huff... huff...

A figure dragged itself across the sand.

The sun was setting, bathing the world in shades of amber and gold. It was beautiful. Perfect, even. The kind of sunset that made people stop and stare, that made them write poetry or take pictures or call their loved ones.

huff... huff...

The figure's name was Adom. Adom Sylla.

Today, Adom had decided he was going to die. By drowning, specifically.

It was supposed to be peaceful, poetic even - just him, the waves and that perfect sunset. Instead, he'd somehow managed to get attacked by a troll.

A troll, of all things, on his carefully chosen quiet beach.

The irony that he'd fought so hard to stay alive against something that could have done his job for him wasn't lost on him. But getting his head repeatedly smashed against rocks hadn't been part of the plan. He had standards, after all.

The final reading of the connected wheelchair flashed through his mind:

CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE

Mana Stability: 12% [DANGEROUS]

Neural Sync: ERROR

Life Support: OFFLINE

Connection Lost...

At least he'd made it to the beach.

He couldn't breathe right. Each gasp tore through his lungs like broken glass, leaving the taste of blood in his mouth. The sand felt wrong under his hands - coarse and wet with something that wasn't just seawater.

His legs wouldn't work. Hadn't worked since the fall, or maybe it was the explosion. Everything after the screaming started was a blur. He forced another handful of sand behind him, dragging his body forward.

The sea breeze carried salt and rot and the beach stretched out ahead, empty except for the bodies. So many bodies. The tide was trying to take them, pulling at uniforms and civilian clothes alike. A knight's armor, somehow still pristine except for the dark stains, bobbed in the surf.

War didn't care about perfect sunsets or final moments. War just left things broken.

Another push. Another few inches gained.

His chest hurt. The diagnostic warnings had gone quiet minutes ago. Or hours. Time wasn't working right anymore.

"Just... a little... more..."

His voice also didn't sound right anymore. Too weak. Too old. Each word cost him more breath than he could spare, but the silence was worse. The silence meant hearing the waves lap against dead things.

Something massive lay half-submerged near the pier. Probably a leviathan. Best not to look at it. Best not to remember what it did before the artillery finally brought it down. Best not to think about the sounds it made.

Blood dripped onto sand. His blood, this time. A cough wracked his body, and for a moment the world went dark around the edges.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

But he kept crawling. One hand in front of the other. Away from the bodies. Away from the thing in the water. Away.

Just a little more.

He could almost hear the echoes of laughter, see the ghostly outlines of those long-gone structures. The phantom sensation of sand between his toes, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the salty air that engulfed his lungs - all these memories washed over him, as relentless and bittersweet as the tide itself.

Seventy-nine years of life. A lifetime for most, an eternity for some.

Few were those who could boast of such longevity, and fewer still who'd want to, given the circumstances. Adom Sylla's case was, to put it mildly, a surprise to everyone - himself included.