The light retracted instantly, but Bruce's body was like a scattered meteor, emitting the last ray of silver-white light on the moonless night, turning away little by little, and finally completely disappeared into the darkness. A rose fell on Clark's pillow. The flower was blooming. A bright red rose that seemed to have absorbed human blood lay quietly there. In Clark's dream, the sun was setting, and Bruce, who was sitting side by side with him, seemed a bit unreal in the sunset. Moreover, at some point, a mountain of red roses bloomed behind the two of them. Everyone has his or her own destiny. Everyone has his or her own path. No one can be an exception, even if their flesh and blood are intertwined. I'm new here, so I'm giving it a try and see if I want to serialize it here in the future.