Bloodshed – Chapter 5: The First Question
Dawn broke over the battlefield in muted grays. Smoke still clung to the ruins like a shroud, and the smell of ash and blood lingered heavy in the air. King moved quietly, boots pressing into mud, rifle at the ready, eyes scanning the shattered streets.
He had grown used to the silence between battles. Not the peace of the world, but the pause between chaos, the quiet that allowed reflection—and dread—to creep in.
"King."
The voice was calm, not demanding, but it carried a weight he couldn't ignore. He turned to see Lieutenant Kael approaching, a man older by only a few years, eyes sharp but not cruel. He moved differently from the other soldiers—slightly careful, as if the world had taught him to measure every step.
"What do you want?" King said, voice low. He didn't like conversations, not after seeing too many die for words.
Kael studied him for a moment, then crouched beside a burned-out wall, brushing mud off his hands. "I saw you with the boy yesterday," he said. "The one asking if God would help. You told him…"
King looked away. "It doesn't matter. He doesn't need answers he wouldn't understand."
Kael's eyes didn't waver. "You think God is cruel, don't you?"
King laughed quietly, bitter and short. "If He exists, He has to be. He lets this happen. He lets children die, lets families burn, lets men kill each other for nothing. That's not mercy. That's cruelty."
Kael nodded slowly. "And yet… you believe He exists?"
King's laugh caught in his throat. "Of course He exists. Someone has to watch this, even if He doesn't care. Someone has to be up there. Otherwise, it's just chaos. Pure chaos."
Kael didn't respond immediately. He looked out over the ruins, then back at King. "Maybe you're wrong."
King's brow furrowed. "Wrong? About what?"
"About Him, about this world, about what cruelty really is." Kael's gaze was steady, unshaken by the smoke or the ruins. "You think because God doesn't intervene, He is cruel. But maybe… maybe the cruelty isn't from Him. Maybe it's from men, from choices, from what we do to each other."
King's hands tightened around his rifle. "Men? Men start wars, kill, burn villages, murder children. I've seen it. You're telling me God is innocent?"
Kael shrugged. "I'm telling you… maybe God isn't responsible for every act of suffering. Maybe He gives us free will, and this is what happens when free will meets ignorance and hate."
King's chest tightened. He had heard this argument before, in sermons, in whispers—but never from someone who had seen it all and lived. "Free will," he muttered. "Do you know what it's like to hold a dying child and hear Him call for mercy, while I stand helpless? That isn't free will. That's Him watching us burn. That's Him being cruel."
Kael looked at him, unafraid. "And yet you still live. You survive. You act. You think, you question. You feel. That's also free will. Maybe that's the point. Not to blame God for cruelty, but to understand how we respond to it. To see how we bear it, and what we choose to do with it."
King wanted to argue, to shout that Kael didn't understand. But deep down, he knew this man had seen the same horrors. He had lived. He had made choices. And yet… he still held to some belief, some perspective that didn't match King's anger.
Silence stretched between them. The ruins whispered. Smoke swirled. Somewhere, a child cried.
Finally, King muttered, almost to himself, "Maybe. But if God exists… I still think everyone deserves an apology. From Him. From someone."
Kael nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe the apology is in how we act, not who we pray to."
King didn't answer. He looked out over the ruined village, the bodies, the smoke curling skyward. His chest burned with grief and rage, but also… a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time: doubt.
Not about God's existence, but about everything he thought he knew.
And in that quiet moment, as the battlefield woke around them, King realized the war wasn't just outside. It was also inside him.