Chapter Text
The war, a few days ago, felt like a small world apart from everything she'd been experiencing. Almost a decade ago, two nations fought, but never anything more than borders. As a soldier, she was now one of those souls in trucks headed to the border camps.
The truck occasionally lurched violently, reminding all the women there of the corpses they were driving over. It was, most likely, rubble, but who would stop to remember? She was lucky enough to have been in Solmare during the big attack, but it still didn't feel real.
The streets that had once been her childhood, shattered under the bombs, and she couldn't even see them, trapped among the other nurses on the way to the front lines like her. From what she'd heard in the chatter, for now it was the only way to the first front, on the edges of Redentia, and dangerously close to the border.
She could remember how popular the camp had been at the beginning of the war, the best of the best to recapture Veretzia. After a couple of years, the hype subsided. It was still going strong, certainly better than any camp near Southwest Veretzia.
She could feel herself smile, despite the situation. Not even a week had passed, so many deaths, so many still missing, the country still mourning those from Redentia, both living and dead, but here they were, all the nurses, like them, even giving their lives healing and defending the nation. Refreshing after all those months in the void.
Perhaps it was the deaths that would usher in victory, with renewed strength for justice. She listened to two people at her side, comforting themselves after a small conversation she hadn't wanted to intrude on before.
Before she could help, the truck finally stopped, and the tarp that was the rear door opened after a few seconds.
"Whose side of you, ladies, was assigned the first front?" said the soldier, leaning against the inside of the truck. It was his call. His shoulders jumped, with some excitement.
"I was," he said, already standing up. "The camp on Redentia, right?" He asked, purely out of instinct to have a little conversation with the man as he helped her out.
"Aye," he replied simply, as she quickly cleaned her uniform, still white as the day it had been delivered. As she closed the tarp again, the soldier sighed and smiled. "The whole nation is proud of you, lady. What would we soldiers be without the certainty that someone would try to get us back home? I appreciate it."
"We're in this together, aren't we?" she concluded, shifting her gaze to the camp entrance, waiting in front of the truck. A general was waiting there, his hands clasped behind her back, imposing.
"Good luck," the soldier began to walk to the front of the truck, she at his side. As she climbed into the passenger seat, the truck began to reverse down the dirt road.
The general looked at her, as expressive as a stone. The road was slightly incline, but even with her suitcase in hand, the ground was dry and didn't make the climb difficult.
"Sir," she gave a small nod as she approached. The man extended his hand, and she took it, only to have her hand automatically squeezed in a salute.
"General Raymond Lambert, miss," he introduced himself, with a small nod. After she introduced herself, he continued, "If I remember correctly, you're the nurse who signed up to be a volunteer surgeon's assistant, aren't you?"
"The process was accelerated by everything that's happened in the last few weeks, but yes, that's correct."
"I must warn you that things have happened at the camp since you volunteered until today. The camp surgeon no longer works here, and it's her son who's in charge of the medical tent." The man became distant as he spoke, gesturing with his hand for her to follow.
"I didn't know Ms. Noluet had children who would have preferred the healing route to being soldiers." *She had never heard of the woman having children, in the first place*
"Little Francis is one of my problems today. You'll understand when you get to know him. He's a bright boy, he can read, and he knows how to operate. I don't want to leave him as the head of the camp's medical team, but I haven't found anyone better to replace him."
"A child? A child surgeon? What are you talking about? How?" His face twisted into a grimace. First teenage soldiers, now child surgeons?
"He was raised exclusively by his mother, and Clémence's maternal instinct wasn't strong enough to keep him away from the elements of surgery. A true prodigy in his element. He recently suffered a serious injury, but not even my prayers can get him out of the medical tent."
"Is he there now?" she dared to ask, still not believing a single word coming out of the man's mouth.
"I'm sure. Please consider your words in front of him. Many things have happened recently, both within and beyond your control. The medical tent is that one," he said, pointing to one of the olive-colored tents twice as long as the others around it, near the entrance. "I'll be in mine, which is directly across the street. It's about 40 meters at most, in case of an emergency."
She swallowed back any questions for now and nodded as the general turned to walk away. She could ask Francis where to put his things and where to spend the night, she consoled herself as she walked toward the famous medical tent.
When she pulled back the tarp that acted as a door, sunlight through the clouds was easily the only illumination in the place. Was the boy really all right? She decided to leave the door open; even the air inside was thick. Upon entering, she was immediately confronted by a large desk, piled high with papers, books, and even handwritten journals. Medications tucked into a half-open drawer she decided not to touch.
She picked up the notebook, written horribly in cursive, the handwriting so unique it was almost illegible. Still, she flipped through a few pages out of simple curiosity.
She looked up at the sound of footsteps behind her, the small footsteps of a child. Her heart sank. Had she been reading these things? She could remember herself as a child, playing in the dirt with her sisters or just other girls on the streets of a city that was no longer alive.
She turned around, only to find herself staring into the deadly gaze of the boy who didn't seem to have slept a day in his life. A chill ran down her spine when he frowned at her for a moment.
"Don't read those," he hissed with preternatural authority, as if she were breaking the rules of the place. Unwilling to argue, she simply put the journal back where it had been.
"I wasn't reading it, don't worry. You must be Francis, right? Did you... write it?"
A small, awkward silence formed as Francis studied her as if she were a weapon. The boy was missing an arm, right up to his shoulder. Another shiver. He had dark circles under his eyes, but his eyes were sharp and seemed to see through anything. Only three seconds passed before his mouth twisted slightly and his eyes narrowed a little further. He seemed to examine her, layer by layer.
"My mother did. But she isn't here anymore, so it doesn't matter. Don't touch the books. Most of them are old and fragile." She nodded and looked around the tent.
"Is it usually dark in here?" she dared to ask, to which he raised an eyebrow.
"I usually study at night and take breaks during the day. There are lamps if you want to light them." The boy walked past her, gathering his books on the desk more nimbly than she expected.
She introduced herself, as his back was turned, but received no response.
A few more seconds of awkward silence passed, until she approached and placed her hand on the boy's left shoulder, as far from the bandage as she could. Francis jumped, leaning forward and gripping the edge of the table with his hand. She quickly let go, to which he sighed, as sharp as his gaze, and turned to her, his eyes wider than before. He looked her up and down, unfocused.
"What?"
He didn't dare say anything for a moment, forgetting what he was doing before.
"Do you know where I can put my stuff?" she asked, her voice trembling. She didn't know if she feared the boy more, or what he'd been through, but it seemed to be enough.
"The tents next to these are empty, except for the last one; it's mine," she said, before returning to the desk and the books.
She finally left the tent, already unused to the noise outside, the voices, the color, the freedom. She walked, her suitcase dangling from her hand as she moved. She understood the General a little better, but a conversation had been enough to waste her mental energy for the moment. The empty tents were small, with only a bed and a nightstand with two drawers. She put down her suitcase and stretched her back.
The boy was truly alone in this world; she'd felt it in his steps and gaze, but she didn't have the courage to try to help. As a nurse, that was her duty.
She had nothing to lose by trying.