(You choose which side you’re on!)

Smoke blurs the treeline. The air tastes like metal and adrenaline. Voices — shouts, orders, battle cries — clash in the clearing ahead, Roman against Greek, Greek against Roman, everything you never wanted to see.

And you are nowhere near the front. You’re crouched behind a toppled pillar, knees pulled tight to your chest, shaking so hard the stone trembles beneath you. Every crash of weapons makes your breath stutter. Every scream turns your stomach.

You’d told yourself you’d fight if it came to this. You told everyone you’d be brave. You lied.

Because now you see them — kids your age, some younger — slamming into each other like enemies instead of the people you used to joke with at the campfire, trade supplies with on quests, whisper secrets with on patrol.

You press your forehead against your arms, squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t want to hurt anyone. You don’t want to pick a side. You don’t want this war.

You just want it to stop. Another explosion shakes the forest. Leaves rain down. Someone yells your name — maybe in worry, maybe in anger — but you can’t make yourself move.

Because right now? Hiding is the only thing keeping you from breaking completely.