Chapter 9: Memory, Betrayal, and the Final Move

Three years later.

Marcus betrayed us, teaming up with foreign agents, and they invaded again. The government suffered defeat after defeat, and even the little fishing village got caught up in the chaos.

The news came on a crackly AM radio, voices frantic, towns burning. Even the old men playing checkers at the general store felt the fear. The world had shifted again, and I felt the old weight settle on my shoulders.

After many twists and turns, I regained my memory.

The sound of gunfire brought it back—the smell of cordite and diesel, the sight of a tattered American flag snapping over a burning barn. Suddenly, I remembered everything—Lillian, the army, the promise I’d made to protect the people.

As is tradition, for the sake of the people, I put on my uniform again and drove out the invaders.

The old jacket still fit, though it smelled of fish and river mud. The villagers cheered as I boarded a battered pickup, rifle slung over my shoulder. It was time to fight again, for more than just memories.

Also worth noting, the heroine Lillian regained her memory too. After more than a hundred chapters of reflection, she realized she’d fallen in love with Carter…

For the heroine’s sake, Carter and I clashed fiercely, nearly coming to blows.

The confrontation was broadcast on every channel—two men, both broken, both desperate, standing on the Capitol steps as the world watched. The sky thundered overhead, and the crowd held its breath.

The heroine, with the world on her mind, jumped from the Capitol steps to stop Carter and me from fighting and bringing more suffering to the people—thus achieving a beautifully tragic ending.

Her fall was slow and silent, the city hushed in shock. I felt the world tilt beneath my feet. For a moment, time froze—no gunfire, no anger, just the sound of her heartbeat echoing in my ears.

At that moment, I received a letter the heroine had written before her death.

The gist: we were once good together, but now I’m with someone else—please understand, don’t be angry.

Her handwriting was delicate, the words smudged with tears. I read it alone, the city’s noise muffled behind closed doors. The pain was sharp, but not unexpected.

And she hoped I would turn my small love for her into a great love for the people, guard the North, and protect the nation’s peace.

My tears fell hot and bitter, streaking down cheeks roughened by years of war. But in that moment, I understood—the story was never really about us. It was always about the country, and what we could make of it.

But now, having led my army to D.C., I have no idea how Carter will respond.

The day after I set up camp outside the capital, the vice president arrived.

A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up in the predawn light, Secret Service fanning out in crisp suits and mirrored shades. The vice president stepped out, silver-haired and smiling like he’d just won the lottery. He shook my hand with the firm grip of a man used to politics and poker nights at the country club.