Chapter 14: Honor and Glory

The wind blew strongly as Thomas ran through the cobbled streets of his hometown. The moon, high and solemn, bathed his silhouette in a silver glow. His heart pounded intensely, not from exhaustion, but from excitement. The silence of the night was a fleeting calm, one that, he knew, would soon be broken. A barely perceptible shadow loomed on the horizon, the distant echo of war drums.

The gleaming uniform, laden with decorations, barely moved with the breeze. His boots echoed in the deserted alleyways with a firm step, announcing his arrival before his voice. He had dreamed of this moment. It was the hero's return, but in his gaze, beyond the jubilation, there was a serenity forged in the early maturity of war. His father, Scott, would soon notice it.

He burst through the door of his house with such force that he almost knocked it down. His eyes, lively and bright like a child's, reflected victory. His breathing agitated, his chest rising and falling, he scanned the room. The Sawyer house, though rebuilt after the ruins, still bore the scars of catastrophe: patched walls, old furniture recovered. It was a home of resilience and austerity. A familiar aroma, the subtle echo of his mother's cooking, filled his lungs. His eyes stopped on a small portrait on the mantel: Rose's warm smile, framed, one of the few relics rescued from the rubble. A visual anchor that contrasted with the chaos of war, grounding him in the home he had defended.

"Father! Father!" his voice broke the silence, filled with impatience and jubilation.

Scott came out of the study, surprised, holding a wrinkled handkerchief. Time had left its mark on his face: worry lines, tired eyes that, upon seeing his son, lit up. For an instant, he seemed to see the boy who used to run through those halls, with scraped knees and easy laughter.

"My son…" he whispered, as if fearing to break the moment.

Thomas stepped forward; chest puffed with pride.

"I did it, Father. I became a general."

Scott brought a hand to his mouth, trying to process the magnitude of those words. His eyes scanned his son, seeing not only the admired soldier, but the man who had fulfilled his destiny. His lips trembled and, without hesitation, he embraced him with a strength that contained love, pride, and an almost instinctive fear. The cold stab of the memory of Rose pierced his chest. It wasn't just the embrace of triumph, but the latent panic of another possible departure.

"I'm proud of you, son..." he murmured with a broken voice. "Your mother would be too."

Thomas closed his eyes, letting those words etch into his soul. They stayed like that, embraced, as if in that gesture they recovered lost time.

That night, dinner was unlike any other in years. The Sawyer home, so often silent, filled with laughter, anecdotes, and promises of a future without separations. For the first time, Thomas felt that he had truly come home.

──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

Months passed with apparent calm, but the shadow was already looming. Echoes of a new threat whispered in the news and in the secret conversations of the soldiers. A name began to spread like poison: Magnus.

In his cold and dark fortress, General Magnus reviewed reports. Long ago, he had underestimated that nation, attacking them with only a fraction of his power, resulting in a defeat that still stung. Now, a new report highlighted the name of Thomas Sawyer, the young man who, according to intelligence, had built the key machine in his previous failure. He didn't know that machine or the young man then, but the fact that his own army hadn't secured the victory by itself, and that an invention of an unknown person had changed the outcome, was a personal offense.

To Magnus, Thomas was not just a talented engineer, but a direct obstacle and a threat to his invincibility. The ability of that young man to create deadly superweapons could not be underestimated.

That's why he sent his troops with advanced technology and sufficient force, but not his entire arsenal, confident it would be more than enough to stop them. He doubted that single machine could destroy the army he would send in the coming weeks.

The news of the imminent attack came with the thunder of war drums. Thomas stood up, his expression impenetrable.

"I will fight. I won't let them destroy our home."

Scott, upon hearing those words, felt his world shake. He stood up abruptly, eyes lit with desperation, the shadow of Rose piercing his chest once more. His voice broke.

"No, Thomas, please! Haven't we lost enough already? Your mother… you! Isn't that enough?" His plea was the stifled cry of a father exhausted by loss.

The young general looked at him with tenderness, but with the firmness of a man who had accepted his inescapable destiny. He took his father's hands gently, with unwavering determination.

"Father, I understand your pain. I carry it with me. But this time, I am the last hope. My promise is not just to you; it's to all who have fallen, to those who still wait for a tomorrow. This is my responsibility, my legacy. I cannot avoid it."

Scott felt his strength leaving him. His gaze, clouded by emotion, settled on his son, noticing the heavy burden of leadership on his shoulders. Finally, with a resigned sigh and a trembling voice, he whispered:

"Alright, son..." His voice broke, a thread barely audible. "I believe in you. All I can say is that I'm proud of you… and that I love you…"

He embraced him once more, with the desperation of someone who fears losing what he loves most, an embrace that contained all the goodbyes he might never say. Then, with a kiss on his forehead, he accompanied him to the door, his eyes clinging to every detail of his face.

