Sorry, My Love: The Adventures of Lovers-Chapter 43: Sorry, My Love

The gates of the Holy Land groaned open, their iron hinges screaming protest as Gabriel lurched through, his breathing in short, gulping gasps, his boots skidding on the rain-washed stones. The air here was other—cool and fresh, unsullied by the smoke and blood of battle. The sky above, once rent by lightning and boiling black clouds, now stretched in endless, unbroken blue, the sun casting long, golden shadows over the crumbling spires of the ancient city.

Gabriel's heart hammered in his chest as he ran through the alleys, dodging rotten arches and still, round-eyed villagers, their faces slick with the whiteness of fresh fear. His brain raged, the images of his last battle with Sally still lingering in his thoughts, the stench of smoke and blood still jammed in his nostrils.

He pushed open the clinic's stone walls, cool and quiet, the huge wooden door a fraction ajar. He pushed it all the way open, his heart pounding, and stumbled into the room with its dim light. The air was heavy with the smell of herbs and incense and blended with the sharp, metallic smell of dried blood.

And on a narrow cot, her face white but calm, lay Margo.

Gabriel's own breath was caught in his throat. Her hair lay across the pillow like a dark, torn river, her eyelashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks. She was so motionless, so delicate, her chest jerking and falling with slow, shallow breaths, her hands clasped across her heart as if she clutched some secret, some treasure.

"Margo." Gabriel whispered, his voice cracking as he stumbled to her, dropping to his knees beside her cot. He stretched out a shaking hand, reaching to touch a strand of hair from her face, his heart hurting at the sight of the white, dark rings under her eyes, the thin, white line of her split lips.

Her eyes fluttered open, the blue, troubled depths of them fastening onto his, and for an instant, the world beyond them melted away, the cacophony and chaos of the last few months receding into a dull, distant murmur.

"Gabriel.?" she breathed, her voice parched and gravelly, her eyes welling up with tears as she reached up, her fingertips tracing the blood-streaked side of his face. "You. you came back."

"Yes, I did," he strangled out, his hands grasping her face, his thumbs tracing the tears that coursed down her white cheeks. "I swore to you, didn't I? I swore I'd return to you."

Her hands tightened their grip on his, slack but desperate, her eyes studying the face before her as if she expected him to vanish. "I thought. I thought I'd lost you," she gulped, her breathing shaking on the final word, tears streaming anew down her face. "I thought. you'd forgotten me."

"Never," he breathed frantically, his forehead laid against hers, his lips a hair's width from her own. "Never, Margo. I would plunder this world before letting you go."

A broken, gasping laughter escaped from her, her tears seeping into his knotted hair as she held on, her thin body shuddering within his arms. He held her closer, his own heart shattering at the feel of her ribs under his fingers, the small, quivering pulse of her heart against the beat of his own.

"I'm sorry," he drew out, his voice heavy with sorrow, his lips against the curve of her ear. "I'm so, so sorry, my love."

Her grip on his hair was like a vice, her breathing in little, shuddering gasps as she pushed into him, her mouth against his ear. "I missed you," she panted, her voice shaking, her tears dampening his cheek. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he breathed back, his eyes closing, his heart ripping with each quivering breath. "More than you'll ever know."

In the corner, an ancient, battered phonograph groaned to life, the shaking, cracked tones of some forgotten tune rippling through the room. Would you fall in love with me again? by Jorge Rivera drifted on the warm, candle-lit air, its soothing, mournful tone embracing them like some ghostly hand.

Gabriel stepped back, his gaze meeting hers, his heart contracting at the look of the dainty, shattered smile on her lips, the tears welling up in her lashes.

"Would you be with me for all eternity?" he breathed, his voice shaking, his heart thundering in his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide as she gazed up at him, her dry lips opening in a pale, rasper's laugh.

"Yes," she breathed, fingers tight in his hair, her warm breath on his lips. "Yes, my love."

Their mouths were clamped shut, desperate, long-kissed on the flavors of salt and blood and bitter sorrow, their tears combining as they hugged each other fiercely, their bodies stiff against each other in the cold, ringing silence of the clinic.

Months went by. War wounds scabbed, battle scars healing gradually from mind. Simbakuan and Maranaquan alike, their villages burned and their hearts broken, went to the Holy Land, their sorrow and rage gradually subsiding into hope as the fields greened and the rivers ran clear and bright.

The broken kingdoms of old were remade, their walls and towers remade, their banners waving aloft once more, their people united in pain and hope. They renamed their world anew, a name that testified to unity and power—Mankaynd.

King Vesh of Simbaku, his hair streaked with silver, his eyes unforgiving and cold, ascended to the throne, the core weighing heavy on his neck, its golden glow warming a reminder of the cost they'd paid to this moment.

One morning, when the sun rose over the snowy peaks of the Holy Land, the first snow of winter floated lazily from the bright, blue, clear sky, falling gently on roof and wall of the rebuilt city. The people remained motionless, their faces upturned to the sky, their breath exhaling in soft, white clouds as they stood to witness the snow falling, their hearts filled with a deep, unspoken peace.

Gabriel and Margo stood on the balcony of their tiny, stone home, arms wrapped around each other's waist, their eyes drinking in the snow falling, their hearts thudding in quiet, joyous harmony.

"Look," Margo breathed, her exhalation a soft, foggy mist on the cold morning air. "It's snowing."

Gabriel smiled, his arms closing around her, his lips tracing the line of her head. "It's beautiful," he whispered, his heart filled with a wild, unbreakable love.

"Do you think." Margo's voice faded, her eyes traveling over to the far, snow-capped peaks, her fingers clenching in his. "Do you think this is what peace feels like?"

Gabriel bent over her, his lips against her ear, his warm breath on her chilly, tear-stained cheek. "Yes," he breathed, his own heart overflowing with a brusque, inaccessable love. "Yes, my love."

And the snow drifted quietly around them, and they stood, hands and hearts locked fast, their lips brushing in a gentle, breathless kiss, their hearts knotted up in the unfrayable thread of love and loss and boundless, wordless promise.

The end of Sorry, My Love: Adventures of Lovers