Chapter 153: A Day of Rest and Remembrance 3

With a satisfied sigh, Ethan pushed back from his seat, feeling the comfortable weight of a full meal settle in his stomach. It had been a long time since he'd eaten like that, without the urgency of war clawing at his back, without the need to ration supplies for the next skirmish. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself the indulgence of simply being full of delicious food.

As he stood, Nara had already anticipated his next move. She reached behind the bar and produced a tall, dark glass bottle with a silver-etched label written in flowing Kynaran script. The liquid inside was a deep amber, swirling thickly as she set it down with a solid thunk.

"Kynaran Firebrew," she said, wiping her hands on a rag. "Closest thing we've got to fine whiskey on this forgotten side of the Federation. Strong, smooth, and if you drink too much, you'll wake up regretting your life choices."

Ethan smirked. "Sounds perfect."

She gave him a knowing look, her gaze flickering with an unspoken understanding.

"I know where you're headed," she said, softer now. "Just… don't drown yourself in ghosts, yeah?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he transferred a few credits, more than enough to cover the bottle and a generous tip. Nara scoffed but didn't argue, simply shaking her head as she pushed the bottle toward him.

"Take care of yourself, Ethan," she said as he picked it up.

He nodded. "You too, Nara."

With that, he turned and made his way out of the cantina, stepping back into the quiet hum of the city.

The streets of Valeris were calmer now, the tension that had once gripped the city noticeably absent. The war was over, the Syndicate crushed, and though scars remained. Burned-out buildings, barricades still being dismantled, Federation patrols ensuring order, there was a sense of breath.

Life was returning.

As Ethan walked, the city around him pulsed with a quiet energy. Neon lights flickered against the encroaching twilight, casting a blend of blues and purples against the sleek metal and stone of the buildings. Hover-bikes zipped by overhead, their soft hum barely audible over the distant sounds of music and conversation drifting from open storefronts and upper-level walkways.

Despite the liveliness, Ethan kept his steps measured, his thoughts heavy.

As he neared the towering memorial wall, the crowds thinned. The city's noise faded, replaced by a somber stillness. The structure itself stood at the edge of a quiet plaza, a massive slab of polished obsidian-like stone embedded with veins of reflective metal. Thousands of names were carved into its surface, stretching across its vast expanse. Some names glowed faintly, activated by touch. A feature that allowed visitors to pull up holographic images and service records of the fallen.

It was a monument to the cost of freedom.

The setting sun bathed the wall in a golden hue, casting long shadows across the ground.

Ethan approached in silence, the bottle still clutched in his hand.

Ethan sat with his back against the base of the memorial wall, the cool metal pressing against his shoulders. The city's distant hum felt like another world away. Here, among the names of the fallen, there was only silence, heavy and unbroken, save for the occasional whisper of wind sweeping through the plaza.

He twisted the bottle in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl under the dim glow of the setting sun. A deep breath steadied him before he poured a small measure onto the ground beside him. A quiet toast to the ones who weren't here to share it.

The first sip burned.

His fingers traced over the etched names before him, lingering on each one.

Dax. Leena.

The first real friends he had made since taking up the mercenary life. They had been young, reckless, full of ambition and fire. They had fought alongside him in the earliest days, before the war had spiraled into something greater than any of them had imagined.

Dax, with his sarcastic humor that never quite covered the weight he carried. Leena, always the first to charge in danger to save the injured, fearless and compassionate to a fault.

Then there were the D-Rank mercenaries, Lyra and Foons, who were his seniors and showed him the ropes.

Lyra, who never let go of her resolve, who always put the success of the mission and saving lives her priority, until it took her. Foons, the wildest giant of them all, whose laugh could cut through the thickest tension, until the day it didn't.

One by one, they had fallen. In the final war, in an ambush during a raid on a syndicate base during the early days of conflict, in desperate last stands while attacking a warlord stronghold.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before moving down the wall.

Joran Kren.

The man who had embodied resistance, who had fought not for power, not for glory, but because he refused to accept that tyranny was the only way forward.

Ethan hadn't agreed with him on everything. Joran had been too idealistic, too inflexible in how to fight for freedom, willing to put anything and everything on the line. And in the end, that was exactly what had happened, he had given everything.

Another sip. Another burn in his throat.

Finally, he reached the last name.

Captain Alrik Thorne.

A Federation officer in a time when that title had lost most of its meaning. When the Syndicate had sunk its claws into everything, when corruption had rotted through the system, Alrik had refused to turn away. He had stood when no one else would.

Ethan had watched him fall alongside Kren, relentlessly resisting the terrifying force of Drakor Krenna . A soldier's death. An honorable death.

His grip tightened around the bottle.

Ethan let his fingers rest against the carved letters of their names, his voice barely above a whisper.

"All of you should've been here," he said, the words thick in his throat. "To see what you fought for."

How many more names would he have to remember? How many more ghosts would follow him?

He let his head rest against the memorial, staring up at the darkening sky.

"I won't forget," he murmured. "Not any of you."

The weight of it all pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting. But he didn't cry. He had shed his tears long ago, in the quiet spaces between battles, in the moments where grief slipped past the walls he had built around himself.

Now, all he could do was remember.

He sat there as the last light faded, the stars beginning to pierce through the darkness.

The bottle was half-empty, cradled loosely in Ethan's hand as he slowly pushed himself up from the base of the memorial wall. His legs felt stiff from sitting for so long, but he barely noticed. His gaze was drawn upward, past the towering skyline of Kynara, to the vast stretch of stars above.

They shimmered against the darkness, distant and cold, yet ever-present.

He took one last look at the names on the memorial, etching them into his mind one final time before turning away. His boots crunched softly against the plaza's stone path as he made his way back through the city, its streets quiet now, lit only by the neon glow of distant signs and the soft, pulsing lights of hovering drones.

Valeris was healing. The tension that had gripped the city for so long had loosened. People were no longer afraid to walk their own streets. He had helped make that possible.

As he passed through the quieter districts, he saw signs of what came after war. A merchant closing up his shop for the night, exchanging tired but hopeful words with a customer. A pair of off-duty guards sharing a drink and a laugh, something that had been a rarity only months ago. A group of children playing near a flickering holo-billboard, their laughter breaking the silence.

Life was moving forward.

Ethan knew he couldn't stay to see where it led.

The docking bay came into view, his ship resting within its designated berth. The sleek metal hull was illuminated by soft blue runway lights, its engines dormant, waiting. Soon, it would carry him away from this place. Away from the war he had fought, the people he had protected, and the ghosts he had left behind.

He hesitated at the base of the boarding ramp, looking back toward the city one last time.

He had changed, forged anew by what he experienced. Gone was the lost salaryman from Earth, all that remained was an experienced mercenary from Kynara.

No matter where he went next, no matter how many more battles he fought, Kynara would stay with him. And so would the names.

With a steady breath, Ethan climbed the ramp, the ship's door hissing shut behind him.

Tomorrow, a new chapter would begin.