The military jeep rolled through the broken roads of Forun, dust trailing in its wake. Around them, charred homes and crumbling walls marked the scars of occupation. The once-vibrant towns had become muted, watched over by the cold steel of Greenland banners and silent drones.
Jimi kept his hands steady on the wheel. He didn't speak unless he had to. The weight of Sector 12's fall lingered in the air, unspoken but present like smoke after fire.
Beside him, Didi sat with her arms crossed, her gaze drifting out the window. She had been here before. With Jimi. That time, she had walked through the markets barefoot, against protocol. She had helped a child fetch water. She had listened, asked questions. Her eyes had darkened at the suffering she'd seen.
She broke the silence first.
"I told my father again," she said quietly. "I told him the people here are living like ghosts. That they need food. Schools. Water."
Jimi glanced at her but didn't respond.
She turned toward him slightly. "He knows I've been here. That I saw it for myself. But he doesn't want to help."
Jimi's grip on the wheel tightened.
Didi continued, voice bitter. "He's afraid. Afraid that if they get strong again… they'll rise. Rebel."
Still, Jimi said nothing. The jeep bounced over a crack in the road, and the silence stretched.
Didi shifted again, watching him carefully. "You don't agree with him," she said, not as a question, but a quiet observation.
Jimi's eyes stayed on the road, jaw clenched.
She sighed and looked forward. A moment passed.
Then her tone changed, softer but heavier. "What about Sector 12?"
His brow furrowed slightly.
"The battle," she clarified. "Asa led the freedom fighters. They took it back. How do you feel about that?"
Jimi hesitated, then finally spoke.
"Complicated."
The word hung in the air like a fragile thread. He flicked his eyes up to the rearview mirror. She met his gaze there—those mismatched eyes: one warm brown, the other a striking pale gold. They caught the light, dancing like embers.
He stared a second too long.
Didi smiled. Not a mocking grin, but a soft, knowing one. Sweet. Purposeful.
Jimi's heart skipped a beat.
He quickly looked away, fixing his gaze on the road again. His hands tightened on the wheel, the blush on his cheeks hidden beneath his calm exterior.
Didi leaned back in her seat, still smiling. "You're not as unreadable as you think, soldier."
But Jimi said nothing more.
The jeep came to a gentle stop at the edge of the small village—if it could still be called that. Shacks made from sheet metal and worn fabric lined the dusty square. Smoke curled from small fires, and the smell of soup mixed with ash hung in the air.
The moment Didi stepped out, a ripple of energy surged through the children nearby.
"It's her!" one shouted, eyes lighting up.
"The sweet brown thing! Did you bring it?" another cried, tugging on her coat.
"Chocolaaate!" came the unified chant from a half-dozen eager voices.
Didi laughed, eyes crinkling. "Yes, I brought them."
The children exploded in cheers, swarming around her.
Jimi stepped out of the driver's seat, instantly moving to shield her. "Hey, hey—careful!" he warned, arms out to steady the small bodies. "You're going to knock her over."
Didi gave him a sidelong glance and only smiled.
"You should've let more soldiers come," Jimi muttered under his breath as he crouched to scoop up a tiny girl who had tripped in the frenzy.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached back into the jeep and pulled out a sack filled with wrapped chocolates. The kids' eyes widened as if they'd seen treasure. Before Jimi could say another word, she handed them out with open palms. The children snatched them joyfully and darted away like birds set free.
Some of them turned back to shout, "Thank you, Princess!"
Others simply waved their wrappers in the air before disappearing behind the tents.
Then came the elders—mothers with sun-wrinkled faces, fathers with thin frames and tired eyes. Didi walked toward them, her arms full of homemade food, rice in wrapped leaves, stew in simple bowls. Jimi followed, hauling heavy containers of water from the jeep.
One of the older women touched Didi's shoulder. "The Lord bless you, child. We remember you."
Another man added, "Your kindness won't be forgotten. You bring hope."
Didi said nothing, but the emotion in her eyes was clear.
The people of Forun gathered, shared, and whispered her name with a kind of reverence. A brief, warm joy passed over the weary village.
Later, as the sun dipped low and the jeep drove away from the settlement, Jimi broke the silence.
"You didn't have to do all that," he said.
Didi looked ahead. "I did."
He glanced at her. "Why?"
She didn't hesitate. "Because my father won't. But that doesn't mean I can't."
Her words sank into him like water on dry earth. Jimi stared at her, unable to hide the way his admiration deepened. There was fire behind her grace. A defiance he hadn't expected.
She turned her head slowly, catching his stare.
A knowing smile curled on her lips. "I know you like me."
Jimi blinked, heart kicking in his chest.
Then, for the first time in days, he laughed softly and looked back to the road.
She leaned back in her seat, satisfied.