POV – Daniel
Weeks had passed since the clash. The dust of war had settled, the blood washed away, but the whispers still clung to every corridor of the base. Brother against brother. That was the shame we carried.
Then the order came.
Chris Blackwood himself was coming.
The air changed. Soldiers straightened their backs, eyes wide with dread. No one expected mercy, not after what we had done. Even General Soren looked uneasy—and I had never seen him shaken before.
The Blackwood Broadcast Network went live. Every camera in the empire pointed at us. The entire BU was watching.
Chris arrived not in gold, not in robes of royalty—but in simple black, his crown absent, his expression unreadable. That was worse than anger. His silence was a storm waiting to break.
He stood before us, the commanders and soldiers who had spilled each other's blood on Blackwood soil. His gaze swept the line, slow, sharp, cutting deeper than any blade.
Then he spoke:
> "The empire bleeds not from enemies without, but betrayal within. Today, I do not see soldiers—I see shame."
A murmur rippled, but none dared speak.
One by one, the punishments fell. Dave, stripped of his command, his number reduced, his legacy erased in public shame. His men reassigned to the lowest ranks. My chest tightened watching it unfold.
Then Chris turned on me. My heart hammered.
> "Daniel. Your victory came with dishonor. You did not stop the clash—you fueled it. For that, your glory is tainted."
I wanted to speak, to defend myself, but my tongue felt heavy.
Then the impossible happened. Chris turned… and fined Soren.
Gasps erupted. Even I snapped my head up in disbelief. No one touched Soren, the eternal shield of the King. But Chris did.
> "General Soren Vask," Chris declared, his voice like fire, "for failing to control your men, for allowing pride to lead them to disgrace—you, too, will pay. Consider this your stain, written in history."
Soren bowed his head. He didn't argue. His jaw was steel, but his eyes… they carried the weight of thunder.
Finally, Chris raised his hand, sealing the punishment forever.
> "This day shall be remembered. The Clash of Brothers. And let all know—the Blackwood Union may forgive—but it never forgets."
The cameras cut. The punishment was sealed.
We had been marked—not just as soldiers, but as history's warning.
And deep in my chest, I felt something I could not name. Not fear. Not pride. Something heavier.
The weight of being remembered… not for victory, but for shame.
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