00:00Amidst the carnage of Antietam, Corporal Elijah Hart cowers behind a shattered oak, his hand
00:05trembling. Smoke fills the air, the echoes of battle, a constant, deafening roar. In his grasp,
00:13a small brass inkwella, tangible link to a gentler world, now lost. Amidst the smoke-filled
00:18battlefield, Daniel stumbles into view, his rifle trembling in his grasp. Spotting the inkwell,
00:23Daniel asks, you, you a scribe? Elijah replies, was. Before this madness, Daniel, with resignation,
00:32pleads, my sister's last letter. Reckon, someone ought to read it again if I don't make it.
00:37A cannonball screams past, sending Elijah and Daniel diving for cover amidst the chaos of the
00:42battlefield. As the smoke clears, Elijah hands Daniel the inkwell, a poignant gesture of farewell.
00:47Keep it, write her yourself. Elijah, bearing the scars of war, enters his quiet Pennsylvania home
00:53as snow blankets the world outside. A weary postman trudges through the snow, a package clutched
00:58tightly in his gloved hand, delivering news that reshapes the past. Sir Daniel fell at Gettysburg.
01:04But I found your name etched here. My brother wrote to me until the end. Thank you for that.
01:09Yours, Daniel. A stack of letters, each bearing the weight of untold stories and unspoken farewells,
01:16rests beneath Clara's note. Years later, Elijah stands before a classroom, sunlight illuminating
01:21the room. He holds aloft an inkwell, its dark depths reflecting the light as he says,
01:26War steals much, but not this. Not words. Not who we were before the storm.
