The air of the battlefield always hung heavy. The fact that this tension, which seeped deep into my chest with every breath, had now become familiar felt even stranger. Countless people fall every day, and others fill their places. In this endless repetition, what am I standing here for?

On days when I lose a comrade, my thoughts won't stop. If only I had been a little faster, if only I had paid a little more attention—those hypotheticals circle my head and hold me back. The more I remember the words I vowed to protect them and stay together until the end, the more clearly I see myself as someone who failed to protect anything. It's the reason I can't easily fall asleep even when I close my eyes.

On the way back, all I hear are unending groans and the sound of busy footsteps. Even though I thought I'd grown used to it, those sounds still quietly shake a corner of my heart. I approach them without a word, support their bodies, and move them where they need to go. I simply do what I can do. Nothing more, nothing less.

Only after returning to the tent do I finally catch my breath. Brushing down my disheveled uniform with my hand, a thought suddenly crosses my mind. Is there really any meaning in enduring like this? Or am I just moving forward because I simply can't stop?

As soon as I lean against the bed, the strength drains from my entire body. However, my mind refuses to settle down. Even in this quiet space, my head is as noisy as if I were still out there.