Zuno hesitantly opened his front door, the wood creaking softly as it gave way, revealing the two military men who had knocked. They stood fully in view now, their presence immediately overwhelming. Both were tall—far taller than him—casting long shadows that seemed to swallow his smaller frame whole.
The man in front appeared to be in his late forties. A prominent dark gray streak cut through his otherwise black, slicked-back hair, giving him a worn but commanding look. His posture was straight, rigid, like someone who had long since grown used to authority. In his hand rested a clipboard, a thin stack of paper clipped to it, marked with checks and names written in neat rows.
Zuno's eyes lingered on it for a second too long.
'Is that… real paper?'
The thought struck him immediately. He had never seen real paper before—only the cheap synthetic kind everyone used. This looked different. Thinner. Cleaner. Whiter. It almost didn't seem real, like something preserved from a different world entirely.
His attention snapped back to the men in front of him.
The older man's nose twitched slightly, his expression tightening as if something unpleasant had just reached him. Another bead of sweat slid down Zuno's face under the weight of that gaze.
"I smell blood."
His voice was raspy, stern—sharp enough to cut through the air. There was no hesitation in it, no doubt. It carried a quiet authority that made it hard to ignore… or challenge.
Zuno felt his chest tighten. Sweat began to gather faster now, his body betraying him despite his efforts to stay calm. He cleared his throat quickly, forcing his voice to steady itself.
"Well… I can explain," he started, words coming out a bit rushed. "I had a break-in while I was gone. It looks like the intruder got cut up pretty badly trying to get in. Probably on the glass."
He gestured toward the bathroom, pointing slightly behind him.
"I'm pretty sure they gave up and left after that. Nothing's missing… not like there's much to take anyway."
He let out a weak, awkward chuckle at the end, though it carried no real humor.
The older man didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze lingered, heavy and scrutinizing, as if weighing every word Zuno had just said.
"Micheal."
Without looking away, the man called out to his companion.
The younger soldier straightened slightly. "Yes, sir."
The older man tilted his head just enough to indicate the direction of the bathroom. The command was silent, but clear.
Micheal nodded once.
Then he stepped forward.
As he approached, Zuno felt a strange pressure settle over him. When Micheal stopped directly in front of him, it felt like being examined—like every detail about him was being peeled apart and studied.
Micheal had dark silver eyes, sharp and reflective, almost metallic in the way they caught the light. They reminded Zuno faintly of hematite—cold, unyielding. His dirty blonde hair framed a face that suggested he was in his mid-twenties, still young but already hardened.
He was undeniably handsome.
But what stood out most was the scar.
It ran from the bridge of his hawked nose down across his right cheek, stopping just short of his jaw. It wasn't deep, but it was noticeable—something earned, not given.
"Move."
His voice was firm, carrying authority, yet not unnecessarily harsh. There was a controlled calm to it.
Zuno didn't hesitate. He stepped aside immediately, his body shifting out of the way as Micheal passed him and headed toward the bathroom.
As the soldier disappeared from view, Zuno glanced back at the older man.
He was still staring.
The same heavy, suspicious gaze hadn't wavered. It felt like he was watching for any sudden movement—any sign that Zuno might try something. Or run.
The tension lingered in the air like a held breath.
Then—
A door creaked open.
Moments passed.
"All clear, sir! Just a broken window!"
Micheal's voice called out from inside before he stepped back into view, walking past Zuno and returning to his original position behind the older man. His posture straightened again, eyes forward, waiting.
The tension eased… but didn't disappear entirely.
"Is that all?" Zuno asked, forcing a polite tone as he gave a small, awkward smile. He didn't want to offend them—not the government. Not here. Still, he couldn't help but ask.
The older man finally broke eye contact, glancing down at his clipboard. His eyes scanned it briefly before lifting back up to Zuno. Then down again. Then up once more.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
"I am speaking to Zuno Kucax, correct?"
Zuno's expression tightened slightly.
He hated that name.
It tied him to someone he didn't know—someone powerful enough that people assumed a connection just from hearing it. It brought attention he didn't want. Expectations he couldn't meet.
Still, he nodded.
"Yeah… that's me."
The man gave a small, acknowledging nod.
"Very well, Mr. Kucax. My name is Xavier Zenix. My lieutenant and I are here to inform you that you have been selected for a draft by the COH."
The words landed heavily.
Xavier glanced down at his clipboard again, marking something off before continuing.
"You are required to report to the main hall by 1200 tomorrow. Failure to appear will be considered treason and will result in incarceration."
His tone remained steady. Official. Uncaring.
"That is all. We wish you a good evening… and luck on the frontlines."
At that, both Xavier and Micheal raised their hands in a crisp salute.
Then, without another word, they turned and walked away.
Just like that.
Zuno stood there, frozen in place, the door still open as their figures grew smaller down the street.
"What kind of luck is that…"
His voice came out quiet, unsteady.
A hollow feeling settled in his chest as the weight of it all sank in.
It was almost laughable.
His day had already been terrible… and somehow, it had just gotten worse.
Much worse.
His thoughts began to spiral, buzzing endlessly as his gaze drifted upward toward the sky.
The sun was nearly gone now, dipping below the horizon in a wash of orange and fading light. The sky stretched wide above him, calm and untouched by everything happening below.
The moon had already begun to rise, pale and distant, glowing softly against the darkening blue.
It was… beautiful.
Zuno stared at it for a moment longer than he should have.
Too bad… it might be the last time he ever really gets to see it like this.
The thought came uninvited.
Slowly, his hand reached for the door handle. His fingers wrapped around it, tightening slightly before he pulled the door shut behind him with a dull thud.
The sound echoed faintly through the house.
He turned and began walking toward his bedroom, each step quieter now, more distant. His mind drifted through everything he knew about the frontlines.
Which… wasn't much.
Just stories.
Bad ones.
By the time he reached his door, a chill had crept down his spine.
Was he really being sent there?
Forced into it?
The things people said about the war… they weren't just rumors. People came back different—if they came back at all. And the things they had to do just to survive…
Zuno exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts down as he opened his bedroom door and stepped inside.
The room was small. Simple.
A twin-sized bed sat in the center, worn but usable. A desk rested beneath a slightly cracked mirror near the wall. There wasn't much else.
But it was his.
That was enough.
Zuno moved toward the bed and sat down, the worn mattress dipping beneath his weight. As he lay back, staring up at the ceiling, everything from the day came rushing back again.
The robbery.
The break-in.
And now… this.
Tomorrow.
And everything after it.
A quiet dread settled over him.
He didn't want to think about it anymore.
So he didn't.
He closed his eyes and pulled the thin comforter over himself, letting the darkness take over.
Exhaustion claimed him quickly.
Within minutes…
Zuno was asleep.