My body convulsed as I stumbled away from the horrid chaos unfolding before my eyes. Arthur's shrieks of pain pierced through my ears, sending jolts of fear and helplessness down to my core. In that moment, I saw the enemy's lifeless body thrown violently from the tree with a sickening thud. My mind couldn't shake off the image of his broken spine. The smell of blood was slowly suffocating me, like a pungent toxin invading all my senses. As I looked at Arthur's wound, I could feel bile rising inside me; it had ripped through him, spilling thick, dark crude oil that clung to his leg like warm candle wax. His tears were streaming down his cheeks, but it wasn't out of sorrow. It was pure terror and agony. A grown man crying from sheer desperation—it was a sight I never wanted to see again.

At least he was alive, though; unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the other guy who took a bullet to the head. When we reached the Frontline, they ushered us to the barracks, where Arthur was taken to the infirmary. There, a drunken soldier with red hair recommended that I write about what had happened in a journal. He told me it would help after he saw me desperatly scrub the blood from my fingers, as if scrawling words on paper could mend my shattered mind, but I still wanted to try it. He even offered me some liquor, but I declined; magi are forbidden from drinking alcohol. Still, every time I look at him nursing his bottle of spirits by his bed, something within me yearns for a taste of oblivion too.

I shake my head, dispelling the thought. I need to focus on writing this journal, not on the temptation of alcohol. The events of today have left me shaken, and I need to process them somehow.

I think about Arthur. The medics had done their best to patch him up, but he will need further treatment before he's fit for duty again. I feel a pang of guilt, knowing that I froze up when he needed me the most.

I turn back to my journal and continue writing, trying to make sense of what happened. The enemy soldier in the tree, the flash of his handgun, Arthur's screams, and the sickening sound of his body hitting the ground I can still see it all so vividly, like it just happened.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

I know that I can't change what happened, but I can make sure that I don't freeze again when it matters. I sigh. I need to train harder, become stronger, and never freeze up again. I need to be ready for whatever the enemy throws at us, whether it's bullets or magic.

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But for now, I need to rest. The adrenaline rush has faded, and exhaustion is settling in. I lay down on my bunk and closed my eyes, trying to push away the memories of the day. I know that they will haunt me for a long time to come.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to push away the memories. But they cling to me like a heavy cloak in my sleep, suffocating and overwhelming. I can feel a sense of panic rising within me, and my heart beats faster and faster.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I open my eyes in surprise. I turn to see a fellow soldier, a tall and muscular man with a kind smile on his face. He introduces himself as John, and he asks me if I'm okay.

I try to smile, but my lips feel numb. "I'm fine," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper and still dry from the short sleep I managed to get.

John nods understandingly. "It's okay; most of us have trouble sleeping," he says, sitting down on the bunk next to mine. "War can mess with your head in ways that you can't even imagine."

I nod, grateful for his understanding. We sit in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the soft breathing of the other soldiers in the barracks. The alcohol smell is strong, and I wonder how many of them turn to it as a way to cope with the war.

"I lost my best friend out there," John says suddenly, breaking the silence. "He was like a brother to me. I still see his face every time I close my eyes."

I feel a lump form in my throat as I listen to John's words. "I'm sorry for your loss," I say softly, not knowing what else to say.

John nods, his eyes clouded with sadness. "Thank you. It's tough, you know?"

We sit in silence for a few more moments, lost in our own thoughts. But then John speaks up again, his voice filled with an unexpected tenderness.

"Listen, I know we just met, but if you ever need to talk or anything" He gesticulates weirdly with his arm in the air, trying to form his emotions into something he can't say in words.

I nod, "Thank you," smiling a bit at his antics.

We get interrupted by a bell ringing, and suddenly the almost deathly silent barrack turns into a hurricane.

John looks at me. "Just a change of shifts," he says to me as he sees my confused face.

I nod in understanding, watching as the other soldiers start to scramble out of their bunks and get ready for their shift. The sound of boots hitting the ground is deafening, and I can feel the vibrations through my own feet.

John stands up, clapping me on the shoulder. "Stay strong," he says, before disappearing into the crowd of soldiers.

I take a deep breath and try to steel myself for the day ahead. Slowly, I get out of bed and start to get dressed, knowing it's hopeless to try to sleep again. I pull on my uniform, listening to the faint sound of gunfire in the distance.

I make my way out of the barracks, joining the stream of soldiers rushing out into the bright morning sun. Outside, deep trenches flow like branches of a tree in different directions, winding their way around the barracks. My goal is a building that I was shown yesterday; it's where I'm supposed to meet Rodrick today. But, not knowing exactly where to go, I turn to a nearby soldier and ask for directions.

The soldier points me in the right direction with gruff efficiency and goes back to his duties without another word. I thank him before heading off towards the building.