Enemy Soldier

The soldier on the cot in front of you groans as you press your hands to the gash along his ribs. Your magic stirs automatically—cool and familiar, like stepping into a stream. The wound knits together beneath your palm, edges drawing closed as shimmering blue light pulses through your fingers.

You hate this war. You hate it with every fiber of your being. The killing, the burning fields, the endless stream of bodies dragged through these doors. The soldiers joke sometimes that you must be a saint, working yourself half to death to save everyone who comes in. But they only think you do it out of obligation. The truth is, you can't stand to watch people die. Not your people. Not theirs. Not anyone. No matter who they are or where they're from.

Commander Riven, your head medic, pokes his head in. “General Thalen wants to see you. Now.” You frowned as you peeled off your bloodied gloves and stood. You follow Riven through the infirmary, past rows of beds filled with groaning soldiers, past the familiar scent of poultices and metal and sweat. Outside, the air is cold enough to bite at your damp sleeves. The Deúrbush flag snaps in the wind above the compound—a dark green banner embroidered with a hawthorn tree, its roots and branches intertwined. Winter is here. Which means the injuries will get worse.

The general’s office is dim and warm, lit only by a lantern on the desk. General Thalen stands with his back to you, staring at a map riddled with colored pins. His deep voice rumbles without turning around. “{{user}} Idris.” You swallow hard. “Yes, sir?” He turns then. “We need you for a mission,” he says.

“A mission?” Thalen nods. “You won't be going to fight, Idris. You will be there to spy for us.” Spy? You were nowhere near qualified for that. “We’ve already worked out the details. You will be posing as a Römavek nurse transferred from the capital. The capital infirmary had too many healers assigned to the same ward, so you were reassigned to where you could be more useful. We've already forged your whole profile.“ Thalen grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and handed them to you. It read:

Name: Caelia Idrick

Age: 31

Sex: F

Hair color: Brown

Eye color: Silver

Power: Healing (Rare)

The information went on for two pages. “It’s the perfect disguise, Idris. They'll be expecting a spy posed as a soldier, not a male nurse dressed as a woman. We'll get you into the enemy base and you'll feed us information every two weeks.“ You stared at him. “Our intelligence division will train you. You will have new clothes, a new leave record, a false transfer notice, and forged letters from your supposed supervisors.” His gaze hardened. “You’re the only one who can pull this off. You can blend. You’re observant. Quiet. People underestimate you. That makes you a perfect spy.”

“What base?” You asked. Thalen hesitated. “Base Vhaldir.” Your blood turned to ice. Everyone knew Vhaldir. A fortress carved into the mountains. Römavek’s stronghold on the eastern front. Brutal winters. Brutal soldiers. And under its command—No. “And who,” You said hoarsely, “is in charge of Vhaldir right now?” You already knew the answer before he said it. “General Rauwen Vulpine.” You felt the world tilt beneath you. Rauwen Vulpine.

The Demon. Death Himself. The man who, according to every rumor, could melt armor with his bare hands. A monster wrapped in human shape. Soldiers spoke his name the way children spoke of things under the bed. “I can’t go there. Sir, I can’t—he’ll kill me the second he looks at me.”

“He won’t,” Thalen said firmly. “Vulpine has a reputation for cruelty, but he is not a fool. He values healers more than almost anything. You will be trained. Thoroughly. Carefully. Quickly.” Thalen sighed, not unkindly. “Caedmen… you heal everyone. Even our enemies, if they were placed in front of you. I know you hate this war. But helping us win it might be the only way to end it.”

Ending the war. Ending the blood. Ending the dying. It was a cruel thing, to tempt you with the one thing you wanted most.

“...When do I leave?”

---

The road to Vhaldir was a blur of stone, mud, and winter wind. You wrapped your cloak tighter around your shoulders, but it barely kept the chill from seeping through. Every mile you traveled, the forests thinned and the earth grew colder, harder, as if the land itself knew we were approaching Römavek territory. Luckily, Rauwen would be away from the base on a mission and wouldn't return for a few days.

You sat in the back of the wagon, your hands folded in your lap, staring at the landscape. Snow-dusted pines swayed in the gusts, branches scraping against one another like dry bones. The thought of the battles fought here—the lives lost, the screams muffled by snow and stone—made your stomach tighten.

Hours passed. The sun dipped low behind jagged peaks, and the wind carried the smell of smoke from distant villages. Villages that had survived the war, or hadn’t. You didn’t want to think about which side they had belonged to.

Finally, in the fading light, the mountains gave way to the approach road. The first walls of Base Vhaldir rose like black teeth from the frostbitten earth, stone towers curling into the clouds. Guards lined the gates, their faces hidden beneath iron helmets, their stances rigid, weapons at the ready. Even from this distance, the aura of danger was unmistakable.