In the middle of a war-torn battlefield, a star burns out.

There is no flash of light, no warning. It simply dies, gloriously and unceremoniously. Everyone watches as it falls. None of them have the courage to breathe. There is an inevitable silence as they mourn for their beacon of hope, the epitome of resilience, manliness, and, often, downright stupidity and dumb luck.

They don't notice the rain fall. It beats against their skin, prodding at their buried consciousnesses. It is a futile attempt - for now, they are numb. Visions blur as tears spring forth, an influx of sorrow crashes into the valley with the force of a stormy sea. The silence is broken by the first strangled sob, which is then joined by more, until the mourners form a painful chorus.

They have won the battle, but at a terrible cost. This is no time for a victory cheer, for celebrations and joy. They should adjust to this situation - but none of them are that versatile. This death will bring forth too many changes. It is only a sort-of victory, a kind-of win. Where do they go from here?

She is the first to move. Her first steps are slow, her body stiff and unwilling to respond. She resists her instincts and pushes forward, breaking into a run. She can't see properly, the tears are still flowing, but she runs nonetheless. She gasps for breath between sobs as she nears the fallen star, then stops abruptly - she is too close. Collapsing to the ground, her fists beat against hard rock as the tears come in abundances. Straggling for breath, she crawls forward and presses herself into the star's limp arms.

The star's words echo through her mind. Fleeting words, syllables that promised everything and nothing all at once. She will never be repaid. "Ten times over" has become impossible. She stops dreaming of the kiss; the warm embrace; the first night; all that will never be. They will never wake up next to each other, have children or a wedding. The thought of marriage plays around in her mind - were they even the type to do things the traditional way?

She is cold in the star's embrace. It feels nothing like she remembers, but she cannot tear herself away. "Ten times over" - can she really let the promise go that easily? Her future shatters before her eyes. She steals one last hopeful glimpse before it evanesces - mere debris swept up in the destruction in the wake of the star's death.

She could look at him - and, oh, how she had looked - those finely sculpted muscles; the daring eyes; the cocky grin - but merely looking had never been enough. The star's superlative presence alone demanded the attention of all her senses. It emanated something ethereal, something she couldn't quite describe, and something she had never paid full attention to until it vanished - and by then it was too late.

She wonders, gripping onto fragments of could've-beens, should-haves and never-woulds. She laces her fingers with the star's, lays her head next to his and begins to sing. A haunting lullaby of anguish and loss that echoes through the valley - and their hearts. Eventually, her song stops. She has said what farewell she can. Although it doesn't suffice, it is all she has to give.

They bury him on the battlefield - it's what he would have wanted, they say. His sheathed sword marks his burial ground, the cape he wore tied to the hilt. The wind flies their salute to their fallen comrade. There is nothing else in the surrounding area - his grave is impossible to miss. There is no doubt his role will not be overlooked, the flash of splendour that lit up their lives for only a short time - a spark of him remains in each of their hearts. They will build a future and dedicate it to his sacrifice.

But until that future is achieved, she will return to the sombre nebula the star once inhabited. Each night will be the same - she'll lay down on his deathbed and sing his eulogies.