The road into Mavrah East was worse than they remembered.
Jagged terrain stretched like scars across the earth, where every step felt like a gamble. The convoy had to halt two kilometers from the estimated civilian shelter due to a landslide from recent shelling. From here, it was all on foot.
Rafiq led the group. His silhouette carved a resolute path across the broken land, dust curling behind him with every step. Hana followed, backpack tight against her shoulders, medical gear clinking faintly inside. Her hands stayed close to her sides, fingers twitching with the need to be useful.
They weren't alone.
Ten soldiers moved with them, split into a diamond formation, alert but silent. The sky, still heavy with ash and smoke, had turned a muted gray. It sucked the color from everything—turning their surroundings into a grim, monochrome world.
Their objective was simple: reach the underground shelter buried beneath the remains of an old school and extract as many survivors as possible. But the terrain wasn't the real threat.
Rafiq knew it.
So did Hana.
"Sniper ridge is just east of that slope," Rafiq whispered, pointing as they approached a cluster of hollowed-out homes. "Stay low. They've been active here."
Hana crouched instinctively, her breath sharp in her throat. Her boots crunched over broken tile and glass as they ducked behind a crumbling wall. Her heart thudded, not from fear, but from anticipation. The closer they got, the more real everything became.
A sharp whistle tore the air.
"Down!" someone shouted.
A bullet punched into the ground beside them, sending up a puff of dirt.
Return fire cracked from their flank. Rafiq dropped beside Hana, grabbing his comm.
"Eyes on shooter?"
"North roof, four o'clock. Solo gunner," Maaz replied.
"I'll flank left."
"No, I'll go," Hana said before thinking.
Rafiq gave her a hard stare. "You're not a soldier."
"I'm not, but I'm not staying here waiting to get shot either."
He hesitated. She saw it. Then he handed her a small mirror from his side pouch.
"Use this around corners. Don't be a hero."
She nodded.
As Rafiq and the others pinned down the shooter, Hana crawled left through a destroyed hallway that once led to classrooms. Her knees scraped against stone and metal. Her breath caught in her throat. She reached the far side and angled the mirror.
There. The sniper.
A girl. No older than seventeen. Perched on a ledge, her rifle steady, her face streaked with dirt and resolve.
Hana's stomach dropped.
"Rafiq," she whispered into her comm. "She's just a kid."
"Armed?"
"Yes."
A pause. Then, "Do not engage. I'm coming to you."
Minutes crawled by like years. Then Rafiq appeared, crouched low, rifle in hand. He glanced in the mirror.
"We get close, she might panic and fire."
"I can talk to her."
"Hana—"
"She's just scared. Let me try."
She stood slowly, stepping into the sniper's line of sight.
The girl flinched, raising her rifle.
"Don't!" Hana shouted, hands up. "I'm unarmed."
The girl hesitated.
"My name is Hana," she said. "I'm a doctor. We're not here to hurt you."
The rifle trembled in the girl's hands.
"Please," Hana continued, voice low. "We're looking for survivors. Civilians. Children. That's all."
Tears welled in the girl's eyes. She didn't lower the weapon, but she didn't fire either.
Then Rafiq stepped into view.
Her eyes widened.
"You're soldiers," she hissed.
"We're here for the people in the shelters. Not to fight," Rafiq said calmly.
"I saw soldiers drag my brother away."
"We're not them."
Silence.
Finally, she lowered her rifle.
Rafiq stepped forward and took the weapon gently.
"You've got good aim," he said.
The girl said nothing, only sank to her knees, shaking.
Hana rushed to her, checking her arms and face for injuries. The girl didn't resist. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days.
"What's your name?" Hana asked softly.
"Layla."
"Okay, Layla. You're safe now."
Rafiq radioed the others. "Sniper neutralized. Civilian. Bringing her in."
They reached the school's remnants an hour later. Smoke still drifted from nearby shells, and the faint sound of distant conflict rumbled like a storm refusing to die.
A metal grate beneath a collapsed flagpole marked the entrance to the shelter.
"Clear the debris," Rafiq ordered.
With effort, the team lifted the rubble, revealing a narrow stairwell leading down into darkness. One by one, they descended.
Flashlights swept through the tunnel. Dust coated the walls. The air was stale, but breathable.
Then—movement.
A child.
Wide eyes. Dirty face. He blinked at them, then turned and ran down the hallway.
"Follow him!"
They reached the main room.