Thomas stopped at the doorway and looked back. Scott remained still, hand over his chest, as if trying to contain an invisible pain that threatened to devour him.

Then, the young general turned and left.

──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

When he arrived at the barracks, Thomas sensed a different atmosphere. The mockery and distrust were gone, replaced by a palpable fear. Soldiers with pale faces and hollow eyes whispered about the impossibility of victory. They spoke of shadowy troops in matte black suits with green lights that gleamed like predator eyes, of weapons that emitted a chilling hiss and dissolved life in seconds, and of armored machines that moved like nightmares—dark, unstoppable waves of steel.

With firm steps, Thomas walked into General George's tent, who was bent over a map. His expression was that of a man trapped in a maze with no way out.

"This is different, Thomas," George said in a grave voice. "General Magnus has an arsenal we've never seen. He's razed entire nations without mercy. I never thought I'd say this, but… I don't know if we can win this time."

Thomas met his gaze with unwavering determination.

"We can, and we will. Call the soldiers. They need to hear it from me."

A few minutes later, the soldiers gathered at the command post. A heavy silence, thick with despair, hung in the air. Thomas stepped onto an improvised platform and, with a firm and resounding voice, broke the fear gripping their hearts.

"Life is only one. If we let fear control us—if we retreat—we'll become just a memory, a footnote in Magnus's story. But if we fight—if we give every heartbeat for this nation, for those who fell before us, for those who still breathe—our story will endure. This isn't just a war. It's our legacy, our freedom. And if we fall, we'll do so knowing we gave everything, down to the last fiber of our being, for what we love. So today, without fear, with honor held high—we fight! As long as one of us stands, the story won't be over!"

The silence shattered into a roar of determination. The soldiers beat their chests with their fists and raised their arms, their faces illuminated by renewed hope. General George nodded, a spark of pride in his eyes. Then, the sharp sound of the war alarm echoed through the camp, washing everything in a red glow.

George picked up a call. On the other end, Magnus's voice was cold and metallic.

"General George. It's over. Surrender."

George clenched his jaw. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to crush him. But then, the image of Thomas on the platform—his voice echoing through the barracks—restored his strength. Holding his head high, his voice firm and full of unshakable conviction, he answered:

"Magnus. You can try to destroy our bodies. But you'll never extinguish 2"

Without waiting for a response, he hung up. His gaze swept across the camp one last time before giving the final order. With a single gesture, the soldiers began to prepare.

The battle had begun.

──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

Thomas knew his machine wouldn't last much longer. Every flashing alarm on the control panel screamed the inevitable. The engine's heat flooded the cabin, and the roar of hydraulic power vibrated in his bones. His gaze locked on the enemy base—the beating heart of Magnus's war—a technological fortress spitting fire.

He climbed into his towering machine, a sanctuary of roaring metal, adjusted the controls, and prepared for his final mission. At that moment, General George stepped in his way.

"You're not going alone, Thomas. I'll go with you once more."

Thomas looked at him calmly, with a determination that went beyond words.

"General, there are moments in life when a man must make a decision on his own. This is mine. This isn't about bravery or glory—it's about doing what's right. You and the men are needed in the battle. I'll clear the way."

George pressed his lips together, understanding the weight of those words. His eyes clouded for an instant, but finally, he nodded and gave a military salute.

"It's been an honor fighting by your side, son."

Thomas smiled slightly and returned the gesture. Without another word, he started his machine and advanced toward the inferno.

The battlefield roared with the thunder of war. Explosions lit the sky like lightning, and the sound of gunfire burst in the air like a death drum. The Phoenix pushed forward, unstoppable, firing endlessly, felling enemies and destroying key structures. Every step was a victory—but also a reminder that time was running out.

Enemy soldiers in black suits with blinking green lights regrouped quickly, launching a ferocious offensive. Assault drones buzzed overhead, and plasma shots—whistling with icy shrieks—pierced the air in every direction, shaking the ground. Thomas turned his turret and fired back with deadly force, toppling defense towers and armored transports. But the alarms in his cockpit didn't stop, and the frantic pulse of the systems pulsed through his whole body.

Time was running out. The Phoenix began to fail, its systems creaking under pressure. His sensors detected a signal from the enemy headquarters: more arsenal was incoming. Thomas looked at the screen—a red emergency siren blinked above the main weapons storage facility.

This was his chance.

But before he could react, another alert appeared on the monitor. A countdown began:

00:59... 00:58...

A decision formed in his mind—cold and absolute.

There was no other option.

