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You leave her behind.
She draws her swords, you step through the door, and you leave her behind.
You couldn’t have both made it through the door. Somewhere, in the back of your head, you know that far too well. You had to go alone, or not go at all.
(You could have stayed. Part of you wants so desperately to stop fighting. You don’t think you know how, anymore.)
So instead, you leave her, and her battle cry echoes in your very bones as you walk away.
She told you once, the day your world came undone, that her people believe in soul mates. Spirits matched together, clinging to each other through generations of love, loss, death. You asked her if she believed in soul mates as your fingers traced constellations across her back.
“Commanders don’t have soul mates.” Your face must have fallen, because she had gathered you in her arms. “This isn’t destiny. I’m choosing you.”
The words had worked their way under your skin, and their echo reverberates in your heart as the door swings shut.
She isn’t your soul mate, and this time, you cannot choose her.