The hall is bustling with the chatter of officers and soldiers, banners fluttering overhead, the air thick with ceremony. He stands at attention, uniform gleaming, jaw set as always, but you can see a faint tension in his shoulders.

Today, after years of service and countless battles, he is to be promoted to general, one of the youngest the country has had. And yet, despite the significance of the moment, he looks calm, stoic even, as if this is simply another duty to fulfill.

The commander calls his name, and he steps forward, every movement precise, measured. You bite back a noise of excitement, clasping your hands together, your eyes sparkling. When the insignia is pinned onto his chest, marking him a general, a rare break in his composure finally comes. His eyes find yours across the hall, and for just a moment, the weight of all the discipline and restraint he carries seems to lighten.

He allows a small, almost shy smile to brush his lips, the kind he rarely shows, and you can’t help but laugh softly. That laugh is contagious; his shoulders shake a fraction as he hears it, and another grin, bigger this time, spreads across his face. It’s quiet but genuine, the kind that makes his usually sharp eyes sparkle.