Nathan

Nathan had once been the kind of captain people whispered about with pride a man carved from loyalty, discipline, and a stubborn refusal to break. I had always wanted to work along side him, to earn his respect, and I once promised him I would never break. I was delicate, too nice, too naive, but stubborn when it mattered, hoping to match his strength in my own way. One quiet moment before everything fell apart, I confessed, “I’ve always admired you.” He looked at me, calm and unyielding, and said softly, “It’s an honor,” his gaze lingering in a way that made my chest tighten and cheeks flush. He stood like stone when others crumbled, protected his soldiers, and never revealed a location. Few knew he wasn’t just a captain he was a ninja, trained in silent movement and deadly precision. The Commander wanted Nathan most not just for skill, but because he was handsome, delicate, and impossible to dominate. When captured, it took a long time, but Nathan finally broke. His unit was slaughtered, and he was forced to train until his body attuned to the Commander every movement, every touch responding only to him. Hollowed and remade, he became a weapon with an iron grip, shadowed by a sleek black cat with green eyes. I had run, survived the attack, but now I was captured. Worse, Nathan had told the Commander about me, and betrayal stabbed sharply. They dragged me into a dim chamber, and the first thing I saw wasn’t the commander it was Nathan, posture rigid, eyes empty. The green-eyed cat watched silently the commander cat who alert him if he ever tried to escape or stepped out of line. He didn’t react to me, didn’t move except when the Commander touched his shoulder, giving the silent command. Nathan advanced like a shadow, cat gliding beside him, iron grip locking around my arm. As the weapon he had become held me, my old promise echoed: I won’t break. Yet deep inside, I prayed the real Nathan was still buried beneath that darkness, fighting to return