General Lyra walked the training grounds, her boots crunching on the packed earth. Her gaze swept over the archers, a silent count of their numbers.
She stopped beside one soldier, adjusting their arm. "Elbows up," she instructed, her voice sharp and clear.
Her lieutenant, Shawn, fell into step beside her, his voice a low rumble. "I heard you sent that girl to the medical tent."
"Again," Lyra called out to the archers, ignoring him. A fresh volley of arrows thudded into a wooden target.
"General, you're making rash decisions," Shawn pressed, his tone laced with frustration. "All because of some unknown girl who might be a potential spy."
Lyra's back straightened. She turned to face him, her eyes cold and hard. "Are you questioning me, Lieutenant?"
"I'm not questioning the general," he said, taking a step closer. "I'm questioning my friend. We've been in this war together for two years, Lyra. I'm worried about you."
Lyra's cold gaze softened, but only for a fraction of a second. "Shawn, my decisions are for the good of this kingdom. That girl is not a threat. She's a survivor, nothing more."
"A survivor with a clean dress and eyes that don't blink?" Shawn's voice dropped to a low growl. "She's a mystery we can't afford right now. With Valeria breathing down our necks, we can't be distracted by a stray from a village we conquered. We're not even sure she's from the village at all." He gestured dismissively toward the training grounds. "I'm worried about your judgment, Lyra. That's all."
The general's jaw tightened. "My judgment is not in question, Lieutenant."
"Isn't it? You've been on edge since you found her. More protective than I've ever seen you. Something is different, and I'm asking you to trust me. Tell me what's going on."
Lyra's eyes fell, a hint of weariness crossing her face. The rhythmic thud of arrows against the wood was a constant, maddening drumbeat.
"I can't, Shawn. Not yet. But I promise you, she is no spy. She is not a threat. She is something else, something I'm still trying to understand. And until I do, she is under my protection."
"Lyra, this is a battlefield, not a charity," Shawn said, his voice now a plea.
"And she is a weapon I may need to use," Lyra replied, her voice now hard and final.
"A weapon?" Shawn scoffed, his eyes narrowing with doubt. "How can she be a weapon? Can she shoot arrows? Can she engage in combat? Is she an important person from a royal lineage? She doesn't even know who she is."
"Shawn, trust me." Lyra turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the dust, leaving her lieutenant alone with his doubts.
Shawn's Promise
As Lyra's footsteps faded, the rhythmic thud of arrows became a hollow echo. Her words—"a weapon I may need to use"—chilled Shawn more than the thought of any spy. A weapon? The girl didn't look like she could hurt a fly.
He had seen Lyra in a thousand battles, a brilliant and ruthless commander who always weighed the lives of her soldiers against the needs of the kingdom. But this was different. This wasn't strategy; it was a personal secret, a dangerous gamble she was taking alone.
He couldn't shake the image of the girl, Selene, with her unblinking eyes and unnerving silence. Lyra saw a mystery; Shawn saw a threat. He watched the archers continue their practice, their movements precise and practiced—a comforting certainty in a world of chaos. But in his gut, he felt a new instability had entered their camp, a variable more dangerous than any Valerian insurgency.
He was loyal to Lyra, but his loyalty was to the general who protected her people. This girl, this Selene, was a crack in the armor, and Shawn feared what would spill out if it widened.
He made a silent promise to himself: he would watch the girl, he would watch Lyra, and he would be ready to protect his friend, even if it was from her own reckless decisions.