Chapter 28 – A Road Too Gentle for War

  The Checkpoint – A Road Meant for Travelers, Not Soldiers

  The morning was gold-streaked, the air crisp with the scent of earth still damp from last night’s dew.

  They walked until they reached the first sign of civilization—a small checkpoint, nestled at the crossroads of worn dirt paths.

  A wooden outpost. A handful of men stationed there. A few caravans waiting, their horses swishing tails lazily.

  This place wasn’t meant for war. It was meant for travelers.

  Grim watched as a merchant argued with a soldier over some tax, a mother adjusted her child’s scarf, and a group of riders stretched their legs before their journey. It all felt… normal.

  Like war wasn’t just a few miles away.

  They didn’t take horses alone—they took a cart.

  Grim sat at the back, letting the road roll beneath him. Ash sat beside him, one leg lazily swinging over the edge.

  Their guide, the same insider from the plane, took the reins.

  The ride was slow, rhythmic, peaceful.

  The kind of journey that seeps into your bones and makes you forget where you're heading.

  And Grim?

  He let himself sink into it.

  He leaned back, letting the sun warm his face. The sound of hooves on dirt, the rustling leaves, the distant laughter of children chasing after a rolling barrel.

  Ash glanced at him.

  “You look like you belong here,” she muttered.

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  Grim cracked an eye open. His heart did a thing.

  “…Maybe I do.”

  He hadn’t meant to say it. But it slipped out. And when Ash didn’t tease him for it—when she just kept looking at him with that unreadable expression—he knew she’d caught onto something.

  They crested a hill—and there it was.

  The city.

  At a distance, it was beautiful. Sunlight caught on its stone walls, glinting like a beacon. Smoke curled from chimneys, markets bustled. It looked alive.

  But Grim felt something pull at his heart.

  Because as they got closer—the scars became clearer.

  Collapsed buildings. Torn banners. Poverty stitched between the streets.

  And suddenly, the weight of reality returned.

  Ash nudged him with her foot.

  “Stop brooding. You’ll like them.”

  Grim exhaled.

  “…Yeah?”

  Ash smirked. “Yeah.”

  And she was right.

  The refugee camp outside the city wasn’t a graveyard.

  It was alive.

  Children ran between tents, laughing, chasing each other with wooden swords. Women shared warm bread, passing plates like this wasn’t all they had. Men sat around fires, talking, planning—not as soldiers, but as fathers, brothers, sons.

  They weren’t broken.

  They were hopeful.

  And Grim—Grim wanted to help them.

  A hand clasped his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

  "Come, sit with me, young man," an old voice beckoned.

  Grim turned to see an elder, wrapped in a patched-up coat, weathered but warm-eyed. He sat by a small fire, a pot of something steaming over the flames.

  "You look lost," the old man said. Not accusing, just… knowing.

  Grim hesitated, then sat down.

  They spoke in quiet tones—about war, about home, about what it meant to keep moving forward when everything had been taken from you. The old man spoke of his grandson, who still believed the war would end, still looked at the horizon with eyes full of dreams.

  "That kind of hope is a rare thing," the old man mused, stirring the pot. "You protect it when you find it."

  Grim didn’t know what to say to that.

  So he just nodded.

  Later that night, over dinner, the insider—who was now just another man with a family—welcomed them into his tent.

  There was laughter. There was drink. A homemade brew that burned going down but left warmth in its wake.

  Ash leaned back, cup in hand, watching Grim with an unreadable expression.

  "You’re enjoying this," she said.

  Grim huffed. "So what if I am?"

  She smiled. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… soft.

  He didn’t care about the mission anymore. He wanted to fight for these people.

  And somewhere in the midst of all that warmth, in the soft flickering glow of firelight—his gaze met Ash’s.

  Something unspoken passed between them.

  Something real.

  Something that wasn’t supposed to last.

  But Grim didn’t know that yet.

  He didn’t care about the mission anymore. He wanted to fight for these people.

  End of Chapter.