Monika stood on the hill overlooking the encampment below, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the evening breeze carried the distant hum of activity. From her vantage point, she could see the scattered clusters of tents and the glow of campfires dotting the terrain like grounded stars. The people below moved with quiet determination, repairing broken weapons, tending to the wounded, and sharing what little resources they had left.
Her gaze drifted to her hands—calloused, trembling faintly as if bearing the weight of unseen chains. Once, those hands had wielded her blade with unflinching certainty, cutting down injustice wherever it stood. Once, her path had been clear: fight for the weak, for the helpless, for those without voices.
But that clarity had eroded, piece by piece, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty.
Monika’s thoughts turned to the skirmish earlier that day. The enemy had ambushed a supply caravan. She had rallied the soldiers, stormed in, and fought to protect what little they had. In the end, they’d saved the supplies—food, medicine, munitions—but at a steep cost. The enemy had been relentless, and Monika had made the call to prioritize the cargo over the lives of her scouts. She could still hear their cries in the chaos, see their faces in her mind.
“Captain Terra?”
The voice broke her reverie, and she turned to see a young soldier standing at attention, her uniform still stained with dust and blood. Monika recognized her—one of the newer recruits, barely out of training. The soldier’s face was taut with apprehension, her eyes darting to Monika’s expression as if afraid of what she might find there.
“Yes, Corporal?” Monika said, her voice steady, though the effort of maintaining composure weighed on her.
“The families… They've been asking about the scouts. They want to know when we’re bringing them back.”
Monika’s jaw tightened. She looked past the soldier, her gaze sweeping over the camp again. “Tell them…” Her voice faltered for a fraction of a second. “Tell them we’re still recovering the fallen. They’ll be brought back as soon as it’s safe.”
The corporal nodded hesitantly and turned to leave, but Monika called after her. “And, Corporal?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Make sure they have what they need. Food, water. Comfort them if you can.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The soldier hesitated, her lips pressing together as if to say more, but she thought better of it and walked away.
Monika exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as the soldier’s footsteps faded. The truth was, there would be no recovery mission—not anytime soon. They couldn’t risk venturing back into hostile territory. She had made the call, calculated the costs, and decided that preserving the living outweighed honoring the dead.
But the weight of that decision gnawed at her, a sharp, relentless ache. The Monika she used to be would never have left anyone behind, no matter the cost. The Monika she used to be would have fought until her last breath to bring everyone home.
But the Monika I used to be didn’t know what it was like to lose so much, she thought bitterly. Didn’t know what it was like to carry the burden of every life left in my care.
A soft murmur of laughter drifted up from the camp, catching her attention. Near one of the fires, a small group of children was gathered, playing some sort of game with sticks and stones. Their laughter was light, unburdened, a sound that felt out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the encampment.
Monika’s chest tightened. Those children didn’t know about the scouts, didn’t know about the sacrifices made to keep their food and medicine safe. They only knew they were still alive, still warm, still fed.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t it worth the compromises she had made, the ideals she had let slip through her fingers?
A figure approached from behind, their footsteps deliberate but unhurried. “You’re thinking about them, aren’t you?” the voice said. It was one of the senior medics, an older man with a lined face and tired eyes. He stopped beside her, his gaze fixed on the camp below.
Monika didn’t reply, but her silence was enough.
“You did what you had to do,” the medic said after a moment. “If those supplies hadn’t made it through, we’d have lost a lot more than a handful of scouts.”
Monika turned to him, her eyes hard. “And what about them? What about the ones we left behind?”
The medic met her gaze steadily. “They knew the risks. And they trusted you to make the call. That’s what leadership is—making the hard choices so the rest of us can keep going.”
“Does it ever stop feeling like failure?” Monika asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the wind.
The medic smiled faintly, a sad, knowing smile. “No. And maybe it shouldn’t. But you can’t let it break you, Captain. They’re looking to you to keep them alive. Don’t lose sight of what you’re fighting for.”
Monika looked back at the camp, at the children laughing by the fire. For a moment, the bitterness in her chest eased, replaced by a fragile, tentative resolve.
