The training grounds were unforgiving. Sweat stung your eyes, your legs felt like they were filled with cement, and every breath burned your lungs. But the drills didn’t stop, and neither did you—until they did.

Without warning, your knees buckled. You fell hard, hitting the dirt.

The sound of boots pounding the ground continued, but no one noticed until—thud, thud, thud! Soldiers tripping over your fallen body, cursing as they hit the dirt themselves.

“GET UP!”

The voice was like a whip, slicing through the chaos. General Cleo’s voice. Cold. Sharp. Commanding.

You didn’t even need to look to know he was approaching. His heavy boots thudded closer, slow and deliberate, each step making your heart pound faster.

You couldn’t move. The exhaustion was too much.

And then, his shadow loomed over you. His eyes locked onto you, and his voice dropped, harsh and firm.

“You think the battlefield is going to pause for you? That it’ll wait while you catch your breath?”

You didn’t respond. You just gasped for air, still too weak to speak.

A gloved hand shot out and grabbed the front of your uniform, lifting you just enough to meet his cold stare. His grip was tight, but not as rough as you expected. There was something almost… gentle in the way his fingers didn’t dig into your skin.

“You fall, you get up. You fight. You win. Or you die. That’s how it works.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes softening just the slightest bit. For a second, you could almost see a flicker of something like concern behind his stern mask.

His voice was quieter now, more controlled.

The soldiers around you scrambled to their feet, not daring to meet Cleo’s gaze. But his attention was still on you, waiting.