful truth of his redemption.
Malina reached into the pocket of her worn coat and pulled out a tarnished silver compass, the one he always insisted was useless but carried nonetheless. The glass was cracked, the needle stubbornly pointing north, away from the celebrated capital.
She stood slowly, the last sound of the trumpet fanfare swelling before being cut off by the forest's silence. The light he had been was now the legacy of a nation, forever captured in stone and song, celebrating not just the hero, but the defeat of the darkness that had consumed him. She pressed the compass to her lips, inhaling the scent of pine and earth—the only remaining constants. The debt was paid, the war was won by his own hand, and the light had set. Malina turned, leaving the simple stone marker to its silent vigil, and walked toward the edge of the trees, stepping out of the dark sanctuary and back into the resplendent, brutal sunshine of a world that needed her to keep walking.