The Cost of Victory

The heavy silence on the bridge of Lena's flagship spoke volumes. The lights flickered in the background as the crew carried out their routine post-battle checks. But beneath the surface, the toll of the previous battle weighed heavily on everyone aboard.

Lena stood at the viewing window, staring out at the wreckage of the Rhytil fleet. The stars beyond seemed distant, their light cold and indifferent to the carnage below. A sense of pride lingered in the air—but it was mingled with grief. This victory had come at a steep price.

"Report," Lena ordered, her voice flat but commanding.

Tavon, who had been tirelessly coordinating the recovery efforts, glanced up from his console. His face was drawn, his usual sharp demeanor dulled by exhaustion. "We've taken heavy losses. At least a third of our fleet is down or heavily damaged. Several of our command staff are missing in action, and the casualties among the crew are... significant."

Lena's heart tightened. She had known the stakes, but hearing the numbers spoken aloud made it all too real. "And the Rhytil?"

"They're retreating, but not without leaving behind a trail of destruction," Tavon said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "They're licking their wounds, but we're not out of the woods yet. They'll regroup. We need to capitalize on this victory while we can."

Lena nodded. Despite the success of the strike, she couldn't help but feel the weight of every lost life. In war, victories always came with costs—some harder to bear than others.