Around Ross, chaos reigned in miniature—soldiers and civilians rushed to his side, shouting, prodding, and doing everything in their power to revive him.
Some slapped his cheeks, others poured water on him, while a few called out frantic instructions to keep him conscious.
They had no idea that every move they made, every desperate attempt to bring him back to the pink of health, was exactly what he wanted them to do.
Their panic and worry fueled the illusion of exhaustion, making him appear vulnerable and human, when in reality, every fiber of his being remained sharp, alert, and fully in control.
Ross allowed himself to linger in the act for a moment longer, relishing the thought of how this simple deception would make their relief and awe all the more potent once they realized the truth.
To them, he was a hero who had poured himself dry for their sake.
