The crisp autumn air bit at Xander’s exposed skin, but he remained unyielding, a granite statue on the parade ground. At thirty-four, his height – a towering six foot seven – was both an advantage and a burden, a physical manifestation of the unwavering discipline that had propelled him to the pinnacle of his career: General of the Army. The meticulously polished boots gleamed under the pale sunlight, a stark contrast to the fatigue etched into his face, a testament to years spent navigating the brutal landscapes of war. Five years ago, he'd embarked on this path, oblivious to the life burgeoning within his wife, a life that would forever alter the trajectory of his own.

Now, the culmination of his relentless dedication stood before him: retirement, a hefty sum in his bank account, a freedom earned through countless sacrifices. He waited, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the rigid posture betraying nothing of the turmoil within. The tradition was simple, yet profound: a ceremonial tap-out by his family, a symbolic release from the iron grip of military life. But the waiting felt interminable, a stark reflection of the emotional distance he'd cultivated over the years.

His stern demeanor, the very essence of his success, was a carefully constructed facade. The unwavering resolve, the iron fist in the velvet glove – these were the tools that had forged him into a formidable leader. His physique mirrored his character: a powerful, muscular frame, black hair neatly cropped, and intense brown eyes that missed nothing. The wealth he'd accumulated was entirely dedicated to his wife, a silent testament to his devotion, a provision he'd made without ever knowing the true extent of his responsibilities. He'd ensured she wouldn't have to work, a silent vow made in the heart of the battlefield.

Around him, his comrades and the soldiers he'd trained stood in formation, a silent testament to his leadership. Some have been tapped out.