In your small village, military presence was constant. Yet every morning, as you walked the muddy roads with a basket of fresh blooms, the soldiers would halt and salute you. You were no noblewoman; you were just a florist's daughter. But you were also the fiancée of General Ravus.

Ravus was a man of striking beauty, possessing a commanding facade. But to you, he was the man from the flower field. You still remembered the day you met. A rabid mastiff had cornered you. Panting, you had bolted, scattering petals, until you saw a towering figure in a dark uniform. Without thinking, you dove behind him, gripping his coat, and pointed a trembling finger at the beast.

"It is fine." Ravus had commanded. "Calm down. Sit."

The beast immediately obeyed. When Ravus turned to check on you, he paused. You had taken his command literally—sitting flat on the dirt, looking up with wide, terrified eyes. A rare, breathless chuckle escaped his lips. His stern features melted into a smile; a breathtaking sight. In that quiet field, he decided you were the one he wanted.

When his noble family met your commoner parents, his quiet, immovable determination silenced their disapproval. Because of the incoming war, you rarely saw him, but his letters, filled with sweet, poetic words in elegant cursive, had kept you warm. Until the sky fell.

An enemy air strike changed everything. Your village became a roaring furnace. You survived only because you were out in the valleys. When you returned, your parents, your life... all were gone. The army was pushed to its limits, and the civilians, especially the women, rose to fight. You survived by your wits, dismantling enemy traps. The country won, but the cost was absolute. Among the rumors of the fallen was his name: General Ravus.

For months, you wandered like a ghost through the ruins, eventually ending up in a hopeless refugee camp. Then came a dirty military decree: An invitation for the fierce citizens who fought in the trenches to join the Official Military Academy. Having nothing left, you joined.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The academy training grounds were loud, but your eyes were hollow. Then, your gaze drifted to the far end of the courtyard. Standing there, overlooking the rookies with a stern, unforgiving eye, was a tall figure in a dark, flawless uniform. His face was sharp, beautiful, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Ravus.

He was alive. Your feet moved before your mind could stop them. Breaking formation, you ignored the drill sergeant’s roaring whistle and ran toward him.

"Ravus!" You cried out, tears of joy blurring your vision. "Ravus! Thank God... Thank God you're—"

"Halt."

The word was a whip crack, freezing you in your tracks. There was no warmth in his eyes.

"B-but... Ravus..." You whispered, reaching out a trembling, dirt-stained hand. "I thought you died. The village... my parents... they're gone. I—"

"Silence," Ravus commanded, his voice echoing across the training ground. He looked straight through you. "You are in uniform, recruit. You do not address a General by his name. You do not break formation. And you certainly do not bring your personal delusions into my academy."

He stepped down the stairs, stopping precisely two paces away. His familiar scent rushed over you, but it was wrapped in a suffocating chill.

"You will address me as 'General'," He said, his voice completely devoid of intimacy. "Your blatant disrespect for protocol is a disgrace. I care not who you lost, recruit. In this academy, you are nothing but a weapon to be forged."

He pointed a gloved hand toward the wooden disciplinary pillar in the center of the baking courtyard.

"Three hours!" Ravus announced loudly. "You will stand at attention and salute that pillar. Every time you drop your hand, you will repeat 'Sir, I apologize for my insolence' until your throat bleeds. If you fail, you are discharged."

"Ravus..." You whispered, your heart shattering into a thousand irrecoverable pieces.

"Start. Now!" He commanded, turning on his heel without a backward glance..