A Reason to Fight: Part One

The crisp morning air did little to calm Shen’s frayed nerves. The town square assaulted his senses—merchants hawking their wares, children darting through the streets with peals of laughter, and the rich scent of freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby stall. Shen pulled his coat tighter, a futile attempt to blend into a world that still felt utterly alien.

He kept his head low, his gaze fixed on the worn leather of his boots scraping against the cobblestones, until a booming voice shattered his focus.

"Shen! There you are."

Looking up, Shen saw the man from before—his supposed brother, Geno. A merchant had casually dropped the name moments earlier, and now Shen had something to attach to the stranger who had saved him.

Geno approached with a confident stride, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the lively backdrop of the square. He wore a soldier's uniform, its dark leather trimmed with the silver glint of his rank.

"You're late," Geno said, his tone a mix of impatience and familiar teasing. "Said you’d meet me here ages ago."

Shen hesitated, caught off guard by the easy familiarity. "Sorry... I got distracted," he muttered, forcing a note of casualness into his voice.

A smirk played on Geno’s lips as he clapped a heavy hand on Shen’s shoulder. "Same as ever. Lucky you've got me to keep you on track."

Shen managed a faint, uncertain smile. Geno, however, seemed to miss his unease, continuing as if this were a conversation they’d had a thousand times before.

"You know the drill. We've got the garrison to inspect, supplies to inventory, and a report to deliver by sundown. Standard stuff."

As Geno spoke, Shen listened intently, absorbing every word. Though his brother was merely reciting their duties, Shen was piecing together the fragments of a life he had inherited. A soldier. That's who I'm supposed to be.

"And keep that sword sharp," Geno added, his tone shifting almost imperceptibly. "You might be fast, but speed alone won't save you if you're careless."

Shen nodded absently, his attention suddenly snagged by a figure across the square. Near the stone walls of a small church, a young woman knelt in the dirt. She clutched a simple wooden cross on a necklace, her trembling fingers tracing its surface as her lips moved in silent prayer.

The sight of her was striking, not for her beauty, but for the profound sadness that seemed to envelop her like a shroud. She appeared fragile, yet there was a quiet strength in the way she clung to the cross, as if it were her only anchor in a turbulent sea.

"Saw her earlier," Geno remarked, following Shen’s gaze. "One of the nuns from the church."

Before Shen could ask more, an older nun emerged from the church, her steps slow and deliberate. She placed a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, her expression stern but not unkind.

"Lina," the elder said quietly. "It’s time."

Lina’s face tightened as she nodded. She rose gracefully to her feet, the cross still clutched in her hand.

Shen felt an inexplicable pull toward her, a strange resonance between her sorrow and the emptiness deep within him. But Geno’s voice snapped him back to the present.

"Come on, let's move," Geno said, gesturing down the road.

Shen followed without a word, his gaze sweeping over the bustling streets. The town was a tapestry of life—merchants haggling, children weaving between carts, the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer on iron. Despite the vibrancy, a gnawing sense of detachment settled over him. He didn't belong here. And yet, here he was.

Geno broke the silence as they walked. "You know, I've been telling you this for years. If you'd just listen for once, you'd see how much easier your life could be."

Shen glanced at him, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Geno sighed, shaking his head as though the answer were obvious. "Becoming a general. It's the fastest way to live an honorable life, to actually achieve something."

The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Shen didn’t respond, but Geno pressed on, oblivious.

"Think about it. You’d have status, respect, protection. People look up to generals. And you’d live comfortably—decent pay, a good house, no scraping by like some common laborer." Geno’s voice was earnest now. "And if you ever decide to marry? A general’s wife is protected by the kingdom’s laws. You could build a family that could actually depend on you. Isn't that what every man wants?"

Shen’s steps faltered. Status, respect, protection… The concepts felt foreign, yet they tugged at the edges of his fragmented consciousness.

"That sounds… straightforward," Shen said cautiously, his uncertainty coloring his tone.

Geno chuckled, clapping him on the back again. "Straightforward? It’s the best deal you’ll get. You have the skills, Shen—you just lack the drive. That's what separates the men who make something of themselves from the ones who don't."

The comment stung more than Shen expected. The ones who don't. The phrase echoed in his mind, stirring ghosts of his old life—a life defined by avoidance, by a string of broken connections and abandoned responsibilities.

"What's stopping you, anyway?" Geno asked, breaking through his reverie.

Shen hesitated, struggling to voice the nebulous fears that held him back. "I… I don't know if I'm cut out for it."

"That's your problem," Geno said, shaking his head in exasperation. "You overthink everything. It’s not about being ready. It's about doing what needs to be done. Trust me, if you don’t figure that out soon, you’re going to regret it."

Regret. The word hit Shen like a physical blow. His past was a monument to regret, a landscape of missed opportunities. This new world was supposed to be a second chance—a chance to be someone different.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of inspections and reports. Shen followed Geno, observing his brother's easy command as he dealt with soldiers, merchants, and townsfolk. Each interaction was a lesson in the rigid hierarchies and unspoken rules of this harsh reality.

By the time they returned to the town square, the sun was a fiery smear on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Their path led them past the church again. There, kneeling near the entrance, was Lina. In the fading light, she carved delicate patterns into a new wooden cross with a small blade, her movements precise and reverent, her face a mask of quiet sorrow.

Shen slowed his pace, mesmerized. It wasn't just her sadness that drew him in, but the way she carried it—a burden long accepted, yet never forgotten.

"What are you staring at?" Geno asked, snapping Shen from his thoughts.

"Nothing," Shen replied quickly, though his gaze lingered on Lina as they walked on.

Later, as the evening chill settled in, Geno’s words returned to him, intertwining with the haunting image of the sorrowful nun.

The fastest way to live an honorable life, where you achieve something.

The phrase looped in his mind, pulling him deeper into reflection. He had never considered himself honorable, or even capable of achieving anything of worth. But wasn't that the entire point of this second chance? To do something different? To become someone better?