𝙎𝙃𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙒 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀

𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻

Maven

The trip back to camp is a blur. I get into the transport in a daze, clutching my gun close. My hair is stuck to my forehead and stiff. I hardly notice all the bumps or chatter. Cal is in another transport, so he can't keep me company or distract me from the images stuck in my head. I didn't even see him after we arrived.

There was so much blood. So much movement. So much shouting. I was splattered with a mix of Red and Silver blood, even though healers made sure I left unscathed. I think it's worse knowing that the blood isn't mine. I still have some of it in my clothes and face. Being the prince of Norta protected me from any real physical damage, but I won't ever forget what I saw. I always knew this war was pointless. The reason we keep fighting has nothing to do with the origin of the conflict, but that doesn't make the war any less real.

Someone pushes me off my seat as the transport slows to a stop. We're back. I wish I could just leave. I mindlessly step out and take a seat in the floor. We're seated in rows, waiting. For what I'm not sure. I just want a bath to erase all evidence of what I saw. I want to wash it all away. But I can't. My senses are alert and still looking for threats. My mind won't give me rest, showing me vivid images of people dying around me. Burning and bleeding.

"You can let that go now, you know?" someone chuckles beside me.

I turn to see a Red boy, standing in black overalls with a crimson slash across his chest to mark what he is. He looks at me straight in the eye and uses no formality to address me. Does he not know who I am? I faintly remember Cal mentioning a new group of workers from the North coming to camp. He gently removes my fingers from the gun I'm clutching, still staring into my eyes.

"I'll take care of that," he says and then, as explanation, adds, "I'm in charge of ammo."

I raise an eyebrow. Instead of feeling wronged, I'm amused at his ignorance. His treatment is almost a relief and I feel some of my stiffness dissolve.

"What are you doing at the front anyway?" he continues. "You don't look older than me."

"The King sent me here," I say. It's not a lie.

He frowns, his demeanour losing some of the warmth he approached me with. "Right. The Silver King. We're all here because of him, aren't we?"

He says the word like a curse, but I don't reprimand him.

"Except them," he glances at General Lerolan and the other Silvers in Cal's legion. "They actually have a choice."

"Some of them don't," I tell him. I'm not here out of choice, but he assumes I'm Red. That's funny. I guess I really am that dirty that he can't tell the color of my skin.

"A real bummer when they have all the opportunities in the world," he says sarcastically. Who is this boy? His skin is rosy pale and dark auburn hair covers his head. He said I looked his age so he must be a teen still. Not conscripted yet but brought here to work.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Fourteen," he extends a hand towards me. "And I'm Thomas, by the way."

"Maven," I say, shaking his hand.

He beams at me before moving on to the next soldier, collecting their firearms. He is warm with everyone, except the Silvers. They tease him and it makes me surprisingly annoyed. I pull my eyes away from them and leave to take a shower, brushing them off. They're not my problem anyway.