—Traytro…
—Traytros…
—Traytros, wake up! It's time to go.
It's the year 2030.
July 12, election day.
He prepared me for this moment.
The RANGERS, the strongest military unit in the region, promoted me to Second-Class Soldier (A1). This time, I've been assigned as the commander's personal bodyguard.
Even though the reports say we've eradicated all threats and kept the peace… I don't trust it.
Still, some questions linger in my mind.
We're doing the right thing… but why does doing the right thing feel wrong?
They always told us that eradicating was protecting. But every time I see someone begging for their life, something twists inside me.
What does it truly mean to protect?
It's strange how a president can be elected so many times...
Ten years, to be exact. But I can't question it.
The people approved all the constitutional changes. They offered equality to everyone.
My family, for example... when my father died heroically for the government, they rewarded our sacrifice with a better life:
A home in a luxury zone reserved only for military families.
Top-tier education...
And the protection of someone like Captain Frederick, who's always treated me like a son.
Right after I finished high school, he approached me and offered me a place at the Military Academy.
To defend my father's honor. To forge my own future.
How could I say no?
I got lost in those memories for a few seconds, until Thomas snapped me back:
—Hey! What are you thinking about? Don't tell me you're scared?
—No… I was just recording everything in my mind.
It was time to focus.
Today mattered.
We headed toward the voting hall.
The tension was subtle—like a rope pulled to its limit.
Journalists, cameras, government supporters… everything looked normal.
Too normal.
A calm that didn't match the weight of the occasion.
Still, we stayed alert.
Midnight struck.
Time to announce the results.
The Chancellor stepped onto the podium. She gripped the microphone with her usual rehearsed firmness—the same tone she always used in national broadcasts. She spoke about the importance of the people's will, then read the results.
—With a total of 1,681,043 votes, equaling 3.36%, the Conservative Opposition Party, represented by Deison Frong...
She paused. Then her tone shifted—cold and decisive:
—And with a total of 48,318,570 votes, or 96.64%, the Workers' Party for the Nation, represented by Vlodwick Groid, is hereby declared the winner of these presidential elections.
In front of the Palace of the Workers' Revolution, thousands waited.
But when the winner was announced... only the front rows—a small group—cheered.
Farther back, the boos began.
Raised voices shouted:
—Fraud!
—Corruption!
—Rigged!
The president was supposed to take the stage next.
Protocol.
Two guards stepped up first.
Then the president, flanked by Thomas and me.
We climbed the stairs of the stage.
From there, I saw the full picture...
And froze.
The contrast was brutal.
The ones cheering were brightly lit, perfectly framed by the cameras.
Behind them... shadows. Tense faces. Clenched fists.
Silent outrage.
The plaza smelled of hot metal and sweat.
Beyond the spotlights, I could barely make out the faces of those not celebrating.
You couldn't hide the rejection.
I took my place, just behind the president, on his left.
Thomas stood on his right.
I looked back at the cameras.
All of them focused on the smiling faces at the front.
None showed the rest.
It was strange.
I always watched the elections on TV—huge crowds celebrating, waving flags, singing, crying with joy...
Was this different?
Or had it always been this way, and they just never showed us?
I started to wonder…
Is this normal?
Are they hiding something from us?
The president began his speech, thanking the people for their support.
He claimed this was the right path to strengthen the nation.
His words were steady. Solid. Rehearsed.
And then it happened.
An explosion.
Muffled. Deep. Brutal.
It came from inside the palace, behind the stage.
The ground shook.
I was thrown backward.
Smoke, dust, and screams filled the air.
Everything blurred into chaos.
Dazed, ears ringing, vision clouded—I forced myself up.
All around me: chaos.
People running in every direction.
Soldiers barking orders.
Journalists dragging cameras.
Wounded crawling.
I was okay. Just a few scratches.
Nothing serious.
And then I saw them.
From a vulnerable side of the plaza, several men leapt over the barricades.
They were armed… but not with rifles or bombs.
Machetes. Improvised weapons.
They came straight for the president.
Two guards rushed to intercept.
Thomas stayed close, guarding him.
And me… I reacted.
I jumped in front, unsheathing my Royal Blade with purpose.
The blade gleamed, cutting through the smoke as I stood between the attackers and the president.
They had no guns. That gave me the upper hand.
I moved fast. On instinct.
This is what I had trained for.
But something else surged inside me—an emotion I didn't expect.
Adrenaline? Euphoria? Pride?
Maybe all of them.
This was my moment.
My chance to prove I was ready for more.
To be seen.
To be recognized.
To earn my place among the elite: a First-Class Soldier.
I struck with precision.
Controlled cuts.
Movements meant to disable—not to kill.
One by one, the attackers fell.
Some screamed.
Others simply collapsed.
For me, the fight ended as quickly as it began.
But then… I saw it.
The other guards were executing the attackers.
One by one.
No trial.
No mercy.
I stepped in, furious.
One man lay wounded—barely moving.
When a guard raised his weapon to finish him, I shouted:
—STOP! They're already down! There's no need to kill them!
—What's wrong with you, Traytros? Lost your mind? They're a threat! Or would you rather one of them gets back up and kills us?
Rage surged through me.
I swallowed hard.
Something inside me…
broke.
When the guard moved to strike, I stepped in his way.
I raised my blood-stained blade—not to attack, but to block.
—I said he's already defeated.
Tense silence.
The guards stared at me. Cold.
Not confused… or maybe they were.
Maybe that's why their eyes looked so empty.
Then, from the night sky—
A flare.
Followed by a second explosion.
Closer.
Deadlier.
The blast shook everything again.
The distraction was enough.
The last attacker—wounded but alive—fled into the crowd.
Vanished into the chaos.
—He's getting away! Get him! the guards shouted.
I turned back.
The president stared at me.
There was no gratitude.
No concern.
Only rage.
A fury so deep it wasn't about the mission… it was about his power.
I took a breath. My voice, though steady, trembled slightly.
—Letting him escape wasn't the plan… but killing an unarmed man goes against the law. And against our faith.
The president scowled. Took a step forward.
But before he could speak, Thomas intervened:
—Mr. President, we must move you to a secure zone. Please, come with me.
The speech was abandoned.
The enemy had escaped.
The people were shouting.
And me…?
I no longer knew what to believe.
Am I doing the right thing?
Is this really what I want?
Is this the future I dreamed of… or just the one others built for me?
What am I supposed to do…
when protecting no longer means obeying?
Maybe…
what they call treason
is the last true act of loyalty.