The scent of her hair lingered like a forbidden perfume, intoxicating, yet carrying the weight of guilt. We were enemies by blood, by flags, by the songs our nations sang. But here, in this moment, she was just a woman, and I was just a man stripped of armor and pretense.
I traced the curve of her shoulder, trying to memorize it, as if it could anchor me in a world that had lost all meaning.
"Do you regret it?" she asked softly, her voice a whisper against the silence.
I hesitated. Did I? The truth was, I'd spent so long hardening my heart that the cracks she created terrified me. She wasn't just the first woman I'd been with—she was the first person to remind me I was human.
"I don't know," I admitted, my voice hoarse. "But I do know that I don't want this to end."
Her eyes met mine, and in them, I saw something that mirrored my own chaos. She smiled, a sad, bittersweet curve of her lips.
"Then don't let it"
I often dreamt of death and destruction the aftermath of choices made, orders followed, and lives stolen. The faces of the souls we massacred haunted me, their screams a symphony of despair that echoed through my restless nights. I saw them set ablaze, their bodies stumbling toward the sea in search of salvation, only to meet their watery graves instead.
I dreamt about it every night, the weight of it suffocating, and inescapable. Even here, holding her in my arms, her warmth couldn't burn away the coldness that had seeped into my bones. Could she feel it, too? The ghosts that clung to me.
The dreams weren't just punishment; they were a reminder. A reminder that even in this fleeting moment of peace, I was still a man shaped by war, by death, by destruction.
However, for one night—for exactly an hour—she had cleansed me of my sins with every touch. The weight of the ghosts, the fire, the screams—they all faded beneath her hands, as if she were washing away my torment with a grace I could never understand. For that fleeting moment, I was no longer the man shaped by death but someone who could feel alive again.
God might indeed be a woman, I thought. How else could she grace me with her presence, touch my soul in a way no prayer or penance ever had? She wasn't just a woman; she was divinity wrapped in mortal flesh, a living embodiment of forgiveness, even though I knew I didn't deserve it.
When I first saw her, I almost knelt at her feet. Not because of her beauty—though she was breathtaking—but because I didn't feel worthy. Her light contrasted so deeply with the shadows I carried, and I feared that my touch would taint her. But she didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, she embrace.
She had seen me for who I was and had given me something I didn't know I was searching for: a moment of peace.
I couldn't explain it, and perhaps I wasn't meant to. Maybe she was sent by the universe, the red thread, or something greater. All I knew was that for an hour, she made me believe in redemption.
"Redemption?" Kiyo's laugh cut through the air, sharp and derisive, pulling me from my thoughts like a slap. "Man, get your head outta your ass, please. She was a whore I paid for. You gotta admit, though—she's damn good at her job." He leaned back, the smirk on his face like a jagged blade. "Don't go all Romeo on me, okay, kid?"
I bristled, his words digging under my skin like thorns. "It's not like that," I muttered, but even I wasn't sure if I believed it.
Kiyo shook his head, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "C'mon, don't get sentimental. Women are like cars, son. Sure, your first ride will always be special, but after a while, they're just another machine to keep you going." He paused, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "You think she gave a damn about you? Nah. You're just another mile on her odometer, kid. Don't fool yourself."
His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they chipped away at the fragile hope I'd been clinging to. Was he right? Had I romanticized something that was never meant to be more than a transaction?
I stayed silent, staring at the ground as Kiyo's laughter faded into the night.
"Listen, kid," he said, his tone softening just slightly, "I ain't saying you can't feel something. Hell, we all do. But don't let it mess with your head. This world don't give you room for that kinda softness. Trust me."
He walked away, leaving me alone with the scent of smoke and the weight of his words.
"Alright, gentlemen," Kiyo began, his voice sharp and commanding as he stepped forward. "Let's cut the sentimental crap and get back to the task at hand."
He paused, letting his eyes scan the room, meeting each man's gaze with a look that dared them to look away. "I'll give you this—you've made it further than most. You faced your fears head-on, and for that, I'm proud. But let me remind you of something: a real man doesn't stop at surviving. He leads. And he damn sure doesn't need mama or daddy holding his hand while he does it."
Kiyo lit the cigarette again, taking a long drag before exhaling slowly, the smoke curling around his head like a crown of defiance. "Now, today's mission? It's dogfights. No safety nets, no second chances. It's you, the sky, and your opponent. You want to sit in that cockpit and call yourself the best? Then prove it. When the dust settles, the ones left standing will be the pilots for our new unit. The rest? Well, let's just say you'll have some thinking to do."
In the afterlife Kiyo smiled to himself
He took another drag, his eyes narrowing. "This ain't about fancy maneuvers or technical crap. This is about heart. About guts. About whether or not you've got the balls to make the split-second decisions that'll save your ass—and everyone else's. You screw up out there, you don't just lose your pride. You lose everything."
Kiyo began pacing, his boots echoing against the cold floor. "You think this is just another mission? Wrong. This is the proving ground. The place where you either rise to the challenge or get buried under it. So, I'll ask you: are you here to win, or are you here to survive? Because surviving ain't good enough anymore."
He stopped, tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. "The sky doesn't care about your excuses, your fears, or your past. It only cares about one thing: who's strong enough to conquer it. Question is, gentlemen, is that you?"
He crossed his arms, his gaze piercing and unrelenting. "Get to your stations. Show me what you're made of."