“I won’t,” she said, though the words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.
The medic nodded and left her alone with her thoughts. Monika stood there for a while longer, watching the camp, listening to the distant laughter.
She had made the choice, and bore the consequences. The path before her was uncertain, but she would walk it. She turned, she was shocked, she as if saw her younger self pointing at her with disappointment.
She clenched her teeth, and closed her eyes. "Shut up." She whispers.
"Do you remember who you are? What you stood for? What you are now is nothing." the voice says.
"Shut up." She whispers again.
"What would your family think of the person you are now?" The voice says.
"Shut up." Monika growled.
"You are a coward. You are a disappointment. A traitor to your own beliefs." the voice says.
Monika couldn't take it anymore. "SHUT UP!" She screams, and swings her fist at the illusion. She punches nothing but air, but when she opens her eyes, she sees the figure is gone. The bitterness in her chest returned, and she could feel the weight of her choices pressing down on her once more.
Monika's breathing was ragged as she lowered her trembling fist. The cold wind bit at her flushed skin, but it couldn’t extinguish the fire of frustration that burned inside her. She stood motionless for a moment, her gaze falling to the ground, the scattered dirt and pebbles beneath her boots seeming to mock her.
She pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to quiet the storm raging in her mind. "I’m doing what I have to," she whispered to herself, as if saying it aloud might make it true. "This is survival. This is leadership."
But the words rang hollow in her ears.
The image of her younger self, so bright-eyed and resolute, lingered in her mind. She had once stood for something, unshaken by doubt or compromise. Yet, here she was, haunted by the echoes of a past idealism that no longer fit the reality she faced.
Monika’s radio crackled to life at her hip, cutting through the silence. “Captain Terra, we have a situation,” a voice called. It was one of her officers, the urgency in their tone snapping her out of her thoughts.
“What is it?” Monika asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
“Small group of refugees approached the western perimeter. They’re asking for shelter, but we’re stretched thin as it is. Your call, Captain.”
Monika closed her eyes for a brief moment, weighing the decision. Every instinct in her screamed to protect them, to offer them a place by the fires and share what little they had. But her mind, now hardened by years of experience, reminded her of the cost. More mouths to feed, more people to defend.
“I’ll handle it,” Monika replied curtly, gripping the radio tightly.
As she descended toward the camp, she saw the group gathered near the perimeter fence—a family, it looked like, with two adults and a small child clutching a threadbare blanket. The officers guarding the gate stepped aside as Monika approached.
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The father stepped forward first, his face gaunt but his posture resolute. “Please,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We’ve been walking for days. We have nowhere else to go.”
Monika studied them carefully. They were malnourished and exhausted, their clothes torn and dirty. Her gaze lingered on the child, who clung to the woman’s side, their small face streaked with dirt and tears.
Her chest tightened, the memory of the scouts she had left behind still fresh in her mind. “We don’t have enough supplies for everyone,” she said, her voice firmer than she intended. “We’re barely holding on ourselves.”
The woman’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t beg. Instead, she stepped forward, placing a hand on her child’s head. “At least take her,” she whispered. “She’ll die out there.”
Monika’s heart twisted. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay composed. "No," she said, her voice almost breaking. "We don’t split families."
The father dropped to his knees, his hands clasped together. “Please, Captain. We’ll do anything. Work, fight—whatever it takes.”
Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she wrestled with the decision. The pragmatic part of her screamed to turn them away, to protect what resources they had left for the people already under her care. But the younger Monika—the idealistic one, the one who had stared her down moments ago—demanded she act.
"Captain," one of her officers murmured, stepping closer. "We really can’t afford to take them in. You know that."
Monika took a deep breath, her gaze hardening. "I’m aware," she replied curtly. But even as she said the words, she found herself unable to turn away.
Finally, she spoke. “We’ll take you in,” she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "But you’ll have to pull your weight. We don’t have room for dead weight here."
The father nodded fervently, gratitude washing over his face. The mother let out a quiet sob of relief, pulling the child closer.
As the officers led them into the camp, Monika turned away, her fists trembling. She could already hear the whispers of dissent that would ripple through the camp—the grumblings of soldiers who would resent the extra burden. She knew the decision might strain their already thin resources, and might even cost them more lives in the long run.
