Years ago, a brutal war broke out between two major nations, the Republic of Anglora and the Federation of Valorn. It was not a short conflict, but a grinding, merciless struggle that dragged on for years. Fighter jets roared across the skies, cities crumbled under relentless bombing, and the dead piled up faster than the living could bury them.
In the end, against all odds, Valorn emerged victorious. The proud Anglora, once seen as unconquerable was brought to its knees.
But the defeat itself was not the greatest shock. The real blow came when Anglora turned on its own heroes.
Among the accused were two of the nation's most decorated soldiers: Major General Isaac Eckstein and his wife, Lieutenant Colonel Avery Thompson. They weren't just names in the military, they were legends.
Isaac Eckstein was the kind of commander soldiers followed without question. During the Britannia Campaign, he led a daring raid deep behind enemy lines, dismantling a fortified command post in a single night, an operation so impossible that military academies still studied it.
Avery Thompson's story was no less extraordinary. She had entered the army as a private, just another face in the mud. But through sheer grit and fearlessness, she rose through the ranks. In the Hatton War, she was captured on camera carrying a wounded soldier across a battlefield under heavy fire, refusing to abandon him even as artillery shells fell around her. For every man she fought beside, she was proof that courage could wear any face.
Together, they were the pride of Anglora. The power couple of the military. Proof that sacrifice and loyalty could still exist in an age of politics and corruption.
Until the narrative changed.
When Anglora fell, the government needed answers, someone to blame for the humiliating defeat. Evidence suddenly surfaced: leaked communications, classified files pointing directly to Isaac and Avery. According to the reports, they had been passing intelligence to Valorn for years, feeding the enemy just enough to ensure Anglora's downfall.
The country believed it.
Headlines screamed betrayal:
"National Icons Unmasked as Traitors."
"Eckstein and Thompson: The Faces of Anglora's Defeat."
All the victories were forgotten. All the sacrifices erased.
The trial was swift and merciless. A court-martial broadcast to millions showed their medals stripped from their uniforms, their ranks torn away. Once hailed as heroes, they stood silent as judges branded them traitors. The sentence: execution by firing squad.
There was no last goodbye to their daughter. No burial with honors. No flag folded over their coffins. Their bodies were dumped into unmarked graves, their names scrubbed from military history as if they had never lived at all.
And somewhere in the shadows of that spectacle sat their daughter, eight-year-old Winter Eckstein, clutching a threadbare teddy bear and staring at the screen as the country spat on her parents' names. To the rest of the nation, she was now "the traitor's child." To Winter, it was the day the world revealed its true face.
"Evidence?" she would later sneer. She had seen enough to know what evidence was worth, manufactured lies dressed in official seals, swallowed whole by a public too afraid to question.
The army betrayed her parents.
The country betrayed her parents.
Winter Eckstein made a vow that day, an oath deeper than blood, sharper than steel. She would tear apart the lies, expose the truth, and reclaim the honor stolen from her family.
If justice demanded fire, she would set the world ablaze.
If truth required war, then war she would give them.
Because Winter lived for one purpose alone:
to avenge the only people she had ever loved.