Dozens were there. Adults, children, the elderly. Pale from hunger and fear. They recoiled at first, unsure.
"We're here to get you out," Hana said quickly.
A woman stepped forward. "They said no one was coming."
"Well, they were wrong."
Rafiq turned to Maaz. "Get the transports on standby. We'll need every seat."
Then he turned to Hana.
"Start checking the wounded."
She nodded and got to work. Broken limbs. Infected wounds. Dehydration. It was a battlefield down here, just without bullets.
Layla stayed close, helping pass supplies and translate. She was quiet, but her hands were steady. She didn't speak much, but she didn't run either.
As Hana bandaged a boy's leg, she glanced over and saw Rafiq talking to the shelter leader.
Something flickered in her chest.
She wasn't alone in this.
And neither was he.
Hours later, with the wounded stable and the civilians organized, they began the slow march back. Through smoke. Through fear. Through danger.
Layla walked beside Hana, her rifle slung across her back—not as a weapon, but as a memory.
The sun broke through the ash just once.
It shone golden over the rubble, over the children clutching faded toys, over the woman who stayed when everyone else left, and the soldier who refused to give up.
And in that light, fleeting as it was, they felt something almost forgotten.
Hope.
The survivors followed closely, their steps cautious, as if expecting the world to crack beneath them. Hana stayed near the back, helping a limping old man keep pace. Layla walked beside her, quiet and alert, her small hand gripping the edge of Hana's shirt. The girl hadn't spoken since they'd left the cellar, but her eyes missed nothing—every sound, every motion, every flicker of tension in the adults around her.
Rafiq led them with practiced focus, eyes constantly scanning the path ahead. Maaz flanked him, whispering reports from their forward scouts.
"North looks clear. But too quiet," Maaz muttered.
"It's always quiet before it goes loud," Rafiq replied grimly.
The canyon ahead funneled them into a narrow path. High cliffs loomed on either side, casting long shadows. It was a natural choke point—bad for movement, worse for defense.
They moved in tight formation. Every sound—the crunch of boots on gravel, the creak of a loose strap, a cough—echoed too loud.
Then came the crack of a sniper round.
Rafiq reacted instantly. "DOWN!"
The world exploded into motion.
Another shot—then two more. Stone shattered inches from where Hana crouched, pulling Layla close. Screams erupted. Dust clouded the air.
"Ambush! North ridge!" Maaz shouted.
Rafiq dragged a boy to cover and returned fire. "Return fire! Civilians behind the rocks!"
His team moved fast, flanking the ridge while laying down suppressing fire. Hana shielded Layla and the old man behind a boulder, heart pounding.
"We're pinned," Maaz called. "Sniper's got high ground."
"We need to move," Rafiq shouted back. "Smoke out the ridge—go now!"
Grenades hissed and popped, thick smoke blooming across the canyon walls. The gunfire lessened as visibility dropped. It was their only chance.
Rafiq turned to Hana. "We need to run. I'll cover—get them moving."
Hana hesitated—then nodded. She signaled the others. "One at a time—go!"
The old man went first, then the children, then the mothers. Layla clung to Hana's hand as they sprinted through the haze, ducking low. Bullets whipped past, but none struck.
They reached the far rocks. Rafiq was last, firing blind into the smoke, giving cover until everyone was across. Then he dove behind the nearest boulder, breath heaving.
Maaz slid down beside him. "We neutralized two—third got away."
Rafiq's jaw tightened. "They knew our route."
Maaz nodded grimly. "Someone tipped them off."
Rafiq glanced back at the group huddled behind cover—faces pale, children crying softly, Hana cradling Layla. He couldn't lose anyone. Not today.
"We move fast. No more resting. If they know we're here, more will come."
They pressed forward, through the dust and smoke, until the canyon gave way to rolling hills and the distant outline of their base shimmered against the horizon.
A cheer broke out when the first soldiers from the outer patrol spotted them and waved.
They had made it.
Mostly.
Back at base, the survivors were ushered into the temporary medical wing. Doctors and volunteers scrambled to treat the injured. Children received warm blankets and water. Some cried. Some sat in stunned silence.
Hana stood beside Layla, who refused to leave her side.
"You did well today," Rafiq said quietly, approaching them. His face was streaked with soot and sweat, but his eyes were calm.
"I didn't do enough," Hana replied.
"You saved her," he nodded toward Layla. "And a dozen others."
