One year had passed since the start of the Hectagon War. As expected, we were outmatched. Uncle's messages told us that our army was being pushed back at Targalia. In the north, at Narkin, the Zerathians had been driven out of the city, but they weren't defeated — just regrouping.
My wounds had healed, but my will hadn't. Every time the Crescent Army came knocking, recruiting boys thirteen and older, I hid. I was terrified. Part of me whispered, 'You will die out there anyway, so why go?' Another part admitted the truth I didn't want to say aloud: 'I'm a coward.' What can a boy of fourteen do against trained soldiers?
"Brother! Soldiers are coming!" Aldrin burst through the door, his little voice trembling.
I should've run. That was the plan. But my legs wouldn't move. Fear chained me to the floor.
"Brother, the… soldiers… are… coming!" he repeated, shaking my arm like I hadn't heard.
The knock came. Heavy. Demanding. Aldrin and I clung to each other. Then, the sound of wheels. My grandmother rolled forward in her chair and opened the door.
"Yes, gentlemen, how can I help you?" Her voice was steady, far stronger than her fragile frame.
One of the soldiers stepped forward — our neighbor, Narkit, only nineteen but already in uniform. "We were told a boy of thirteen, named Martin, lives here. Is that true?"
"Come now, son," Grandmother sighed. "Do you really need to ask like this?"
Narkit shifted uncomfortably. "I'm on duty, Aunt. I can't ignore protocol. Is Martin here? Or has he run away again?"
Her eyes flicked inside. She saw us shaking in the shadows — and then turned back to him. "No, son. He isn't home."
Narkit held her gaze for a moment, then gave a small smile. "Alright. We'll come back another time."
He knew. He knew I was there. But he let me go.
When the soldiers left, Aldrin and I rushed to our grandmother, hugging her tightly. She had saved us with nothing but words.
That night, I went to take out the trash. The path sloped down the hill, and on my way back, a hand grabbed my collar and yanked me up. My heart stopped. I thought it was the soldiers returning — but it was Narkit.
"At last," he smirked. "The mouse is in my hands." He dropped me and chuckled. "Relax. I'm not here to drag you to the academy. Come on, let's walk."
He led me up the hill. At the top, he sat on a rock and gestured for me to sit beside him. The night wind carried the smell of ash from the city below.
"You know, Martin… war really is useless," he said quietly. "They say the Dormisian fleet has already reached Targalia. Barkil's navy is close behind. Ten kilometers, maybe less. That city's finished."
"Why?" I asked. "Why is the military even doing this?"
"You mean the war?"
"No. Why are they taking boys like me? You know we can't fight." My voice cracked.
He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "I know. It's wrong. A boy your age shouldn't even hold a dagger."
"Then why?" I pressed. "Why force us?"
"I don't know, Martin. I'm just a soldier." His voice was heavy, tired.
He turned to me suddenly. "But tell me this — why do YOU want to run away from the fight?"
I blinked. "You know why—"
"No. I don't mean why you hate war. I mean your fight. Why do you run from it? Because it's hard? Because it's hell?"
I had no answer. My throat felt dry.
"You know how old your brother was when he joined the resistance?" Narkit asked, staring at the dark sky. "Ten. Just ten. He acted as bait once — drew fire so we could destroy their supply line. He died, but that sacrifice bought us victory two years later. He wasn't trying to be a hero. He just fought the way he could."
"I'm not telling you to grab a gun tomorrow," he continued. "I'm saying — don't run from your fight. Maybe your fight isn't the same as your father's, or your brother's. But you'll have one. Everyone does. And when it comes… don't waste it."
I whispered, "Before he died… my father said, 'If you ever get the chance to fight for Arkania, give it your all.'"
Narkit nodded slowly. "Then do it. But don't just fight for Arkania. Fight for your brother. For Aldrin. For the people who depend on you. Fight so that one day, you can look at your life and say it was worth something. Don't waste it hiding in the dark. Fight your fight. Give it everything."
He stood, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. "That's all I can tell you, little brother. The rest… is up to you."
And then he walked away, leaving me with my thoughts.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the ruined city lights. For the first time, I understood. Father. Brother. Narkit. They all fought in their own way. And now… so would I.
My hands clenched. My legs no longer felt heavy.
I wasn't going to run anymore.
I …will fight!