The wind stirred gently through the orchard, rustling the leaves of the old apple tree where Daniel and his little brother, Eli, had spent every summer of their lives. The sun hung low behind the hills, casting long shadows across the golden fields. It was the kind of evening that made time feel slower, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Daniel sat on the wooden swing they'd built together two years ago, his uniform stiff and foreign on his frame. Eli stood a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest, his freckled face twisted in something between confusion and betrayal.

“You don’t _have_ to go,” Eli muttered, eyes fixed on the toe of his shoe digging into the dirt.

Daniel looked up at the branches overhead, the apples half grown and green. “I do.”

“No, you _want_ to. That’s different.”

Daniel didn’t argue. He knew Eli wouldn’t understand not yet. War was a distant thing for a thirteen year old, a word whispered through news reports or muttered by tired parents after dinner. But for Daniel, now eighteen, it had become a calling louder than fear. He didn’t know if it was bravery or guilt that pulled him toward the front lines maybe both.

Eli kicked at the dirt, sending a small puff of dust into the air. “You promised you’d help me build the treehouse this summer.”

“I know.” Daniel’s voice cracked, and he quickly cleared it. “I meant to.”

“Then why leave?” Eli’s voice rose, his face red. “You’re not Dad. You don’t have to be a hero!”

Daniel stood, slowly. The wind caught the edges of his uniform jacket, and for a second, he looked like someone else entirely, older, harder.

“I’m not trying to be a hero, Eli.” He stepped forward and knelt so they were eye to eye. “I’m just trying to protect the people I love. That includes you.”

Tears welled in Eli’s eyes, though he blinked furiously to stop them. “What if you don’t come back?”

Daniel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden carving, a tiny bird, worn smooth by years of holding it in his hand. “Then this is yours. Remember me with it. But I _will_ come back. I have to see that treehouse finished, don’t I?”

Eli took the carving with shaking fingers, brushing his thumb over the familiar grooves. “You’d better,” he whispered.

Daniel stood and pulled Eli into a tight hug, one hand cradling the back of his head like he used to when Eli was a baby. For a long moment, they stayed like that, the apple tree their only witness.

When the time came, Daniel walked down the long dirt road without looking back.

Eli stayed by the tree until the stars came out, clutching the wooden bird and whispering promises into the wind, praying to every god he could think of his big brother would come home.