Layla looked up. "Is my mother… coming too?"
Hana crouched, heart twisting. "I… don't know, sweetheart. But we're going to help you find her. I promise."
Rafiq crouched too. "You're very brave. Do you want to help us make sure the other kids are okay?"
Layla nodded slowly.
"Good. Because we need strong girls like you."
Layla straightened a little, then followed a nurse into the triage area.
When she was gone, Hana sank onto a bench. "I hate not having answers for them."
"You gave her something better than answers," Rafiq said. "You gave her hope."
She looked up. "That doesn't feel like enough anymore."
Rafiq sat beside her. "You've been through a lot. You've seen the worst of this place and stayed anyway."
A long pause.
Then Hana said, "When I was in med school, I thought the worst thing would be losing a patient in surgery. I never imagined watching a whole town die around me."
Rafiq didn't respond. He didn't need to. The silence between them was an answer all its own.
Eventually, Hana asked, "What happens next?"
"We regroup. Get them settled. Then Command will want another push. Mavrah's not stable yet."
"And you'll go?"
"I always do."
She looked at him. "You're going to get yourself killed."
His smile was tired. "That's not the plan."
Just then, Maaz entered, his expression unreadable.
"We've got a situation," he said. "Command wants you both."
Hana blinked. "Me?"
Maaz nodded. "Come on."
Inside the command tent, the mood was tense.
A map of Mavrah lit up the screen. Red markers spread across the eastern sector.
Colonel Rahim looked up as they entered. "Satellite confirmed it. New insurgent camp. Bigger than we thought. They're moving supplies—preparing for a siege."
Rafiq studied the map. "It's too soon. They're not ready."
"They don't care. They want control of the entire corridor."
The colonel turned to Hana. "You're the only civilian who knows the terrain—and the hiding spots refugees still use."
"I'm a doctor, not a scout."
"But you've been out there. You know what's left."
Hana looked between them. "What are you asking?"
"We need you to come with us," Rafiq said. "One more time. Show us where the last of them might be."
She hesitated.
Then said, "Alright."
They left again the next morning.
This time, the air felt different. Heavier. As if the ground itself knew something worse was coming.
Layla stood beside the medical tent, watching them go. She didn't cry. She just waved, small and steady.
Hana waved back, heart aching. "She's not safe here."
Rafiq said, "No one is. But she has you. That matters."
Hana nodded.
They moved into the desert again—back toward the fire.
This wasn't the end.
This was the middle of the storm.
But even in the worst of it, they walked side by side.
And that, for now, was enough.
They walked in silence for hours, the sun climbing high above the dunes. The dry air clawed at Hana's lungs, and every step stirred clouds of dust that clung to their boots. But neither she nor Rafiq complained.
They passed the skeleton of a burned-out transport truck, its metal shell melted and twisted. The acrid memory of fire lingered in the air. Hana paused beside it, running her hand along the warped frame.
"There were people in here," she said softly.
Rafiq glanced back. "We never found out how many."
She stared into the blackened husk. "Their families probably never found out what happened."
"No records. No closure. Just silence," he muttered.
Hana sighed. "So much of this war feels like screaming into the dark."
They pressed forward. Hours later, the ground rose slightly, leading to the remains of a once-bustling village. Shattered walls stood like jagged teeth. A dried-out well sat in the center, surrounded by dust and forgotten toys.
Rafiq crouched near the well, scanning the horizon. "We'll rest here. Only twenty minutes."
Hana dropped her pack and sat on a stone, flexing her sore legs. Maaz kept watch with a small team, scanning the distant ridges.
"You okay?" Rafiq asked her, voice low.
"I'm tired," she admitted. "Tired of walking through ghosts."
He offered her a small canteen. She took a sip, grateful for the cool water.
"Why do you keep doing this?" she asked. "You're not from here. You could've left a long time ago."
Rafiq didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted over the broken village.
"My mother used to say a place becomes your home when you bleed for it," he said finally. "I've bled enough here to make this mine."
Hana looked at him. "But bleeding for something doesn't always save it."
"No," he agreed. "But sometimes it's not about saving. Sometimes it's about standing between what's left and what's coming."
A soft sound interrupted them.
Maaz signaled from the far side of the well. "You need to see this."
They followed him to a nearby house—or what remained of one. Inside, in a narrow crawlspace behind collapsed furniture, they found a child.
Barely six. Filthy. Starving. But alive.
She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She just stared at them with wide, unblinking eyes.
