Station 1

Chapter 1 The Story of a Soldier (End)

A Prayer for the Fallen

The station was silent once more. The echoes of Pablo’s voice had faded, his presence now nothing more than a whisper in the air. The train had long since vanished into the mist, carrying him to a place beyond regret, beyond war—beyond sorrow.

And yet, Asher remained.

Standing at the platform’s edge, he watched the empty tracks, his expression unreadable. The lanterns flickered, their glow casting long shadows across the worn floor. The scent of rain still lingered, but now, it was softer—like the first breath of dawn after a storm.

A ghost had found his way home.

Slowly, Asher lowered his gaze, his fingers tracing the silver key earring that dangled from his ear. Then, with quiet reverence, he brought his hands together and closed his eyes.

His voice was barely above a whisper, but the Latin words carried through the stillness, weaving through the space where Pablo had once stood.

"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine,"

"Et lux perpetua luceat ei."

"Requiescat in pace."

Grant him eternal rest, O Lord.

And let perpetual light shine upon him.

May he rest in peace.

A soft breeze stirred, carrying the prayer into the vast emptiness beyond the station.

For a long moment, Asher remained motionless, as if listening—waiting.

Then, just for a second, the wind shifted.

A warmth brushed past him, fleeting but certain. A quiet farewell, a final breath of gratitude.

Asher opened his eyes.

The train was gone. The platform was empty. The station remained.

And yet, something felt lighter.

He exhaled, lowering his hands before turning away, his silhouette disappearing into the mist.

The fallen soldier had found his peace.

And Asher, the bearer of stories, would remain.

Waiting.

Listening.

Until the next wandering soul arrived.