"The field of battle is my temple. The swordpoint is my priest. The dance of death is my prayer. The killing blow is my release."
- Sabaa Tahir, An Ember in the Ashes
I chant the words in my head, seeking focus from patience. I've arrived on the moon of Daeros, a castle ship in my sights. My mission is simple: kill these enemies of the Galra. I lay flat on my stomach against the top of a cliff, waiting with my bow in my hands for the ship's doors to open and this ragtag team to meet their deaths.
The doors slide open, a staircase is lowered, and people begin to step out. I draw my bow and arrow, but then my arm stills. I know the boy who just stepped out. The boy with the ocean in his eyes and the beach on his skin. I'd know those eyes anywhere. I drop back to lying prone, letting the arrow clatter onto the stone beside me. There is no question in my mind. The moment I saw him, I knew; I would not complete this mission. It may have been years since I've laid eyes on him, but this is that very same boy whose silken voice could calm me, almost as much as his lopsided smiles could rile me up.
Those days were simple. We were both kids, and the realities of our war didn't matter to either of us. I was a Galra plant, I was in disguise; the entire time I'd known him, everything about my existence had been a lie. Only he was true; only the way I felt around him was real.
When that mission ended, so did a chapter of my life. I came back to my reality, forced to care about it now, and he probably forgot me in his. But I never forgot, still haven't forgotten. Which is why my mind was made up the moment I saw his face again.
I fight in the name of Galra; but I draw the line at the human boy with the ocean in his eyes. And I know there is no returning to Zarkon having failed a mission. So I will run. I will walk away. I will wait for these paladins to complete their supply stop and leave; then I will steal a pod off this moon and leave everything behind, dissipate into the stars. Because I am a Galra fighter—I was born into the role, but I'm looking at someone above that. I watch the back of his head as he's going back to the ship. I murmur the words to myself again, but this is the first time they've held so much meaning.
"You are my temple. You are my priest. You are my prayer. You are my release."
- Sabaa Tahir, A Torch Against the Night