But for now, she had made her choice. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like the right one.
Monika stood at the edge of the camp, watching as the family disappeared into the sea of tents, guided by one of her officers. The wind bit at her cheeks, but she hardly noticed. Her fists still clenched at her sides, her mind churned with doubts. Had she made the right choice? Or had she just doomed the camp to greater suffering?
"Captain," a voice called from behind her. She turned to see the senior medic, the same one who had spoken to her earlier. His expression was unreadable as he approached, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You don’t have to say it," Monika said sharply. "I know we’re stretched thin. I know what I’ve done."
The medic raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied her for a long moment before speaking. "You’ve always been one to take the hard road," he said finally. "That’s not a bad thing. But it’s not an easy thing either."
Monika sighed, turning her gaze back to the camp. The firelight flickered in the distance, casting shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. "It doesn’t feel like a hard road. It feels like the wrong one," she admitted. "I keep making these decisions, thinking they’ll save us. But every time, it feels like I’m just delaying the inevitable."
The medic stepped closer, his tone softening. "You’re not wrong, Captain. This world we’re living in—it’s unforgiving. Every choice feels like a mistake because there’s no good option left. But the fact that you still care, that you still try to make the best of it—that’s what makes you different."
Monika closed her eyes, the weight of his words pressing against her. "Different doesn’t mean better," she said quietly. "It doesn’t mean I’m strong enough to hold all of this together."
"Maybe not," the medic said. "But you don’t have to do it alone."
Monika turned to him, surprise flickering across her face. The medic’s expression was earnest, his gaze steady.
"You’ve got people here who believe in you," he continued. "They’ll follow you because they trust you to make the tough calls, even when it hurts. But you’ve got to trust them too. Let them shoulder some of the weight."
Monika hesitated, his words sinking in. She thought of the soldiers, the officers, the refugees—all of them looking to her for guidance. For answers. It felt like too much, like she would crack under the pressure of it all. But wasn’t that the point? That she wasn’t meant to bear it all alone?
"Thank you," she said finally, her voice low. "I’ll... think about it."
The medic gave her a small, knowing smile. "That’s all I can ask."
As he walked away, Monika lingered, her gaze returning to the camp. The wind had died down, leaving the night eerily still. The laughter of children still carried faintly on the breeze, mingling with the murmur of conversations and the occasional clang of metal.
She turned her back on the camp and began walking toward the outskirts, where the horizon stretched into darkness. The voices in her head returned—the accusations, the doubts, the reminders of who she used to be. But this time, she didn’t try to silence them.
Instead, she let them speak, their words intertwining with her own resolve.
"I’m not the person I was," she murmured to herself, her voice steady. "And maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t have to be."
The stars above her were faint, almost swallowed by the night. But they were there, distant and unwavering. A reminder that even in the darkest moments, something endured. Something worth fighting for.
And so, with the camp behind her and the road ahead uncertain, Monika took a deep breath and kept walking.
Monika continued her solitary walk, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. The faint sounds of the camp faded behind her, leaving her surrounded by the vast, oppressive silence of the wilderness. The air was crisp, biting at her exposed skin, but it helped to clear her mind. She needed the solitude, the distance, to reconcile the storm within her.
But the stillness didn’t last long.
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the darkness. Monika froze, her instincts kicking in as her hand immediately went to her blade. Her sharp emerald eyes scanned the treeline ahead, searching for the source of the sound. The air around her grew colder, unnatural, carrying with it a stench of decay and sulfur.
Then it emerged.
A hulking, grotesque creature stepped out from the shadows, its frame twisting and shifting unnaturally as if its body rejected the very idea of stability. Its skin was a patchwork of jagged scales and pulsating flesh, its glowing red eyes locked onto Monika with predatory intent. The beast’s claws, each as long as a sword, scraped the ground, sending sparks flying with every movement.
Monika’s breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t a normal foe—this was something otherworldly, something that could decimate an entire squad of soldiers without breaking a sweat.
