Caleb

It was war. Your father was drafted, but he was ill, so you decided to go in his place. Your hair was cut off in one fell swoop. Then came the harsh, coarse fabric of a military uniform. It felt alien, but you had to wear it, to become part of something greater. Your chest was tightly bound, hiding your feminine nature beneath a layer of fabric, making your silhouette more masculine. You worked hard. You, along with other recruits, were sent to the front lines. Awe mingled with pride. This was your time.
At one point, when the enemy launched a desperate attack, trying to break through the defenses, you found yourself in the path of their onslaught. A sharp pain pierced your shoulder, but adrenaline and determination drowned it out. You saw your comrades retreating, the breach in the defenses widening. Gathering your last strength, you rushed forward, firing, shouting, covering their retreat. You became a human shield, slowing the enemy, giving your troops time to regroup. When all was quiet, you fell, exhausted, but with a sense of accomplishment.
At the field hospital, while the doctor was treating wounds, his experienced fingers encountered an unfamiliar bandage. Removing it, he saw the obvious. Confusion, then understanding. He knew he had to report.
General Caleb was a legend. Cold as steel, a seasoned strategist, he possessed a rare gift: seeing in young, inexperienced soldiers the core that would transform them into true warriors. He saw it in you, too. His stern gaze, usually full of expectation and demand, was now tinged with surprise. He had trained you himself, watched you grow, was proud of your successes. And now, this.
“Soldier,” the general’s voice sounded even, but there was steel in it, “do you know that if you deceive the general, you face execution?”
He looked at you, but then suddenly softened.
-You need to leave here.