That evening, as dusk swallowed the last of the light, they found it — a ruin.
The remnants of what was once a stone chapel stood crooked in a clearing, eaten by moss and vines. Its stained glass had long since shattered, the colors scattered like broken memories. Half the roof had caved in, and the altar was split in two.
But it was a shelter.
The boy stepped through the archway, brushing past a fallen beam, and sat where pews used to be. He looked up. Where saints once stared down from painted windows, now the stars looked in.
The girl lingered by the entrance. Then slowly and deliberately she crossed the threshold and sat behind him.
Two figures in a forgotten church.
Two survivors in a world that no longer cared who lived or died.
In the deepest part of night, the boy stirred. Something cracked outside.
He reached instinctively for a stone, gripping it tight. Breath held.
Then another sound.
Soft.
Footsteps?
The girl was awake too now, eyes wide, golden hair catching the moonlight. She reached toward him her first real movement toward him and gently took his wrist, lowering the stone.
They waited.
Then a shadow passed outside the broken chapel wall.
A deer.
Starved. Thin. Limping through the woods as if the war had broken even the beasts.
They watched it go, and slowly, they breathed again.
But even after the deer had gone, the girl didn't let go of his wrist.
The next day, something changed.
The boy sat near the church wall, eating dried fruit they had found in a buried satchel. He handed her one as usual.
She stared at it.
Then softly, so softly it was like breath and not sound she spoke.
"Thank you."
It was the first word she had said.
The boy blinked. He wasn't sure if he had imagined it.
She looked down, as if ashamed for breaking whatever vow had kept her silent.
He nodded. Not smiling. Just… acknowledging. Accepting.
And that was enough.