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I stood in formation, the dust still hanging in the air from Soren's voice announcing my fate. Commander no more. Just a lieutenant. And now—Dave 5678, of all people—standing before us, wearing the mantle that had once been mine.
When he barked his first orders, the men's voices thundered back in unison. My throat tightened, but I joined the roar anyway. Anything less would have been weakness.
Then his eyes locked on me.
"Lieutenant," he spat the word like it was dirt, "you will follow my orders to the letter. Do not mistake past glory for present standing. Understood?"
For a heartbeat, my pride screamed to resist. To remind him I once led this unit, that I'd earned my place with blood and grit. But Soren's shadow loomed large, and the King's decree was heavier than steel chains.
I saluted sharply.
"Yes, Commander."
The words burned on my tongue, but I forced them out.
Inside, though? I was boiling. Not at Dave, not even at Soren. At myself. For failing the test. For letting my emotions override discipline. The King had stripped me down to nothing so I could rebuild.
I clenched my fists behind my back. This wasn't the end. I would rise again, not because of titles, but because I would outlast them all.
And if I had to serve under Dave 5678 to prove that? So be it.
"Move out!" Dave barked, snapping me from my thoughts.
As we marched, the men cast sideways glances at me. Pity. Curiosity. Maybe even doubt. Let them look. Let them whisper.
Because one day, they'd salute me again. And it wouldn't be as Lieutenant.
It would be as something greater.
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