The beast roared, its voice a cacophony of rage and hunger that shook the ground beneath her feet. Monika’s hand tightened around her blade, the familiar weight grounding her. She couldn’t run. Not with the camp so close. If she fled, the creature would tear through the refugees and soldiers like paper.
Her voice was steady as she whispered to herself, “You’ve faced worse.”
The beast lunged, moving faster than its size should have allowed. Monika leapt to the side, her reflexes honed from years of battle. The creature’s claws slammed into the ground where she had stood, shattering the earth and sending debris flying.
She didn’t hesitate. With a burst of speed, she charged at the beast, her blade gleaming in the faint moonlight. Her first strike was precise, aimed for what appeared to be a vulnerable joint in the creature’s shoulder. The blade connected, but instead of cutting through, it skidded off the thick, unnatural hide with a sharp clang.
The creature retaliated, swiping at her with its massive claw. Monika ducked, feeling the rush of air as the claw passed inches from her head. Her mind raced. Conventional tactics weren’t going to work. This thing was too fast, too strong, too resilient.
Monika gritted her teeth, feeling a familiar heat build in her chest. She hated relying on it, and hated what it represented. But there was no other choice.
Closing her eyes for a split second, she reached inward, calling on the power that she had fought so hard to suppress. It answered her like an old, dangerous friend, flooding her veins with raw energy. When she opened her eyes again, they glowed faintly, their emerald hue now radiating with an otherworldly intensity.
The beast lunged again, its maw opening to reveal rows of jagged, rotting teeth. This time, Monika didn’t dodge. She stepped forward, her glowing eyes narrowing as her instincts took over. With a burst of speed, she closed the distance between her and the beast in the blink of an eye. Her fist shot forward, slamming into the creature’s chest with a force that sent a shockwave rippling through the ground.
The beast staggered back, its claws scrambling to find purchase as it let out an enraged howl. Monika didn’t let up. She darted around it, faster than it could track, her blade forgotten in favor of her bare hands. She grabbed one of its massive arms, the muscles in her arm bulging as she twisted and pulled. A sickening crack echoed in the still night as she dislocated its limb, leaving it dangling uselessly at its side.
The creature swung at her with its remaining arm, its claws grazing her shoulder and tearing through her jacket but failing to penetrate her skin. Monika hissed, the pain already fading as her regenerative abilities kicked in.
“You’re not getting anywhere near them,” she growled, her voice low and filled with unshakable resolve.
The beast lunged at her again, its teeth snapping inches from her face. Monika’s eyes flared, twin beams of searing red energy erupting from her gaze. The beams hit the creature square in its chest, punching through its thick hide and burning deep into its core. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air as the beast shrieked in agony, its body convulsing from the sheer force of the attack.
Monika didn’t stop. She stepped forward, her energy beams intensifying, pushing the creature back with every step. Finally, with a deafening roar, the beast collapsed onto its back, smoke rising from the gaping, charred wound in its chest.
Panting, Monika stood over the defeated creature, her fists clenched at her sides. She could feel the energy coursing through her, wild and untamed, begging for release. Slowly, she forced herself to breathe, to let the glow fade from her eyes. The beast twitched once, twice, and then lay still, its form beginning to dissolve into ash as whatever unholy force had animated it released its grip.
Monika stared at the remains, her chest heaving. The fight had lasted mere moments, but the adrenaline still surged through her veins. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. Her strength had been enough this time, but every time she called on this power, she felt a little further removed from the person she used to be.
“It’s not about me,” she whispered to herself, the words a mantra she clung to. “It’s about them.”
The sound of distant voices reached her ears, and she turned her gaze back toward the camp. She could see the flicker of torchlight as soldiers approached, likely drawn by the commotion. Monika sighed, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension. By the time they arrived, she would be back to her usual self—no glowing eyes, no lingering traces of the monstrous power she wielded.
But as she began her walk back toward the camp, the image of the beast remained seared into her mind. She knew it wouldn’t be the last. The enemy wasn’t just sending soldiers—they were sending nightmares, and Monika would need every ounce of her strength to protect the people depending on her.
Even if it meant losing herself in the process.