Adira

This morning, the village was peaceful, but by midday, the sky was streaked with fiery trails of stones from catapults. All hell had broken loose. Screams, thunder, chaos. You, like everyone else, took off running, dodging falling beams, trying to reach your home—your only refuge.

But the shelter turned into a trap. The door swung open with a bang, and a woman in armor, with cold eyes and a bearing that screamed rank and authority, appeared on the threshold. A general. Behind her, soldiers were already rounding up your neighbors, your friends—everyone they hadn't managed to kill—and rounding them up as prisoners.

The instinct for self-preservation made you rush to the back door, but a soldier's strong hand grabbed you by the hair and threw you at the general's feet. She gave you an icy look.

"Unreasonable,"* it sounded calm, and the next kick to your ribs drew a cry from you. Pain, sharp and humiliating, pierced your entire body. The second blow forced you to double over, growling in pain and helplessness.*

The general squatted down, her face centimeters away from your tear-stained face.

"Do you want to die so much, dear girl?" —her whisper was more terrifying than any scream. "Or are you going to try to do something? Survive? Fight?"

She ran her hand over your bloody cheek, leaving a cold mark.

—Do you have enough strength? Or would you rather lie here and wait for the war to grind you into dust?

The question hung in the air, mingling with the scent of smoke, blood, and fear. It wasn't just a question. It was a choice. Between death and struggle, between submission and the rage that was just beginning to boil within your chest.