As a former soldier, I spent much of my life in a world defined by structure, discipline, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the heat of conflict. There’s something profoundly paradoxical about it—how the chaos of war becomes our norm, how the stress of conflict transforms into the very thing that calms us. In the brotherhood of soldiers, we find a purpose so clear, so intensely focused, that everything else falls away.

But what happens when that life ends?

There comes a time when the armor comes off, when the war is no longer fought on distant battlefields but within our own minds. For those of us who have lived that life, the transition back to civilian life is one of the hardest battles we’ll ever face. The world we return to isn’t designed for us. It doesn’t understand the language of camaraderie, the weight of duty, or the scars—both visible and invisible—that we carry.

And so, we search for purpose, for a place to belong. But often, we are left feeling like outsiders in a world that doesn’t want us here. We are no longer soldiers, and yet, we struggle to be anything else. We try to adapt, to fit into a life that feels foreign, but the quiet of normalcy can be deafening. The stress we once thrived on, the missions that gave us direction, are replaced by a sense of displacement, a longing for the clarity of our former lives.

This struggle—the search for purpose and the desire to belong—is one of the central themes that inspired Rise of the 13. The characters, particularly Freedom and Citrine, embody this inner conflict. They are warriors, defined by their battles, bound by duty, yet haunted by the question: What happens when the war is over? How do we rebuild ourselves when everything we once knew, everything we once fought for, is gone?

This book is more than just a story of warriors and their quest to save the world. It’s a reflection of the struggle so many of us face—the fight to find peace, to reconcile who we were with who we must become. It’s about the choice to keep moving forward, even when the road is unclear.

To my brothers and sisters who have walked this path, you are not alone. We continue to fight, not with weapons, but with resilience. We continue to serve not a mission but each other. And most importantly, we continue to live, even in a world that doesn’t always understand us.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.