Aeron's hand clenched into a fist, the knuckles white against the backdrop of his scarred skin. 'I saw what they did to soldiers who surrendered. They didn't just kill them; they twisted them into something else. Machines, abominations—half-alive things that could still feel pain, still scream, but would serve the Kraelith without question. It wasn't just warfare. It was horror.' For a moment, the weight of that horror hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Matt, for all his battles, hadn't witnessed the early years, hadn't seen what Aeron had seen—the Kraelith's true face before they refined their methods, before they became even more efficient in their brutality. Aeron had watched as the hope of an entire planet crumbled before an empire that didn't just want to conquer but to obliterate.
'But the war didn't end,' Aeron said, his voice regaining some of its former strength. 'And that's where I come in. The Kraelith should've wiped us out in those first ten years. Hell, they were on track to do it. But that's when I made my choice. I wasn't going to sit back and wait for death. I wasn't going to watch as everything I fought for was destroyed. So, I left the military. I disappeared into the underworld, into the black market. I did what no one else in the empire could—or would—do. Desperation has a way of unlocking doors that should have stayed shut. I began reverse-engineering Kraelith weapons and armor, pulling them off the dead on blood-soaked battlefields, tearing them apart piece by piece to understand what made them so devastating. It wasn't just for the Dominion anymore. I sold my work to anyone who could pay—the highest bidder, the lowest scum—anyone still willing to fight. The Forge became my refuge, a place where morality meant nothing, only survival. Whether they were Dominion soldiers, mercenaries, or even warlords, if they had the credits, I handed them the very weapons that once slaughtered our own. That's how The Forge was born—from necessity, from the harsh reality that, in this war, survival had a price, and I wasn't about to let desperation stop me from paying it.'
He gestured around the room, his domain, the place where his creations had come to life. 'At first, it was just survival. I needed a way to stay alive, to keep fighting back in my own way. But then… then I started getting good at it. Better than good. My weapons—my armor—they started turning the tide. Not enough to win, not enough to save us, but enough to slow the Kraelith down. Enough to make them bleed. It wasn't just about killing anymore; it was about giving our people a chance to survive a little longer, to hold on for one more day.'
Aeron's eyes narrowed, his gaze distant as if recalling the hundreds—no, thousands—of lives that had been saved by his work, and the many more who had died because it wasn't enough. 'But that came with a price. I wasn't a soldier anymore. I was something else. A merchant of death, a creator of destruction. My name became a brand, a symbol of resistance in the shadows. And as The Forge grew, so did the horrors I witnessed. I've sold weapons to warlords, to criminals, to anyone who could fight back against the Kraelith. I've seen my creations used to slaughter just as often as they were used to protect. There's no honor in it, Matt. Just survival.'
Aeron paused, studying Matt with a strange intensity, as if trying to gauge the younger man's understanding of the story. He saw something familiar in Matt's eyes—something that reminded him of his own journey. The weariness, the hardened resolve, the quiet acceptance of a life that had been consumed by war. 'You know what it's like,' Aeron said quietly. 'I can see it in you. You've got that same look I had when I first left the battlefield, thinking I could make a difference in a different way. But it's all the same in the end. We're just cogs in a machine that grinds everything down, no matter what we do.'
Matt's expression didn't change, but Aeron knew he was listening, absorbing the weight of his words. They were two soldiers cut from the same cloth, men who had been shaped and scarred by war, who had seen the best and worst humanity had to offer, and who had learned that hope was a fleeting thing.
Aeron sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to carry with it the weight of forty years of war. 'The truth is, Matt, the Dominion was never going to win. We were always outmatched, always outgunned. The only reason the war's gone on this long is because of people like you and me—people who refused to let it end. We've been holding on, delaying the inevitable. But in the end, we're just prolonging the suffering. There's no victory waiting for us. No peace. Not for people like us.'
The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. Aeron's gaze drifted to the forge, where the faint glow of the reactor pulsed steadily, like a heartbeat. He wasn't looking for sympathy, and Matt wasn't offering any. They both knew the truth of it—soldiers like them didn't get happy endings. They didn't get to ride off into the sunset. They fought, they bled, and then, eventually, they died. And all that was left behind were the weapons they forged, the battles they fought, and the scars they carried.
