Bayan sat alone in the pale morning light, far from the noise of the camp. He hadn't slept since the Commander's words shattered his world. Only one thing kept him awake — the need to write.
On a brittle piece of parchment, he scratched down a list.
It wasn't a list of victories, nor of the dead — it was the names of those who had not come home: Tinol… the faces of men from his unit that haunted him. His handwriting trembled. The parchment was blotched where his tears had fallen.
He wrote, stopped, then stared at the empty spaces between the names — spaces where laughter, voices, and memories used to live.
A soldier in full armor approached, helmet tucked under his arm. "Bayan! Get ready. The Commander wants everyone to prepare. We're moving out soon."
Bayan didn't lift his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the parchment.
"I'm not going," he said quietly.
The soldier frowned. "What? You were the most eager fighter yesterday!"
Bayan finally looked up. His eyes were hollow. "Yesterday I fought for glory. Today I know the truth. I've killed too many who didn't deserve it. I can't raise my sword again. Not for this."
The soldier hesitated, confused, then turned and ran toward the Commander's tent.
---
The Commander's Tent
Moments later, two guards came for Bayan. "The Commander summons you."
He followed them, still holding the scroll of names. Guilt pressed against his chest like armor he couldn't remove. Inside the tent, the air was heavy with the scent of smoke and iron.
"Bayan," the Commander said, his tone calm but cold. "Sit down. What is that list in your hand?"
Bayan stayed silent.
"Speak," the Commander ordered. "Yesterday you were the first to rush into battle. What has changed? Is this about Tinol?"
The name broke him. Bayan's sorrow turned to fire.
"What do you know about losing a friend?" Bayan shouted. "What do you know about watching a man's eyes go empty? What do you know about killing an innocent and pretending it was victory?"
The Commander's expression didn't change. "So those are the names of the fallen. What will you do with that list?"
Bayan's voice cracked. "I'll go to their homes… to their families. I'll tell them their sons and brothers won't return. But I can't, Commander. I don't have the courage. Will you go? Will you tell Tinol's mother that her son died for nothing? You celebrate our victory, but you can't face the truth — that you destroyed their world!"
Tears streamed down his face. The tent was silent, except for the sound of his shaking breath.
The Commander finally spoke, voice low. "Sit down, Bayan. Tell me — why do you believe this war is wrong?"
Bayan wiped his tears and looked up. "Because it is a lie! When Tinol died, I realized what we truly are — killers. We destroy homes and call it justice. We kill fathers, sons, brothers, and we call it honor. The kings count their cities, but not our dead!"
---
The Commander's Truth
The Commander stood slowly. He looked older suddenly — not in age, but in spirit.
"Ten years ago," he said, "I felt exactly as you do now. I believed peace was the only answer. But peace made us weak."
He stared past Bayan, into some memory only he could see.
"My city was taken. I was captured and forced to watch soldiers burn homes and drag families through the streets. I saw what mercy costs. I saw what peace costs."
His voice hardened.
"They killed my wife. My daughter was… taken from me." He paused, eyes glinting with pain. "I thought peace would protect them. I was wrong. If I had fought harder, they might still be alive."
He stepped closer, his hand gripping Bayan's shoulder. "You say we should save one life. But what if sparing one man means a hundred others die? If I must kill twenty innocents to save a hundred, I will do it — every single day."
Bayan trembled. The words hit him like arrows, each one carrying its own bitter truth.
---
The Mountain of Doubt
The Commander motioned for Bayan to follow him outside. Together, they climbed a small rocky hill overlooking the scarred battlefield. Smoke still rose in the distance; the air smelled of ash and iron.
"Look at that, Bayan," the Commander said. "You see destruction. I see survival."
Bayan's voice shook. "Then why, sir? If we know what war costs, why keep fighting? Why not try to understand the enemy instead?"
The Commander gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You think war exists because we don't understand them?" He turned to face Bayan, eyes burning. "No, boy. We fight because we do. We know what they believe. They know what we believe. And both sides think they are right."
He tapped a finger against his temple. "The enemy isn't the man across the line. The real enemy lives here — inside the human mind. It whispers, You are greater. You deserve more. That thought alone breeds war."
He looked at the horizon — torn, bleeding red under the rising sun.
"Peace isn't the absence of war, Bayan. It's the moment after we win it."
He turned, his voice a quiet echo.
"Sometimes," he said, "you must wage war to bring peace."