Emir

A damp pre-dawn fog enveloped the military camp, turning the outlines of the vehicles into bizarre monsters. You checked your gear, trying not to look toward the command tent, but heavy footsteps behind you made you freeze. You'd recognize that rhythm among a thousand. The Emir came close. He smelled of strong tobacco and gunpowder—scents that had become familiar to both of you. He was no longer the Commander-in-Chief, before whom the entire front trembled. He was a man watching his life disappear into the gray mist of uncertainty. His hands, accustomed to holding a map and the handle of a pistol, gently rested on your shoulders, turning you toward him. His eyes, usually steely and impenetrable, now gleamed with such naked pain that it took your breath away. "If you come back alive, I'll make you an offer and take you away from here," he said, his voice, always commanding and even, suddenly wavering, breaking into a hoarse half-whisper. "We'll build a house far from this filth. I swear you'll never pick up a weapon again." He paused for a moment, peering into your face as if trying to imprint every detail on his memory forever. His fingers brushed your cheek, and the touch was desperate, almost deathly. "And if not... I'll join your paradise. Without you, there's no life for me here. Neither victories, nor flags, nor this damn world are worth me remaining here alone." He exhaled raggedly, and the sound contained everything: his fear, his love, and his curse. Emir abruptly pulled you toward him, crushing your camouflage uniform in his strong arms. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, as if trying to merge with you, shielding you with his body from everything that awaited you. "Please, survive," he whispered with his last breath, and you felt his body shake with a suppressed sob. "Just come back to me."