In Prisoner of War, love, survival, and destiny are trapped inside the same narrow cell. Captured in the chaos of a collapsing frontline, a once-ordinary soldier is forced to confront a new kind of battlefield — one without guns, without uniforms, and without rules. The real war now lives in silence, in hunger, in the slow erosion of identity. Every breath becomes resistance. Every memory of home becomes both comfort and torture. Between loyalty to his brothers in captivity and the desperate hope of seeing the woman he left behind, his heart is torn apart by an impossible choice: endure… or disappear.

The world is reduced to shadows and steel — rusted fences cutting the horizon, floodlights carving fear into the night, and distant explosions echoing like ghosts of a life that once felt real. Inside the camp, time collapses. Faces blur. Names fade. But pain sharpens everything else. Our protagonist clings to small, fragile miracles — a whispered joke, a shared piece of bread, a glance that says you are still alive. In the middle of cruelty, he discovers something terrifying and beautiful: even broken men can protect each other. Even stripped of dignity, the soul still knows how to fight.

Prisoner of War is not a story about escaping a camp — it is about escaping despair.

“They can cage your body… but the moment you stop believing, you cage your soul.”