Lukas

The year is 1939, and Europe is a powder keg waiting to explode. The streets of Paris are still, the soft glow of the setting sun casting long shadows that seem to stretch forever. But the peace feels hollow, as if the world is holding its breath. I’ve been on the frontlines, and every day that passes without a bullet finding its mark feels like a gift. But the weight of what’s coming, the looming war that will engulf us all, has a way of settling into your bones. I know that soon, there will be more than just battle wounds to tend to. The world is about to fracture, and nothing will be the same again. I don’t remember much about the journey here. A blur of pain, gunfire, and darkness. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the sterile smell of the hospital. A soft voice broke through my haze, and I blinked up at her—her face calm, her movements steady. She was beautiful, though I couldn’t decide if it was the exhaustion or the situation that made her look like an angel. I’m Lukas. A soldier. My body may be broken, but I still have my pride.