Beneath the Crimson Sky

The sky was always red at dusk in Arvenil.

Not the warm, painted hues of a sunset. No — this red bled like memory. Like ash.
They said the heavens wept crimson after the war, mourning the souls it had swallowed whole.

For Kai, that sky was a wound that never healed.

---

He stood alone at the stone.

White granite. Clean. Carved with a name he couldn’t say out loud anymore:
Eren Valen.

In his hand, a bouquet of blue and white asters — Eren’s favorite. They were once wild, scattered across the cliffs of their childhood. Now they were just offerings to a silence that stretched years wide.

---

Eren had always been the fire.

Fearless. Reckless. Brilliant.
The kind of person who could laugh with death and still walk away grinning. Kai had been his opposite — a thinker, a protector, a shadow that moved where Eren’s light shined.

Together, they were unstoppable.
Until the mission that ended everything.

---

They were supposed to sabotage the Crimson Core — the enemy’s last weapon.
But when the gates slammed shut, and the countdown began, someone had to stay behind.

And Eren… chose to be the one.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, eyes steady. “You get out. Someone has to live.”

Kai had begged him. Screamed. Even drew his blade. But Eren only smiled, a bittersweet curl to his lips.

“You only live once, Kai.”
He stepped back, hand on the ignition crystal.

“But if you do it right… once is enough.”

---

The blast painted the sky red.
The same red that still haunted Kai’s dreams.

---

Years passed.

The war ended. Statues were raised. Names etched into walls.
But Kai never moved on.

He trained young warriors now — taught them to fight smart, to choose when to stand… and when to live. He carried Eren’s sword on his back. Never used it. Never let it rest.

Every year, on this day, he returned to the grave.

But today was different.

---

There was a reflection in the puddle beneath the stone.

Not his own.

Eren knelt there, mirrored in water — older, worn, but smiling.

“Am I dead?” Kai asked, breath caught.

“No,” Eren replied, his voice like wind. “But you’re finally listening.”

“What is this?”

“A moment. One moment. To say what matters.”

---

Kai dropped to his knees.

“I should’ve stayed. I should’ve found another way.”

Eren shook his head, gentle.

“You lived, Kai. You carried it. You remembered. That’s enough.”

---

The image faded.

The puddle stilled.

And for the first time in years, the crimson sky began to break — bleeding into gold.

Kai stood. The weight of the sword on his back lighter than before. He turned from the grave, not with sorrow, but with peace.

He would keep living. Keep doing it right.

Because sometimes, one life is all you get.

And if you do it right…
Once is enough.