<h2 style="text-align: center" spellcheck="false">The Fire She Left Behind</h2>


    Present Day. Funeral Ceremony. 412 Interstellar Era. Parnaxxus.


    You never could''ve known.


    That''s the part that stings the most. If you had, maybe you would''ve begged her not to go. Maybe you''d have stolen one more moment—one more smile, one more laugh. Maybe that would''ve been enough.


    If only there hadn''t been an emergency broadcast that day.


    If only the Imperial Strike Ships hadn''t broken into the Andronian Sector.


    If only there hadn''t been a war.


    So many "ifs." So many ways this could''ve ended differently.


    But now, she no longer walks beside you.


    She died fighting for her people. For the cause she believed in. For the one she loved — you.


    "There is glory in battle, and pride in victory. And I am here to have both. We will free our people from the clutches of this Imperial Monarchy. We will succeed. We will win. Or we''ll die trying. But we will not go down without a fight."


    What she didn''t tell you — couldn''t tell you — was the cost. The loss. That with war comes silence: of laughter, of warmth, of those irreplaceable connections. A parent''s embrace. A lover''s whisper. A child''s smile that could light a world. Gone. Ashes, blown across the stars. Buried with the very conscience that once made us hesitate before turning on one another.


    And now, you ask:


    What was this war even for?


    Was it really about power? Resources? Pride masked as patriotism? What was the cost for something no one could even define anymore?


    Was there ever a reason big enough to justify this pain?


    Enough to stop the sobs of a mother who will never hold her child again?


    To dry the tears of a husband left behind?


    To heal the heart of a brother who lost the only person he ever looked up to?


    Trysha was that person. She was your sister. The person who gave you unconditional love. The only one who made this broken galaxy feel like home.


    Today, war taught you a lesson. One you''d heard before — in history books, in veteran stories, in quiet warnings from old souls — but never truly understood. Death is a teacher, and it speaks in silence. War is written by the victors. But the price of that ink is blood. It costs pieces of your soul.


    "Get ready now. The speech is almost over. Be prepared to receive the posthumous Medal of Valor and Honor," says the soldier beside you. His voice is flat. Professional. But you see the pain in his eyes. The same pain you carry. The same loss.


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    The Squadron Co-Ordinator for the Andronian Sector — high-ranking, well-decorated, composed — stands before the gathered crowd. Her voice cuts through the still air like a blade, firm but reverent.


    "This week, we lost many of our bravest to the hands of war. Daughters. Sons. Heroes.


    On the 21st of the Angrodian Month, 412 IE, Trysha Corson, leader and Central Tank Unit of the Resekith Squadron, showed unshakable courage.


    She led her team — five loyal souls — on a direct assault against the Imperial Strike Ship. Her keen mind and daring tactics dismantled the escort formation.


    They knew it was a suicide run. And they chose it anyway."


    A pause. The Co-Ordinator clenches her jaw, steadying herself. She''s done this before — delivered eulogies, mourned the fallen — but it never gets easier. And it shouldn''t.


    "Under constant enemy fire, they charged through the heart of battle. It was a suicide run. They knew it. When the moment came to lay down their lives for something greater, they didn''t flinch. They overloaded their Armature''s matter/antimatter core. Sparked a chain reaction. The explosion was cataclysmic. It tore through the Imperial formation like righteous fury. The Resekith Squadron didn''t hesitate. They sacrificed themselves — fully knowing the cost — to give our troops a fighting chance."


    You imagine her last seconds. Trysha. Standing tall. Focused. Terrified maybe — but unyielding. Did she think of you before she triggered the core? Did she cry? Did she smile?


    Would you have had that kind of strength? That belief in a cause greater than yourself?


    You inhale sharply, pushing the thoughts away, forcing yourself back into the moment.


    "Their actions turned the tide. The Strike Ship was destroyed. The Imperials were forced to retreat.


    Trysha Corson, and the Resekith Squadron — they are the reason we are still breathing.


    They are the embodiment of valor. Their sacrifice inspires us to keep fighting.


    To believe.


    And I promise you all — their deaths will not be in vain. They brought us one step closer to peace."


    She pauses again, this time looking straight at you.


    "May I now request Teeril Corson to join me on the podium and receive the medal, on behalf of his sister."


    You try to stand.


    Your legs don''t respond.


    Your vision blurs. Your palms are soaked in sweat. You tremble, the weight of her absence pinning you down.


    Then — somehow — you rise. The soldier beside you offers his arm, and you take it like a lifeline.


    This can''t be real.


    You''re not here to accept a medal. You''re here because half your soul was torn away in a fireball above a dead moon.


    As you walk toward the podium, every step feels heavier than the last.


    One thought circles in your head like a prayer:


    "What if I don''t want this cause? What if I just want her back?"


    You stop before the Co-Ordinator. She places a hand on your shoulder — warm, human — and for a second, her eyes soften.


    "Trysha Corson was one of the most loyal and fearless leaders I''ve ever commanded.


    And she spoke of you often, Teeril.


    She loved you. She was proud of you.


    And you are not alone."


    She offers the small, engraved box — the medal.


    You stare down at it.


    Then mumble, without lifting your eyes:


    "I think I''ve found my cause."


    "I''m sorry?" she asks.


    You clench your fists. You don''t repeat it aloud.


    You don''t need to.


    "I couldn''t protect her. I couldn''t be there.


    But I will carry her fire.


    I will avenge her.


    I will finish what she started."


    You accept the medal. Bow your head. Step down from the stage.


    There''s no more room for mourning in your chest — only resolve.


    "I will keep her legacy alive."


    The United Accord of Outer Systems is now your path.


    This is the moment you were reborn.


    This is where your story begins.


    The story of the Titan Lead.


    The one who ended the war. For good.