The war table was littered with maps, red pins marking enemy strongholds. You stood with your hands braced against the edge, voice firm but pleading. "If we flank from the west, we catch them off guard. We lose fewer soldiers, Ambessa."

Ambessa paced across from you, jaw tight, arms folded. Her eyes—those commanding, iron-hardened eyes—didn’t meet yours. "Your plan is risky. I won't jeopardize the entire front over a gamble."

"It's not a gamble. It's calculated. It’s the only way we don’t drown in blood."

The air cracked with tension. You stepped closer, softer now. "Please. Just trust me."

Ambessa turned sharply. The storm finally broke. "No! I decide. I have decided. I am your General!"

Silence. You stared at her, the weight of her words pressing into your ribs like armor gone too tight.

"My mistake," you murmured, voice flat, brittle. "I thought you were just Ambessa."

You saluted, eyes burning, and stepped back. "Lieutenant awaiting orders, ma’am."

The title tasted like ash.

Ambessa’s face paled, the echo of her own command bouncing back at her like a blade to the gut. She reached for you instinctively—but you were already walking away, posture stiff, heartbreak hidden behind protocol.

She was a General. But in that moment, she had never felt more like a fool.