This oasis was a fragile thing, a fleeting green speck in the desert’s endless sea of sand.

I stood at the water’s edge, the coolness of the spring lapping against my boots. It did little to quench the heat burning in my chest.

She stood before me, her hands clasped tightly in mine. The desert wind whipped around us, sending her hair fluttering like a banner in the heat.

She had been my companion through every trial I had faced in my years as a young knight. Her presence had kept me steady, the one thing that kept me grounded when all around was chaos. My respite, my anchor in the storm, my sweet lady.

But now, standing at the edge of the oasis, the sweltering air felt suffocating—thick with unspoken words, heavy with a silence that crushed the breath from my chest.

She lifted her eyes to meet mine, her green gaze mirroring the palms that surrounded the spring.

But beneath the familiar brightness, there was something more—something distant. A quiet sadness, a reflection of something once tenderly held, now slipping away.

With a soft, deliberate movement, she drew my hands to her chest.

My heart thrummed painfully as she kissed my cheek— a gesture, soft and tender, but underlain with something else. It felt like a goodbye, whispered in a language I wasn’t ready to hear.

For a moment, I stood still, unable to speak, my gaze tracing every detail of her face, searching for some clue, some hint of what was to come. But her expression was unreadable. Her lips pressed together in a way I had never seen before.

Without a word, she let go, her hands falling lifelessly to her sides, as if the weight of the moment had become too much to bear.

I wanted to ask, to demand answers. Why? But no words came. I didn’t need them.

Behind her, the desert stretched out in a vast, unbroken expanse. The sun burned relentlessly, casting a haze over the sand that shimmered like a mirage. The oasis seemed so small, so insignificant in the face of the desert’s unyielding grasp.

She turned toward the barren wasteland, an endless sea of sand and stone stretching before her.

What could she possibly see? I wondered, but I knew the question held no answers.

She had been with me for so long—through darkness, bloodshed, and impossible battles. What could possibly draw her away from it all, toward the emptiness of this unforgiving land?

She took a step forward. Then another. The soles of her boots crunched softly against the sand. The sound of her departure echoed in my ears, louder than any battle cry, as if the desert itself had begun to swallow her whole.

And then, one solitary thought clawed its way to the surface: Where could she possibly go?

The question gnawed at me, but I found no answer. I had been forged in the fire of war, bound by duty, honor, and oath.

But she—she was different. She had never been bound by anything. Not even me. I thought I knew her. I thought I understood her every thought. But this… this made no sense.

"Good luck," I finally choked out, my voice rough, thick with a sorrow I couldn’t name.

She didn’t turn back. Not once. She kept walking, her silhouette gradually fading into the distance, swallowed by the desert’s endless horizon.

I stood frozen, my heart a hollow echo, trying to understand what had just transpired.

For years, I had believed love—true love—was invincible, an unbreakable bond that no fire, no force, could destroy. I had fought for her, bled for her, and she had stood beside me through the fires of war. But now, she was walking away without a word, without explanation.

I was left with nothing but the quiet, painful question: Why?

My mind struggled to make sense of it all, pondering this for what seemed like an eternity.

 I had fought for things I thought were worth fighting for—honor, duty, glory, all the things a knight should hold dear.

But she? She didn’t need a reason to leave. She didn’t need a justification for choosing a path of her own, for stepping into the unknown, for walking away from everything we had built together.

Her heart had never been mine to command. It had always belonged to the wind—to the stars, to the open desert, to the things that could never be tamed.

I was forged in the fire, but she had been shaped by the wind—by the desert, by the endless sky, by everything that could not be controlled.

The sun beat down on me, and as the oasis seemed to shrink behind me, I stole one last glance at the horizon. Slowly, I turned and began to walk in the opposite direction. The desert’s heat pressed against my back, a quiet truth settling into my bones, a familiar fire rekindling in my heart.

"Good luck," I whispered into the wind.

I was forged in the fire.