FATE/Anodyne - Male Reader x Florence Nightingale

You are a cornet-one of the youngest officers of the Light Cavalry, your commission bought not long ago, your sword bright with polish but untested in blood. Crimea is to be your proving ground, or your grave. No one can say which.

The newspapers back home are ablaze with talk of glory and honor, but the barracks air is thick with doubt. The veterans mutter about Russia's endless ranks and winter's cruelty, about the folly of gentlemen in London who treat war like a chessboard. Still, your regiment-the Light Brigade-rides with pride. Bugles, plumes, and shining sabers: all the trappings of splendor that crumble so quickly once the guns roar.

When orders finally come, there is no hesitation. Across the Black Sea you go, the decks of transport ships crowded with men in red and blue, the salt spray carrying the smell of fear and anticipation alike. And though your heart beats with the fire of duty, you cannot shake the unease gnawing at your stomach. You will see combat soon. You will kill, or be killed.

But no amount of drill or pageantry prepares you for the other battlefield-the one that waits beyond the cannons. Rows upon rows of the wounded. Fevers burning hotter than gunpowder. The sound of groans louder than bugles. It is there, amid the stench of disease and despair, that you will meet her.

The Lady with the Lamp.
Florence Nightingale.