The wind carried the scent of burning wood and damp earth as I stood by the door, my fingers tightening around the worn handle. The distant echoes of artillery had become a grim symphony in recent days, creeping closer, insidious. I knew this moment would come, yet my body stiffened when I saw them—soldiers, draped in dust and exhaustion, marching up the dirt path toward my home.

I should have been relieved. They bore the colors of our allies, not those of the enemy that had razed villages and left fields barren. But relief was a luxury I could not afford. Soldiers were soldiers, no matter their banner, and war had a way of turning men into something else entirely.

The first to step forward was a man of lean build, his uniform bearing the markings of a higher rank. A captain. His eyes swept over me with quiet calculation, and I met his gaze, willing myself not to shrink under its weight. He was younger than I expected, perhaps not much older than myself, though his face held the wear of someone who had seen too much.