Hana knelt and reached out gently. "It's okay. We're not here to hurt you."
The girl flinched at first. Then, slowly, she inched forward into Hana's arms.
Maaz exhaled. "We need to move now. If one survived, there could be more."
They swept the ruins, calling out softly, carefully.
Two more children emerged—one with a broken arm, the other mute from shock. No adults. Just the scattered remains of those who'd tried to protect them.
They gathered the children, wrapping them in spare blankets and giving them water. The smallest girl clung to Hana's leg as they prepared to leave.
Rafiq gave a nod. "Back to base. Fast."
Night fell before they reached camp again. The medics rushed the children to the infirmary. Hana followed, refusing to rest until she'd seen them treated.
Hours passed.
By the time she stepped outside, the stars had bled across the sky like cracks in black glass. Rafiq was sitting on a sandbag outside the command tent, smoking.
"Three more," he said as she approached. "Thanks to you."
She sat beside him. "It wasn't just me."
He glanced sideways. "I don't mean just today. I mean all of it. You stayed when most ran. You patched up strangers, buried friends, and never stopped fighting."
Hana looked at the smoke curling from his cigarette. "I didn't think it would matter."
"It does," he said simply.
She leaned back, letting the silence stretch.
Then—softly—"Do you ever wonder who we'd be if none of this happened?"
"All the time," Rafiq said.
"What do you think you'd be?"
He smiled faintly. "Architect. I liked building things when I was a kid."
"That makes sense," she said. "You still build things. Just not with bricks."
He looked at her. "What about you?"
"I wanted to be a dancer," Hana admitted. "When I was little."
He raised an eyebrow. "A dancer?"
"Yeah. Ballet. My mom used to call me her 'twirling tornado.'" She laughed softly, a sound tinged with sadness. "But then war came. Twirling wasn't exactly useful anymore."
"You still move like one," Rafiq said. "Fast. Focused. Full of fire."
She looked at him.
For a brief moment, something hung between them—fragile and unspoken. The pull of two people caught in the same storm, walking the same ruined ground.
But then the tent flap opened, and Maaz stepped out.
"Colonel wants you both," he said. "Urgent intel from Mavrah."
Rafiq stood, the moment vanishing like smoke in the wind.
Inside, Colonel Rahim stood over a screen filled with flickering red dots.
"We've confirmed the convoy route. The insurgents are transporting chemical canisters—possible weaponized agents," he said. "They're headed toward refugee sectors."
Rafiq's jaw clenched. "They'd use chemical gas on camps?"
"They've done worse," the Colonel said. "We need to intercept before they deploy."
Hana's heart dropped. "What do you want me to do?"
"You're the only one who's mapped the old sewer paths under that quadrant," the Colonel said. "If we move in loud, we risk killing civilians. We need you to guide a team through the underground and neutralize the stockpile quietly."
She hesitated.
"You don't have to go," Rafiq said gently.
But Hana nodded. "I do."
They left that night.
Down into the underworld of broken pipes and crumbling concrete. The air was thick with mildew and the echo of dripping water.
They moved in silence, flashlights off. Just red infrared glows and whispered commands.
Hana led them through the maze of tunnels, ducking low, crawling through collapsed ducts, inching through water-filled shafts.
Finally, they reached the chamber—a hidden stockpile.
Barrels stacked. Marked with red hazard symbols. Guarded by six armed men.
Rafiq signaled the team. Then, in a precise, quiet flurry, the soldiers moved.
Three minutes. No gunshots. Just muffled strikes. Then silence.
The barrels were secured. The threat, stopped.
And yet, as they stood in the flickering gloom, Hana looked at the labels on the barrels.
"They weren't just going to use this," she whispered. "They were going to burn everything."
Rafiq put a hand on her shoulder.
"They didn't get the chance."
By dawn, they were back at base.
And for the first time in weeks, the air felt still.
Not safe. But still.
Hana sat by the infirmary tent where the rescued children were sleeping. Layla sat beside her, drawing in the dirt with a stick.
"What are you drawing?" Hana asked.
Layla smiled. "A safe place."
Hana looked at the messy lines and crooked stars. "It's beautiful."
"Will we go there someday?" Layla asked.
Hana reached for her hand. "Someday. I promise."
As the sun rose over the shattered horizon, it painted the sky in crimson again.
But this time, beneath that crimson sky, there was a flicker of something else.
A beginning.