Breathe. Just breathe. The words echoed in my mind like a broken mantra, my chest felt like it was collapsing under the weight of my own fear. My hands trembled, slick with cold sweat, as the images played over and over—red staining the pavement, the sound of lives being snuffed out. I wasn't driving, but deep down, I knew. The blood is still on my hands.
I could've stopped it. I should have stopped it. Fought him, screamed, done something, anything. Instead, I froze. My silence was louder than the screams. My inaction might as well have been a weapon. What happened to that silent vow I made? The promise that I'd never let myself become this… this coward. I've become their perfect soldier.
I'm the kind of person who can laugh at some dumb sex joke, but when it comes to climbing over this fear, I'm paralyzed. Paralyzed. What kind of person can find amusement in cheap laughs but can't summon the courage to take control? I really am pathetic
But Kiyo doesn't seem to think so. He stands there, watching me with those sharp eyes that seem to cut through all the bullshit I tell myself. There's no judgment in his gaze, just an unshakable belief in me that I don't understand. He sees something in me something that I can't see in myself. However
like a son looking up to his father, all I want is to make him proud.
I climbed into the cockpit, the cold steel biting at my palms as I gripped the lever and rested my hands on the controls.
I chose bravery.
If death waited for me today, then let it find me as I am—a man, standing on the precipice of his destiny. Not cowering. Not trembling. If this was the end, I'd meet it with my head held high.
My fingers tightened on the controls, my breath steadied, and my resolve hardened. There was no turning back now. This was my path, and whether it led to glory or the abyss, I would follow it. Because bravery isn't about the absence of fear—it's about action in the face of it. It's about becoming who you were meant to be, no matter the cost.
The plane jolted forward, wheels screeching against the asphalt as it began its climb. The roar of the engine swallowed my thoughts, but my chest rose with the aircraft as if it were lifting my very soul with it. Higher and higher, the ground below blurred into a patchwork quilt of greens and browns, fading into insignificance. It felt like I was ascending to heaven itself, climbing a stairway in the sky to visit my grandmother—an unspoken prayer whispered in the wind.
I need all the prayers I can get. The roar of another engine brought me back to the moment, and I glanced over my shoulder. It was Yamahra the once-timid recruit, the one who used to flinch at the instructors' barked orders, now bore down on me with a predator's precision. Gone was the wide-eyed rookie who couldn't hold a steady salute. Now, he was a hunter, his plane locked onto mine with unwavering focus.
Yamahra is now my competition. And he was ready to steal my spot at freedom.
A burst of gunfire rattled past my wing, and I yanked the control stick hard, my plane tilting sharply to evade. My heart thundered as the world spun in a dizzying blur of sky and earth. He wasn't holding back.
I rolled left, then dove, trying to outmaneuver him, but Yamahra stayed on me, relentless. His movements were precise, calculated, nothing like the hesitant stumbles I remembered from boot camp. This was someone transformed—hardened by the same trials we'd endured.
Another burst of fire screamed past me, closer this time. My chest tightened as I pulled into a steep climb, my plane groaning in protest as it strained against gravity.
The radio crackled to life, and his voice came through,
"What happened to the statue of courage?" His words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Did you forget our murdered comrade? Or maybe you've forgotten the stench of rotting flesh."
"Should I remind you of it? "