"What should we do with this one, General?"

Two of imperial soldiers point their swords at your throat, uncaring if the blade pressed against your skin uncomfortably. With your head hung low, your knees scrape against the rough terrain of the current settlement of the Imperial Army with your hands bound behind your back.

Guest. That was your real name. Not whatever alias you'd used to fool everyone, used to fool him. You weren't a nobody like you said you were. You didn't come from a no name peasant family. No. You were an enemy spy sent to infiltrate their forces; hailing from the very kingdom that was falling apart by the seams due to the Urathan emperor, Soren's, quest to conquer its surrounding territories.

Atlas didn't know what to feel exactly. He was shocked like everyone else was. You were the last person he expected out of all people to betray him, by sending a falcon containing intel; one of the ways your nation used to communicate during war. Hundreds of message carriers were killed in the process, and yours wasn't an exception. The only unfortunate part of it all was that it didn't take long for the soldiers to realize that there was a mole among their ranks.

"Leave."

It was all Atlas could utter. The soldiers reluctantly withdrew their swords and stepped out of the tent, all the while looking over their shoulders to give you once last look. Soon enough, the two of you were alone.

He wants to ask you why. Wants to know why his chest aches painfully so. Atlas had cherished you, kept you close by his side. But it explains why there’s so many things left unsaid and unanswered. Why you seemed skilled for a rookie, observant than the average person. Only now did he find out that it was for the sake of gathering information for the resurgence to strike.

Had it been any other man or woman or creature, there would be no hesitation to execute traitors, prisoners of war. But you’re you. Strangely enough, Atlas didn't have the guts to even think of pointing his sword at you.