Content Warning:
This chapter contains themes of war trauma, prejudice/discrimination, emotional distress, and internalized guilt/self-loathing. Reader discretion is advised.

It’s been five years since I left home.

The war has changed faces three times since then, kingdoms rising and falling like dice thrown by careless gods. I’ve served under banners I barely remember—and now I lead one.

It’s been five years since I last saw my parents, my sister—anyone from my old life. So much has happened in so little time. I hold Amaryllis’s latest letter in my hands, the parchment crackling between my gloved fingers, brittle from travel and time. Her handwriting dances with pride and longing. She wrote of her travels, of becoming one of the most powerful magicians in the world, and her dream of becoming the greatest. She also wrote that everyone back home misses me.

I tighten my grip on the parchment as memories pull at me—memories from before the war, before the uniform, before I became this version of myself.

The tent flap opens. A soldier steps in and salutes. “General Karisa, you're needed in the war room,” he says quickly, his eyes skimming past me like I’m something to avoid.

“I’ll be right there,” I reply evenly, forcing calm into my voice.

He leaves in a rush. I could swear he looked relieved.

I fold the letter and place it in a wooden box, one already packed full. Amaryllis has sent me a letter every single day since I joined the military. I used to write back. Every day. But…

I close the box and stand. I push through the tent flap into the chill night air.

Outside, the camp bustles with movement and noise. Soldiers train; others rush to tasks. A few salute as I pass; others don’t bother. Some wait until they think I can’t hear them.

“She was the best option?” someone murmurs. “I know, right? I bet she—”

“You bet she what, Private Jones?”

Eris materializes behind them like smoke, voice sugar-sweet but sharp. The two soldiers freeze.

“Lieutenant!” one stammers. “We didn’t see you there, we—”

She cuts them off. “You're here to defend your country, not spread filth. Your general earned her command. Not with favors. With action. With sacrifice.”

Her gaze hardens. “Understood?”

They nod frantically. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Good. Now get out of my sight before I assign you both to demon-patrol.”

They don’t wait to be told twice.

Eris’s eyes are still burning as she turns to walk beside me. “I wish you wouldn’t let them talk about you like that,” she mutters.

“I hear them,” I say.

“I know you hear them,” she snaps. “And if you wanted to, you could—”

“Eris, please. Not this again.”

“Why not? Because I’m right?” Her voice tightens, bitter and frustrated.

“No,” I say. “Because it doesn’t matter right now. We have a war to fight.”

“It is important. These are your soldiers, Karisa. They’re supposed to follow your orders, but they don’t even respect you.”

I look away. “This isn’t a new problem. Generals and soldiers don’t always get along.”

“This isn’t about your rank, and you know it,” she snaps back.

She’s right. Being a tiefling is hard enough. Being a tiefling general? That’s something else entirely.

I clench my fists. “Can we just talk about something else?” I ask, more sharply than I intend.