heeeey guys, so this drabble is super short and suuuuuuuuuper late, long and short of it is that my cat of almost 18 years died whilst I was writing this, handily shattering any motivation I had to complete it at the time and kinda making returning to it a bit fraught for me, sorry about that, I'm finishing the week, but idk that these last two are gonna be up to the quality of the other ones..
sorry about the wait, but I hope you'll understand.
(also while writing this I found out that the war canonically lasts like.. three days or so? this was just one in a very long list of stupid decisions by kishi, so I've elected to ignore that little detail)
Day 7 - The war that changed everything
War was natural for him, it was where he belonged, ever since his father decided that his unborn son would be the ideal weapon to save his falling village – or at the very least, send the world at large one last enraged, but ultimately pointless, message.
Yet, it was natural in none of the ways he had ever expected.
He was bred to be a weapon, a tool to bring chaos and unmitigated destruction to any battlefield he set foot upon, but the skill most valued by his allies was his ability to shield.
He was intended to be obedient and easily controlled, an attack-dog to be sent out only when needed and that would never question orders, or turn against his masters, however it was now him giving the orders, him using his words to direct and inspire.
He was designed to bring pure terror to his enemies, just the mention of his name, the mere threat of his deployment enough to bring other nations to their knees, here, he was just another soldier, powerful certainly, but by no means the strongest on the field – on either side – and rather than striking fear into the forces of nations who were destined to be his opponents, when he appeared they were relieved, happy even, or as happy as one could be in the midst of a war.
There was still a little awkwardness between him and his troops, he ate and camped with the others, he listened as they traded stories across a campfire and learned their names, histories, hopes for life once war was over…
It was better not to think what would happen if the war never ended; even after it had been dragging on for months and everyone was exhausted and terrified and deep in that constant, awful numbness that came with every death of a comrade who could not be mourned when one's focus had to remain on the present battle at all times.
His attempts at comfort were clumsy and he dearly wished that his brother – always the most empathetic and caring of the three siblings – was in the same regiment to offer advice and reassurance, but even so, he offered what little comfort he could as one who belonged to war.
In many ways, this was where he was meant to be, despite how perfectly he fit into that position though, he'd never despised anything more.
