Corps lodge, signaling the start of a new day. The ai
ts and shirts, several hijabs for prayer, and other personal belongings carefully packed in a
had come to know, she was given directions on how to get a bik
sina, the wind carrying sounds and scents unfamiliar yet alive. When she
fluttere
spaces, and sentinels in uniform standing watch at the gates. The soldiers were
icers. Their efficiency was brisk but welcoming. Within moments, she was regis
anized chaos - rows of khaki shirts, canvas bags, boots, socks,
es folded neatly in her arms. She was assigned a room to stay in - a modest space wit
o many faces like hers, each with their own story, gath
s nearby urged her
e shirt and shorts were crisp and new, but the sensation was unfamiliar and uncomforta
t she reminded herself quietly - this was a sacrifice, a rite of
y, the sharp sound of a bugle sliced th
e camp, a summons f
. The bugle's call meant one thing: failure t
ghtened her shoulders, and prepared to
ad truly begu
nd the faint rustle of new uniforms. Ameerah joined the flood of fellow corps members w
aughter bubbled here and there, some looked around nervously, while oth
of solitude lingered at the edges of her mind. Thi
hers - soft, flowing, and gently pinned over their freshly issu
she greeted, her v
laam," came th
lowed - where they were from, how long their journeys had taken, what they'd packe
es pa
the soun
officers in navy blue, and members of the Man O' War dressed in their signature black T-shirts and jungle boots. T
oldier with a voice tha
mand - and it silenced the crowd l
r instructed, pointing in sh
ctions - but soon the bodies moved in rhythm. Lines took shape. White shirts gleamed under t
fficers stood tall like guar
e a new
rt shirt climbed onto a small platform - the camp director. His expressi
, scanning the sea of fresh recruits. "Welc
ts. Some clapped. Some whistled. O
test your patience, your discipline, and your spirit. You are no longer c
e pride of standing here, the nervousness of what lay ahe
iforms clung tighter. But t
ad ar