Freedom XII

Hours passed, and the camp outside continued to buzz with the euphoria of victory. The soldiers cheered, though their excitement was dampened by the deep sense of loss from the sacrifices that had been made. Bonfires flickered in the distance, illuminating the dark night sky, but inside Johan's tent, the darkness seemed thicker, oppressive. The victory felt like an illusion; the shadows of moral defeat still haunted him.

Takeshi and Yumi returned, their faces etched with the mental exhaustion of the burden they carried. They stepped into the tent, and Johan, lying weakly on his bed, looked at them with a weary expression that was hard to read.

"How are things out there?" Johan asked, his voice low and heavy.

Takeshi sighed deeply, leaning against the tent post as if trying to draw strength from the sturdy wood. "The rebels have been crushed. The last stronghold has fallen into our hands. The war… is almost over."