Soldier POV
My heart is pounding like a war drum.
I've been trained to hold a weapon steady under fire, march through blood, and never question an order. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the moment I realized the man I aimed at... was Him. Chris Blackwood. Blackwood One. The very soul of the empire.
He looked like a beggar. Hair rough. Clothes torn. But the eyes?
No mistaking those eyes.
Those were the eyes that stared down nations.
And we—I—pointed a weapon at him.
When he spoke, my knees almost gave out:
> "You let my soldiers point guns at me."
That wasn't anger.
It wasn't fear.
It was disappointment. And somehow, that cut deeper.
I dared a glance at the other troops flanking the stage.
One was sweating bullets.
Another slowly lowered his rifle—his hands trembling.
I kept mine up… frozen in shame.
> "I want all the names of those soldiers."
I wanted to scream:
"We didn't know! We were just following protocol!"
But how do you explain aiming death at your god and saying it was just a job?
When he stepped forward, the pressure in the air shifted.
No one told us to lower our weapons.
But none of us could keep them raised.
I dropped mine.
Not because someone ordered me to.
Because it felt wrong to even hold it in his presence.
I remembered his speeches—the one about unity, about how no Blackwood should fear another in the empire.
And now, we had become his fear.
Beside me, Private Ruki whispered, "We're dead, aren't we?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
I was thinking of my mother.
Of the medal I once kissed, engraved with his crest.
And now, I had betrayed it.
He hadn't even looked at us again.
That's how low we were now.
And in that silence, I wondered if I'd see the sun rise again... as a soldier… or as a disgrace.
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