One evening, after an exhausting day on the front, Heinrich slipped away from his camp to find a moment of peace in the forest. After taking care of his needs in the privacy of the trees, he started back toward camp, the only sounds around him the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant rustling of wind. Suddenly, he heard a sharper rustle. Before he could fully react, a figure lunged out of the shadows, blade glinting in the moonlight.

The ambush was swift and brutal, forcing Heinrich into a defensive stance. Caught without a fir^arm, he drew his own k^ife, and the two became locked in a deadly struggle. His opponent was fast and skillful, moving with an agility and precision that surprised him. It was clear this was no ordinary attacker. Heinrich, usually unshakable, found himself gritting his teeth as he blocked and struck, each movement as let^al and calculated as his mind.

They fought fiercely, neither gaining a clear advantage, blad^s flashing in the dim light. As the skirmish reached a tense peak, his fingers caught the edge of their mask, pulling it off. His attacker froze, and Heinrich, poised to strike, found himself staring instead.

The face before him was breathtaking—a mix of determination and defiance, with features sharp yet hauntingly beautiful. He felt his pulse quicken, though not from the exertion of the fight. For a moment, Heinrich forgot the k^ife in his hand, forgot the danger, even forgot the war itself. The tension hung in the air between them, as neither moved, both trapped in that one electrifying moment.