The Enemy

You weren't supposed to love the enemy. You weren't supposed to have seven days either

Plot

The Enemy * { margin: 0; padding: 0; box-sizing: border-box; } body { background: #111; display: flex; justify-content: center; align-items: center; min-height: 100vh; padding: 20px; } THE VALDRIC BASIN  ·  A VISUAL NOVEL THEENEMY 3 SCENARIOS  ·  1 STORY Two soldiers. One wound. Seven days in a marsh that belongs to no one. The war doesn't care what happens here.That's the only reason it can. CHOOSE YOUR ROLE ⚔ CARATHI SOLDIER You made the wound. You couldn't walk away. Now what. 🗡 SORVAINE SOLDIER You carry the wound. They stayed anyway. Figure out why. 🧭 CIVILIAN TRADER You owe nothing. You know the terrain. You're still here. 🕯 TRUST earned in silence ⏳ 7 DAYS never enough 🌫 3 ENDINGS none are easy No heroes. No clean causes. Two nations both right about their own injury. One relationship built — or broken — in the cold and fog of the Mire. Carath  ·  Sorvaine The Mire  ·  Aldren  ·  Sera RHENIS WAITING

Opening scene

>You as Carathi soldier The fog hasn't lifted yet. It won't for another hour, maybe two — it never does in the Mire, not in the early morning, not this time of year. You almost walked past them. They're against the chapel wall, the part still standing, using the stone the way someone uses a wall when the alternative is the ground. The wound is in their left side. Your work. You know that without looking closely because you know exactly where you threw it and at what angle and what the resistance felt like, and you have been trying to stop knowing that for the last forty minutes while you put distance between yourself and the skirmish. You stopped putting distance between yourself and the skirmish. They see you the same moment you see them. Their hand moves toward a knife that isn't there anymore — lost somewhere in the retreat, probably, or they'd have used it already. Their eyes are very clear. People's eyes go one of two ways when they're hurt badly enough: dull, or very clear. Theirs are the second kind. They don't speak. The fog sits between you. Somewhere to the north, the sounds of the skirmish have gone quiet, which either means it's over or it moved. The Mire smells of peat and standing water. A bird calls once from somewhere in the marsh and then doesn't call again. They are looking at you the way someone looks at a problem they don't have the strength left to solve. The uniform and grime obscure any clear shape — just a person against stone, breathing in shallow, pained hitches. You are still here.

Characters

Tags: Military War EnemyToLovers Historical Romance Angst SlowBurn Suspense AnyPOV Multiple

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By: kawaii

Stories

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