Haunted

The night was still, but Jasmine's mind was anything but. She lay awake, staring up at the worn ceiling of the makeshift barracks, her thoughts drifting through the haze of memories she could never quite escape. The sounds of the camp were quiet now—most of the soldiers had found what little rest they could after another long day of preparation. But Jasmine couldn't sleep. Not anymore.

She had stopped counting how many nights had passed since she had last felt the calm embrace of sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the ghosts of the past came rushing back. Faces she had known, lives she had taken, the terrible weight of the decisions she had made. Caden's face was always there, the guilt of his death like a chain around her heart.

Jasmine sat up, her chest tightening as she tried to breathe through the suffocating sensation of loss. The cold air stung her skin, but it wasn't enough to shake the memories that clung to her. She could still hear his voice sometimes, in the quiet moments between battle plans and the whispers of her soldiers.

"You're going to get yourself killed," he had told her. "Maybe," she had replied, "but at least it'll be for something."

The memory of that conversation haunted her most of all. Caden had been right. He had always been the cautious one, the voice of reason. But Jasmine had pushed forward, convinced that their fight for freedom was worth any price. And now he was gone, a victim of the same war they had vowed to fight together.

She stood, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she stepped out into the night. The air was crisp, the sky above a blanket of stars, but the beauty of it all felt distant, unreachable. Jasmine's footsteps were soft on the dirt path as she walked through the camp, past the sleeping soldiers who had placed their trust in her. Trust she wasn't sure she deserved anymore.

Her feet carried her to the edge of the camp, where the dense forest loomed in shadows. It was quiet out here, away from the fires and the murmurs of the soldiers, but even in the silence, Jasmine couldn't find peace. The memories followed her like a specter, a constant reminder of everything she had lost.

She thought of the village where it had all begun, where she had first met Caden. The warmth of that time felt like a lifetime ago. They had been different people back then—naïve, hopeful, unburdened by the horrors of war. They had believed they could change the world, that they could bring down the king and build something new. But the world hadn't changed. It had only grown darker.

Jasmine clenched her fists, anger bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. Anger at herself, at the world, at the war that had taken everything from her. But most of all, anger at the ghosts that wouldn't let her go.

She could hear them sometimes, in the quiet moments. The voices of those she had lost. The faces of the soldiers she had killed. The weight of every life that had been taken in this war pressed down on her, suffocating her, making it hard to breathe. Caden's voice was the loudest of all, a constant reminder of the choices that had led to his death.

"You should be here," she whispered into the night, her voice barely audible. "You were supposed to be here with me."

But the night didn't answer. The stars didn't offer any comfort. There was only the silence and the cold, and the endless weight of her guilt.

Jasmine sank to her knees, her hands trembling as she pressed them into the earth. The ground was cold beneath her fingers, grounding her in the present, but it did little to chase away the memories. She had fought so hard, for so long, but now she wasn't sure if she had the strength to keep going. How much more could she lose before she broke completely?

But even as the thought crossed her mind, another voice rose within her—a voice of defiance. She had come too far to turn back now. Too many lives had been sacrificed for this fight. Too much blood had been spilled. Caden's death couldn't be for nothing. The lives of her people, her soldiers, couldn't be in vain.

Jasmine stood, wiping the dirt from her hands as she looked out into the forest. The shadows still lingered, but she knew they weren't real. The ghosts of the past couldn't stop her. They couldn't change the choices she had made or the battles she still had to fight.

The price of freedom had been steep, but she wasn't finished paying it. Not yet.

She turned and began to walk back toward the camp, her steps more determined now. The soldiers were counting on her. They needed her to be strong, to lead them in this final push. There would be more bloodshed, more loss, but Jasmine knew that the only way to honor the dead was to keep fighting for the living.

As she approached the center of the camp, Marcus was waiting for her near the largest tent. His face was drawn, the lines of exhaustion clear in his features, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He had been with her from the beginning, through every battle, every loss. He knew the weight she carried, but he also knew she was the only one who could carry it.

"Couldn't sleep?" Marcus asked quietly as she drew near.

Jasmine shook her head. "No. Too much on my mind."

He nodded, understanding without needing to ask. "The scouts came back. The king's forces are on the move again. They're gathering at the southern pass."

Jasmine took a deep breath, nodding as she processed the information. There was no time for weakness, no time to dwell on the past. The war was still raging, and she had to be ready for whatever came next.

"Then we'll meet them there," she said, her voice steady. "Gather the council. We need to make our next move."

Marcus hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching her face. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Jasmine?"

She looked at him, her resolve hardening. "I have to be."

And with that, she turned and walked toward the war room, the weight of the past still lingering in her heart—but no longer holding her back.

The ghosts would follow her, always. But she would keep moving forward, no matter what.