With steady hands, he activated the red self-destruct button. Immediately after, he pressed a blue button marked "OVERLOAD." The Phoenix roared like a wounded beast, a seismic vibration shaking its structure as it unleashed one final surge of power—a brutal nitro blast that propelled it toward the heart of the enemy base.

Then, the cabin was flooded with alarms. A series of sharp beeps pierced the air. Red warning lights flashed wildly, coloring everything crimson. Sirens howled—deafening—as if embracing him in one final chaotic moment. The enemy soldiers realized their fate and ran in all directions, screaming in terror.

Fire consumed the horizon, and the heat was unbearable—but Thomas didn't stop. Through the glass of his cabin, he saw the watchtowers collapse and the defense systems fail one by one.

Memories began flooding his mind, each heartbeat stronger than the last.

Through the distant roar of an explosion, he heard his mother's sweet voice, whispering in his ear:

"My shooting star… I know you'll be a great man. I love you."

In the middle of a burst of gunfire shaking the cabin, he saw his father's proud eyes the last time they met:

"I'm proud of you. I love you."

And as the final beeps of the alarms filled the cabin, a peaceful conviction settled in his chest: he had fulfilled his mission.

His story.

His lips trembled into a fragile smile. His chest burned—not from the fire—but from the certainty that he would never return home. A total peace washed over him.

00:03… 00:02… 00:01…

The impact was instantaneous.

The explosion tore through the sky in a storm of fire and metal. The shockwave swept through everything in its path, shaking the earth with furious power. The enemy headquarters vanished in a blinding light, consumed by flames.

From afar, Thomas's soldiers watched in silence. The fire rose like a monument to his sacrifice. George closed his eyes, holding his breath.

"Rest in peace, boy…"

The war was over. But Thomas had gone with it.

──•─•──•✦•──•─•──•

The afternoon was gray when Scott received the letter.

Outside, the rain gently tapped against the windowpane, as if the sky itself mourned the loss. His hands trembled as he opened the envelope, sealed with the army's emblem. A dreadful feeling tightened his chest.

"Dear Mr. Scott,

With the deepest sorrow, I write these lines.

Your son, General Thomas, demonstrated unmatched valor in the final battle against the enemy. He led with courage, inspired his men, and became the beacon of hope in the darkest moment. When all seemed lost, he made the hardest decision and gave his life to secure our victory. His unbreakable spirit and unequaled sacrifice have saved us all.

Thomas was not only a great soldier, but a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Every soldier who fought beside him will carry his memory in their hearts. His legacy will live forever in our nation's history and in every life he protected with his sacrifice.

Your son was a great man.

Sincerely,

General George"

The words seemed to dissolve in his mind. Scott blinked, but the mist of tears barely let him see. His fingers clutched the letter, crumpling it, as if that could contain the pain rising in his chest.

Thomas's funeral was solemn and silent. Soldiers from all ranks gathered, their faces marked by mourning and respect. The flags flew at half-mast, and the wind—cold and solemn—swept through the cemetery with a funeral calm. The rain now fell harder, striking the gravestone like cold tears. A soldier, his face hardened by a thousand battles, wiped away a lone tear sliding down his cheek.

Scott stood still before the casket, trapped in a sea of memories. His son's laughter as a child, his first steps, the look of determination in his eyes when he decided to join the army.

When had his little boy become the man who saved a nation?

General George stepped forward, the weight of loss reflected in his face. His voice was firm, but his tone revealed the emotion he tried to contain.

"Today we say goodbye to a hero. Thomas fought until his last breath for his nation, for his people, for an ideal greater than himself. His sacrifice has given us freedom. We will never forget him."

The sound of honor shots shattered the silence. One by one, the soldiers raised their weapons to the sky and fired, paying tribute to their fallen commander.

Scott moved closer to his son's grave, his trembling fingers brushing the cold stone where it read:

"Honor and Glory"

Tears rolled down his cheeks, falling on the gravestone. A deep, indescribable pain crushed his chest, but amid the anguish, something began to grow inside him: an unshakable conviction.

Thomas couldn't simply disappear.

His son's essence—his brilliance, his courage—could not be forgotten.

Dawn arrived with a new resolve. Scott, his eyes lit with purpose, sat before his desk. With a decisive motion, he lit the old lamp in the study that Thomas used to use, a warm light against the gray of dawn. His eyes fell on a notebook of blueprints and sketches left behind by his son, and his hands—though still trembling—began to work among circuits and code. His mind, sharpened by years of knowledge and now driven by the love and pain for his son, began to envision the impossible.

An android with Thomas's memories and feelings.

A legacy that would not die.

Because some heroes cannot be forgotten.