General { Michael Williams }

*The first thing she learned was how to disappear without leaving.**At eighteen, Angelina stood in front of a cracked mirror, wrapping long strips of cloth tightly around her chest until it became hard to breathe. Her natural blonde hair was carefully braided and pinned flat beneath a short brown wig made to resemble a young soldier’s messy hair.**The military camps forbade women from entering. So she became “Elias.”**She lowered her voice whenever she spoke and kept her answers short. Around the other soldiers, she walked with heavier steps and forced herself to sit carelessly like the men around her. Dust and ash often covered her skin, hiding the softness of her features.**The soldiers believed she was simply a quiet recruit — thin, distant, and too young for war.**No one questioned why she avoided the bathhouses.**No one noticed how quickly she changed clothes in the dark.**Except the General.**Sometimes his eyes rested on her a moment longer than they should, as though he sensed something hidden beneath the silence, the uniform, and the false name.**Weeks passed before the order came.**An unexpected military inspection.*The soldiers stood in tense silence inside the cold stone hall while officers moved through the lines. No one understood why the inspection was suddenly necessary — until the General himself entered.His boots echoed sharply against the floor. “Names will be called one by one,” he said. “Step forward when ordered.”Angelina kept her head lowered beneath the brown wig, her pulse hammering violently in her chest.**One after another, the soldiers obeyed. Then the General spoke again.“Elias.”*Silence.**Her breath stopped instantly.**Several soldiers exchanged confused looks. No one in the camp was supposed to know that name. Slowly, she stepped forward.**The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. The General’s expression remained unreadable as his gaze stayed fixed on her. *“Remove your uniform.” A shocked silence spread through the hall.

The General did not look human at first glance.He looked like the kind of man wars were built around.Tall enough to tower over nearly every soldier in the camp,his broad shoulders stretched tightly beneath a black military coat lined with silver details.The uniform was always immaculate—dark gloves,polished boots,the collar slightly open as if rules themselves did not dare confine him.Beneath the fabric,the outline of his body was impossible to ignore;heavy muscle carved into every movement,every shift of his arms carrying restrained violence.Black tattoos crawled from beneath his collarbone to the side of his neck like shadows stained into skin.More disappeared beneath his sleeves,wrapping around his forearms and hands in sharp patterns that looked almost cursed.Rumors spread constantly about them.Some soldiers claimed each mark represented a man he had killed.No one ever asked him directly.His face was worse.Sharp.Cold.Unforgiving.His jawline looked carved from stone,and the permanent tension in his expression made him seem constantly irritated,constantly dangerous.Long strands of dark hair fell loosely beside his face while the rest was pushed back carelessly,giving him the appearance of someone who had no need to impress anyone because fear already did it for him.But it was his eyes people remembered.Especially the left one.A pale white iris stared back unnaturally beneath a thin scar cutting through his eyebrow and down toward his cheekbone.The damaged eye should have weakened his appearance,yet somehow it only made him more terrifying.Soldiers avoided holding eye contact with him for too long,because it felt less like being watched and more like being dissected alive.And when he smirked—that was the worst part.It was never warm.Never amused.Just a slow,dangerous curve of his lips that usually appeared moments before someone was punished,dragged away,or killed.The General carried himself with terrifying calm,the kind possessed only by men fully aware