[h3][colour=efcc00]Archer “Griff” Griffin[/colour][/h3][right][i]Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 10:53, UTC+8[/i][/right]
[hr]
[quote=@ctrlsaltdel]
Mikey sighed, then turned to one of her fellow Arms Masters putting their own dent in the pallet of rice and offered them the canteen. [color=7b8973]"Hydrate or die-drate,"[/color] she chirped, trying to sound flippant.
[/quote]

Griff smirked as he took the canteen from Mikey, a flicker of humor lighting up his face. [colour=efcc00]"Really? [i]Die-drate[/i]?"[/colour] he said with a soft laugh, shaking his head at the word. He twisted the cap off the canteen and raised it to his lips, taking a deep swig. The icy water stung his cheeks, sharp and refreshing, before sliding down his throat and spreading a cooling relief through his chest. He exhaled slowly, savoring the brief respite from the oppressive heat.

With a tired swipe of his forearm, Griff wiped the sweat from his brow. Despite the fan whirring faintly in the corner of the tent, the humidity clung to him, dense and stifling. Even the simplest tasks felt like an uphill battle. His arms ached from the repetitive motions, but Griff didn’t complain. Every movement, every effort felt worthwhile. What they were doing mattered—it gave him a sense of purpose, and he hoped it brought some relief to the refugees who relied on them.

Outside the tent, voices rose in heated tones as tensions built. The oppressive heat and long lines had worn everyone thin, and it seemed like tempers were about to boil over. Just as it looked like a confrontation might erupt, a crackle from the radio cut through the noise, drawing all attention.

“Breaking News! The Russian and North Korean Fleet has been sunk to the bottom of the sea—Admiral Yi Yeol of the South Korean and Japanese Combined Fleet has won the Battle of Tsushima Strait! Help. Is. Coming!”

The crowd outside erupted in cheers, their collective voices breaking through the heavy gloom of the day. The sound rolled into the tent, carrying a wave of hope that felt almost tangible. Griff paused, his fingers still wrapped around the canteen, and allowed a small, weary smile to cross his face. That message—the promise of reinforcements—was enough to reignite a flicker of determination. It reminded him why they endured the heat and fatigue. Sometimes, hope alone was enough to keep you moving forward.

And yet, the Director’s words lingered in Griff’s mind, heavy and unresolved. They stirred an unease he couldn’t quite shake, a reminder that the naval battle was drawing nearer with every passing day. While the announcement from the radio had given him a momentary spark of optimism, it also heightened his awareness of the challenge that lay ahead.

He couldn’t deny the importance of what he was doing now. It mattered—it was real, tangible good. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the present, a nagging thought persisted. Though he’d undergone some training in preparation for what was to come, Griff couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t enough. His progress felt superficial, like he was still standing on the surface when he should have been diving deeper. The skills he’d gained so far might not be enough when the chaos of battle finally arrived.

The weight of this realization pressed on him, lingering in the quiet moments between tasks. He clenched his fists briefly, as if to summon resolve from the motion, but the feeling of inadequacy remained. The naval battle loomed closer—a relentless shadow on the horizon. Griff could only hope that the help on its way would be enough to give them a fighting chance. For now, all he could do was keep moving forward, one step at a time, channeling his energy into the work at hand while the storm ahead grew ever nearer.