The wind whispered through the tent flaps, a cool summer breeze carrying the scent of the forest and distant waters. It was the kind of day that made you want to throw off your armor, slip into the cool embrace of the river Na’al, and just forget about the world for a while. But I couldn’t forget. I couldn't ignore the weight of the war that seemed to suffocate everything around me.

"THIS is how we end this war!" Captain Salamander's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. He stood at the center of the tent, his voice a booming declaration, his eyes glinting with excitement as he laid out his plan to the generals and to my father—the king. My father, silent as ever, watched with a hardened gaze, nodding along with every word, like a stone carving meant to convey only approval.

"Victory," Captain Salamander continued, "is within our grasp. We can crush Kal’er and end this war for good. This is our chance, our moment!"

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. The excitement in his voice, the belief in his words, felt distant, almost foreign. How could he talk about victory when all I saw around me was destruction, when the cries of the fallen echoed through my dreams? The sound of soldiers clashing in battle, the harsh clang of steel on steel, the agonizing screams of those who never made it home—it all felt too much.

I glanced at the tent flaps again, the breeze teasing the edges as it whistled through the trees. The air was too perfect today, too peaceful. It felt as though the very earth itself was mocking us—mocking me—for being trapped in this endless cycle of bloodshed. Why couldn’t we just stop? Why couldn’t we just… _be_?

My thoughts were shattered as I heard a sharp, guttural sound—a terrible tearing of fabric, followed by the unmistakable _thud_ of boots pounding the earth. My heart leaped into my throat as the tent flaps were torn open from the side, and chaos rushed in like a flood breaking through a dam.

I grabbed my sword instinctively, my hand slick with sweat as I pulled it from its sheath. The Jaks—the enemy warriors—were upon us. Their eyes were wild with rage, their bodies a blur of movement as they surged into the camp. The sound of metal clashing filled the air, a horrid, clanging symphony of battle.

My first instinct was to fight. I swung my sword at the nearest Jak, cutting through the air with all the force I could muster. The blade met flesh with a sickening crunch, the weight of it dragging me in. Another swing, another foe fell to the ground, but there were too many. Always too many.

I heard the shout of General Arkins as he threw an agni saas—an explosive fireball spell—into the fray. It missed its target entirely, the flames veering off to the side and striking the soldier next to me instead. The man screamed as he fell, clutching his chest where the flames had seared his skin. His screams were swallowed by the noise of battle, and in that moment, everything felt like a blur of chaos and death.

I was knocked to the side, my body slamming into the ground. The air was knocked out of me, and before I could react, hands grabbed me—rough, unyielding hands. I struggled, trying to break free, but the grip was too strong. They were dragging me away from the chaos, away from the fight.

I twisted and thrashed, pulling at my attacker’s arms with every ounce of strength I had left. My eyes caught the glint of my book knife, the one I carried as a reminder of my father’s teachings. Without thinking, I yanked it free from its sheath, the blade sharp and ready. In a swift, practiced motion, I slashed at the man’s arm, feeling the satisfying sting of the blade cutting through muscle and bone. His grip loosened for just a moment, and I drove the knife into his neck, twisting it as he let out a strangled gasp.

But there was no time to savor the victory. As soon as I withdrew the knife, I was slammed again, my body crashing to the ground once more. My heart raced, panic clawing at my throat. I scrambled to get up, but the hand that grabbed me this time wasn’t rough. It was gentle, yet firm, pulling me from the chaos.

"You’re making a mistake," a voice said, a soft yet commanding whisper that seemed to come from above.

I froze. My body tensed, ready to strike. This was a trap. It had to be. But there was something in the voice that stopped me—a deep, guttural truth that resonated with something inside me. _This war is a mistake._

I hesitated. My instincts screamed at me to fight, to kill, to survive. But that voice, that simple truth, tugged at me. _This war is a mistake._

Before I could react, the world seemed to tilt. The brute who had been dragging me away—one of the enemy warriors—struck me hard across the face. Pain exploded in my skull, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the world was quieter, more still. I was lying on the ground, the damp earth beneath me, the smell of the forest overwhelming my senses. My eyes shot open, and I was on my feet in an instant, instinctively reaching for my weapon. But the hand that steadied me wasn’t a foe’s—no, it was the soft, reassuring grasp of someone who wasn’t supposed to be here.

I looked up, ready to fight, but then I saw her—standing before me. She removed her mask, and I froze.

Princess Nala.

Her dark eyes met mine, and for a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds of battle, the stench of blood, the chaos that had filled the world—it all faded into the background. All that was left was her, standing before me as if the very world had paused its cruel march to give us this one moment.

I couldn’t look away. Neither could she.

There was something between us—something deep and undeniable. It was like a pull, an invisible force that connected us, binding us together in a way I couldn’t explain. The world had kept us apart for so long, and yet, now that we were face-to-face, it felt as though everything was meant to lead to this.

A moment stretched into eternity.

I felt my heart beat faster in my chest, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. It was as if time itself had bent, and the weight of everything—the war, the death, the endless battles—was nothing compared to this one fleeting, perfect moment.

And yet, despite the beauty of it, I knew the danger we were in. The war had not stopped. It had not ended. But in that instant, looking into her eyes, it felt like everything could change.

But neither of us could say a word. It wasn’t necessary. We knew.