But there was something more—something Aeron had seen in Matt the moment he walked into The Forge. A potential. A darkness. A willingness to do whatever it took, just like him.
'You remind me of myself,' Aeron said, his voice soft but laced with the weight of understanding. 'When I look at you, I see someone who's been through the same shit I have. Someone who's tired of fighting but knows there's no other choice. We're not heroes, Matt. We're not saviors. We're just monsters, doing what we can to make sure the people we care about have a chance. That's all there is.'
Matt met Aeron's gaze, the unspoken bond between them solidifying in the dim light of The Forge. They were two men bound by war, by the brutality they had endured and the sacrifices they had made. There was no judgment here, no condemnation for the choices they had made. Only understanding. Only the knowledge that in a world like theirs, survival was the only victory that mattered.
Aeron turned slowly, his keen gaze locking onto Matt's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. He knew that Matt was watching him, weighing him with a soldier's scrutiny, and he felt the thin veil of distrust that cloaked the atmosphere like smoke. Aeron had seen enough to recognize the signs—this was not a mere transaction; it was a negotiation built on unspoken tension. 'This will be strictly business, Matt,' he said, his voice gravelly yet steady, as if each word was carefully forged in the fires of experience. ' I'll provide you with all the weapons and armor you need to wage your war, but I require something in return.'
He paused, his gaze drifting to the dimly lit chamber, a sanctuary that felt increasingly like a prison. 'When you end this war—and I mean truly end it—you'll come back to The Forge. You'll erase everything I've built here, all my work and my creations. I want to fade away, so my inventions don't fall into the hands of the Astraellan Dominion or the Kraelith Empire.' Matt's brow furrowed at Aeron's words, sensing the heavy weight behind them. The promise was not just a precaution; it was a request steeped in desperation. In that moment, he glimpsed the man behind the legend—the one who had forged weapons for countless battles but had also become a soldier of solitude, entrenched in a war that had stretched on for over fourty long years.
Aeron had fought a lone battle, holding back the relentless tide of the Kraelith Empire. His fortress was not merely a workshop; it was a bulwark against annihilation. He had become a bastion of resistance in a world that had been carved up by the brutal onslaught of enemies. In the shadows of The Forge, where weapons were born and nurtured, Aeron stood as the last line of defense—not just for the Astraellan people but for the very ideals of freedom and survival. Matt could see the lines of fatigue etched on Aeron's face, the way his shoulders sagged slightly under the invisible weight of duty. The years had not only stolen his youth but had forged him into something harder, something scarred by the choices he had made. Each weapon he crafted, every piece of armor he designed, was a silent testimony to the lives he couldn't save and the battles he couldn't fight.
'What do you think keeps me going?' Aeron continued, his voice barely above a whisper, yet heavy with a resolve that resonated through the silence. 'I know that when I step outside these walls, I'm the only one standing between the Kraelith and everything we've fought to protect. It's a brutal existence, one where hope is as rare as the materials I use. But someone has to keep the balance; someone has to ensure the people of my empire can survive another day. They don't even know I'm here, that I'm still fighting. If I can provide them with the means to protect themselves, then maybe—just maybe—they can carry on without me.'
His words hung in the air, a grim acceptance of the role he had taken on. It was a burden that no one else could bear; the weight of a lone soldier holding back the darkness, weary yet unyielding. As he spoke, Aeron's eyes shone with an intensity born of desperation—a flame that refused to be extinguished despite the encroaching shadows. In that moment, Matt understood that Aeron wasn't just a man driven by ambition or profit; he was a warrior who had grown tired of the endless cycle of war. But he was also a man who understood that the fight was far from over. If he were to succeed, if he were to create a future free from the chains of conflict, he needed allies—he needed Matt. As they stood there, the flickering lights of The Forge casting shadows around them, Matt made a silent promise. He would help Aeron, but in return, he would ensure that when the time came, the legacy of The Forge would vanish into the annals of history, a ghost of what had once been—a necessary sacrifice for a future without war.