The suns were relentless and scorching hot, as always. In the distance, Atticus marched on, lover in hand, vision blurred by the heavy heat. The crimson mountain was in sight, yet still far away. It’d been days since they had water or rest.

“Atticus..stop.”

She let go of his hand, and sat down on the desert sands. All this running all the way from day one, running from her warlord father and from hired captors, had left them tired and weary. Atticus reached his hand out to her, with only reaching the mountain in mind. This was when she did something peculiar: she began sucking on his sweat-covered finger, slowly, as though tasting its bitterness.

Atticus, transfixed by what had happened, sat down as well, and laid his head on her lap, crying.

The twins then shared a solemn kiss.

---

When they had found them, they were dead, naked, entangled on the crimson sands. The head mercenary said a quick prayer, and began digging holes for them. He decided he would report that his mission was a failure after all.