Étienne
The morning was cold, sharper than the usual early spring chill, but the frost had begun to thaw by the time the sun reached its peak. The training ground was a sea of soldiers, each one focused on their drills, their faces impassive as they moved through the motions of battle.
I stood at the edge of the field, watching them. My body had grown stronger over the past few months—more agile, more disciplined—but inside, I felt like I was losing pieces of myself with each passing day. The fire that had once burned so brightly within me was now a flickering ember, struggling to stay alight.
Captain Lambert approached me, his boots crunching against the frozen dirt. "Étienne," he called, his voice low but commanding. "You've improved."
I didn't respond, instead simply nodding, as if that was enough. Improvement was expected here, not praised. It didn't matter how much progress I made—there would always be someone ahead of me, someone better, someone more willing to fight and kill.
"You'll be ready when the war comes," Lambert added, his eyes scanning the horizon. "You have potential, but potential alone doesn't win battles. You need to fight with conviction."
Conviction. It was a word I had heard too many times, yet it had never felt more hollow. What was I fighting for? The question lingered in the back of my mind, always present, never fully answered.
"I'm ready, sir," I said, though the words felt foreign on my tongue. I wasn't sure if I even believed them anymore.
"Good. Don't forget it," Lambert muttered, walking away without a second glance.
I returned to my spot on the field, feeling the weight of the training session pressing down on me. My body moved through the drills as if on autopilot, my mind a haze of thoughts that refused to cohere. Every strike, every block, felt distant, as if I were watching someone else perform the actions. The world around me felt like it was slowly slipping out of focus, the edges blurring until there was nothing left but the cold, the silence, and the promise of an approaching war.
At the end of the training, I collapsed onto the ground, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was exhausted, but it was the kind of exhaustion that left a lingering emptiness in its wake. A part of me was grateful for the distraction. It kept me from thinking too much, from questioning what I had become. But another part of me longed for the life I had left behind—the life that seemed so distant now.
I ran my hand through my hair, pushing back the stray strands that had fallen into my face. The ache in my chest was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. I had pushed it down so many times, but it was always waiting for the right moment to resurface, to remind me of what I had lost.
But I couldn't afford to dwell on that. Not now. Not when everything around me was about to change.
Victoire
The days passed in a blur. It was a constant cycle—meetings, events, social gatherings—each one more suffocating than the last. My father had insisted on my participation in every single one of them, as if he were trying to fill the silence with distractions, as if that would make me forget.
I had grown used to his demands, to the weight of his expectations. But the emptiness inside me never eased.
It was late one evening when I found myself standing at the edge of the balcony, staring out into the darkened landscape. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, but it did little to quell the fire burning in my chest.
I missed Étienne.
I had tried to move forward, tried to focus on the future, but the past clung to me like a shadow, always present, always reminding me of what was lost. I couldn't let go of him—not entirely.
The sound of footsteps behind me caused me to turn. It was my mother, her presence soft but unmistakable.
"Victoire," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You can't keep punishing yourself."
I sighed, turning my gaze back to the night sky. "I'm not punishing myself. I'm just… waiting."
She moved closer, standing beside me on the balcony. "Waiting for what?"
"For him," I whispered, though I didn't know if I truly believed it anymore. "I'm waiting for Étienne to return."
My mother was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. "Victoire, your father has arranged for your future. You can't keep waiting for someone who may never come back."
The words stung more than I expected. "I don't want anyone else," I said, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. "I don't want a life that doesn't include him."
My mother didn't respond at first, but then she placed a hand on my shoulder. "I know you love him, but love isn't enough. You have to think about your future, your happiness."
I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. "I don't know how to let go of him."
"You don't have to let go of him," my mother replied softly. "But you need to live, Victoire. You can't keep waiting forever. You deserve more than this."
I didn't know what to say. The words felt heavy, like an unspoken truth I didn't want to face.
But deep down, I knew she was right. I had to live. For both of us.
Étienne
The war had arrived.
It wasn't official yet, but the whispers were there. Soldiers had begun to move in earnest, their faces set with grim determination. The camp was filled with a nervous energy, the air thick with anticipation.
I had been assigned to a unit, and we were scheduled to deploy in a matter of days. The thought of battle, of facing an enemy I had never seen, made my stomach churn with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.
I stood at the edge of the barracks, watching as the soldiers packed their gear, their movements efficient but tense. The chaos of preparation felt familiar, but there was something different about it this time. I had known war was inevitable, but now that it was here, I found myself unsure.
I thought of Victoire. Of the life I had left behind.
Could I truly become the soldier I needed to be, the one who fought without hesitation? Could I bury the memories of her, of the dreams we once shared?
"Étienne."
Captain Lambert's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
He was standing in front of me, his expression unreadable as always.
"Are you ready?"
I nodded, though my heart felt far from ready.
"I'm ready," I said, but my voice wavered slightly.
The captain's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment. "Good. You'll have your chance to prove it soon enough."
As he turned to leave, I felt a strange weight settle in my chest. It wasn't fear. It wasn't doubt. It was something else, something heavier.
A feeling that I had lost something precious.
And that nothing, not even war, could fill that void.
Victoire
I sat in the grand hall, watching as people milled about, discussing matters I couldn't bring myself to care about. The sound of clinking glasses and hushed conversations filled the air, but to me, it was all just noise, a hollow backdrop to a life I didn't want.
The night felt suffocating, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me as I struggled to breathe beneath it all. I had been surrounded by people all evening, but it felt as if I were utterly alone.
And then, I caught sight of him.
Étienne.
His image appeared in my mind's eye, so vivid and real that it almost felt like he was there with me, standing across the room, watching me. My heart stuttered in my chest, the familiar ache growing stronger with every passing second.
I blinked, forcing the vision away, but it lingered, hovering just on the edge of my consciousness, a constant reminder of the life I had once dreamed of.
I couldn't escape it.
I couldn't escape him.
Étienne
I lay awake that night, staring up at the ceiling of my barracks, my mind refusing to quiet. The weight of the upcoming battle pressed on my chest like a physical force, and yet, it wasn't the war that troubled me the most.
It was her.
Victoire.
I couldn't stop thinking about her, about the love I had left behind. She was a part of me, woven into the very fabric of who I was, and yet, I had left her behind, unable to return.
And now, the storm was coming.
The war was coming.
And there was no turning back.
Victoire
The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, until the weight of my own thoughts became unbearable. I found myself looking at my reflection in the mirror, searching for the girl I had once been, the one who had known who she was and what she wanted.
But that girl was gone, lost somewhere in the fog of memories and regrets.
I wasn't sure who I was anymore.
I wasn't sure who I wanted to be.
All I knew was that I couldn't keep pretending.
I had to move on, no matter how painful it was.
But as I stood there, staring at my own reflection, a part of me knew I wasn't ready to let go.
Not yet.