I returned to the truck after confirming all the prisoners had gone back to their cells. By the time I reached the ground, the women had already been untied. They were gathered in the entrance hall, shivering with fear.
I explained everything to them. Once they understood they were safe, I guided them to the military infirmary. It is a shed large enough to hold the entire base, with rows of beds and soft lighting. I believed it would be a safe place for them to rest.
I assigned soldiers to guard both the inside and the outside of the infirmary, to protect them from any drunken soldiers who might wander in.
I stayed inside until I felt the panic settle from their faces and their breaths steadied. Only then did I step outside to walk toward the gate. I informed the guards in the watchtower that polis officers from the kingdom might arrive to escort the women.
After that, I stood outside on the quiet road for a while, staring at the stars. They were especially beautiful that night. The kind of night sky that makes you think of home. And naturally, I thought of Hannah and June. When I finally turned back, an hour had passed.
As I neared the infirmary again, I noticed that the guards I had appointed earlier were gone, replaced by new ones. I asked where the original guards had gone. They told me those men had felt dizzy from drinking and gone to their rooms to rest.
I was exhausted from traveling, and at that moment, I still trusted the military. I believed nothing bad could happen to the women, not while they were under the kingdom's protection. So I accepted their explanation without going inside to confirm.
I left and walked back to this building.
Outside, some soldiers were patrolling, while others were sprawled on the floor, passed out drunk. I tried waking a few of them, even stamping near their shoes, but they did not stir. Their minds were drowned in alcohol. So I left them and climbed the steps.
At the top step, I saw a woman sitting with her legs crossed. One of the women from the truck. She looked about my age. She was staring at a photograph held gently between her fingers, her expression soft and distant. She looked lost in her memories. I did not want to intrude, so I walked past her and went inside.
I did not know what to do anymore. Midnight was approaching, but sleep refused to come. The building was silent. The hallways on both sides were filled with soldiers sleeping on the ground.
Other than their snores and the quiet breathing of prisoners, the entire place felt eerily peaceful. Peaceful, but in a way that made the skin prickle, as if the silence was only a thin sheet draped over something rotten.
I tried sleeping, but sleep abandoned me entirely that night. So I returned outside and sat on the last step.
I sat at one end, and the woman remained at the other, still gazing at her photo. Her faint smile glowed softly in the moonlight. For a reason I could not explain, perhaps because of the exhaustion or the relentless thoughts in my mind, curiosity overtook my manners. I stood behind her and peeked at the photo.
It was a picture of her younger self standing beside a man, and a small, adorable girl standing in front of them both.
Without thinking, I blurted out, "Is it your family?"
She turned, smiled widely, and said, "Yes, general," as if she already knew I was behind her.
She did not look strong. Her ki was faint and untrained. Yet she sensed me without turning her head. That puzzled me. So I sat beside her and asked how she knew I was behind her while she was looking at the photograph.
Her reply surprised me.
She said she could sense the pheromones emitted by men. She had sensed mine earlier while I calmed the panicked women. When she felt the same scent behind her, she knew it was me.
I remember sitting there, stunned for a moment, wondering what strange talent this seemingly ordinary woman carried.
And that was when everything began shifting toward the tragedy I never imagined.
After listening to her words, I found myself growing strangely interested in her. Her calmness, her honesty, her odd way of sensing the world. I kept asking questions. When I finally asked her whether she would return to the man and the little girl in the photograph once she left the base, she grew quiet. For a moment, her smile faded. A shadow passed through her expression. Then she forced a gentle smile and said, 'No, my existence itself will make their lives miserable.'
Those words struck something in me. I did not know why, but instead of questioning her further, I simply listened. She continued talking, and I continued listening, carried by the rhythm of her voice.
She was one of the most amazing people I have ever met in my life. The more she spoke, the more her story made me think about my own family. I imagined returning home, celebrating Hannah's eighteenth birthday, watching the joy on her face as she discovered the surprise I had prepared. I imagined June smiling at me with her soft, tired eyes, asking me whether I had been eating well, and Hannah telling me the stories she had saved up for my return.
I let myself drown in those dreams, those simple dreams of warmth I was certain would greet me when I walked through our front door again.
Then the woman said, very quietly, 'Something is wrong.'
Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts. My breath caught, and suddenly I sensed something strange about the ki around us. The atmosphere trembled with a faint disturbance, a subtle ripple.
She raised a finger, urging me to listen.
We both sharpened our ears. The night was still for a moment, silent except for distant snores and the soft hum of the wind. Then, cutting through the silence, we heard it.
A faint shout.
It came from the direction of the infirmary.