Dominic stood at the edge of the hangar, his eyes focused on the massive fleet of UOP warships drifting silently in space. The stars beyond them seemed distant, cold—much like how he felt in this moment. Despite his new promotion, his path had taken an unexpected turn. Instead of being sent to the front lines to command an assault, he was ordered to the back lines. His orders were clear: take some time off and recuperate at the UOP's orbital station, Nebula Station.
He'd fought on the front for so long, each battle blending into the next, that the idea of taking time off felt foreign. Unnatural. But the brass had insisted.
A hand on his shoulder broke him from his thoughts. It was Kade, his ever-present companion through the chaos of war.
"You good, man?" Kade's voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of concern in it. "You've been pretty quiet ever since the last battle."
Dominic didn't answer right away. His gaze still lingered on the fleet as it moved in perfect formation, each ship a behemoth of steel and firepower. "I'm fine," he replied finally, though the words didn't feel quite right.
Kade gave him a knowing look. "If you say so. Just don't go wandering off like last time. You've got a new rank now, Dominic. You're a big deal."
"I'm just a soldier," Dominic muttered. "Soldiers don't get to pick where they go."
"Fair enough," Kade said with a shrug. "Still, rest is part of the deal. You'll be back in the fight soon enough."
Dominic nodded, though a small part of him resisted the idea of being left out of the action. He wasn't used to sitting still. But that's exactly what they wanted him to do now. Rest, recover, and wait.
The ride to Nebula Station was uneventful. The large transport ship carrying Dominic and several other soldiers and officers made its way through the vast expanse of space. He spent most of the trip in silence, avoiding conversation with the other soldiers. Some offered him polite nods, but none dared to disturb the brooding aura that clung to him. The loss of Zara still gnawed at him, and the nightmare-like visions from his implanted neural AI were relentless. The wreckage of the war had followed him here, even in the supposed calm of the back lines.
The transport finally docked at the station, and Dominic was ushered off the ship. Nebula Station was a sprawling facility, surrounded by a protective ring of gunmetal-gray metal and floating debris. The station was a blend of military practicality and corporate luxury, with pristine halls leading to high-end accommodations, bars, and even recreational areas for soldiers like him. It was all designed to provide temporary relief from the brutal nature of the front lines.
As Dominic entered the station, the weight of the recent battles seemed to lift slightly. The bustle of the station—officers, mechanics, and engineers moving about, all with a focus on repair and recovery—was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield.
He was given a room in one of the quieter parts of the station, tucked away from the constant flow of soldiers in and out. The room was simple but comfortable. A small bed, a desk, a chair. He sat at the desk and stared at the wall, his mind still swirling with thoughts of the war. He couldn't relax. He couldn't forget the faces of those he'd fought alongside, the ones who had fallen, the ones who would inevitably fall in the battles to come.
With a sigh, Dominic stood and paced the small room, as if trying to outrun the thoughts that plagued him.
Suddenly, his comm unit beeped. It was a message from Varra.
"Dominic," her voice crackled through, the usual cold professionalism tinged with concern. "How's the time off going?"
He sat back down on the bed, rubbing his temples. "It's fine, I guess," he replied, though his voice lacked conviction. "I'm not used to being on the sidelines, though."
"I can imagine," Varra responded. "But you deserve it. You've been through hell, and they've recognized that. Take a breather. Don't let it get to your head. You'll be back in action soon enough."
Dominic chuckled bitterly, more to himself than to Varra. "That's the thing, Varra. I'm not sure I want to go back. Every time I step onto the battlefield, I lose more of myself. And I'm not sure what's left."
There was a brief pause before Varra spoke again, her voice softer this time. "You're not alone in this, Dominic. Remember that. The war changes everyone. But it's up to you to decide how much of yourself you want to lose."
Dominic didn't respond immediately. He stared at the wall, letting her words settle in. Could he still keep a part of himself intact? Or had the war already taken everything?
He stood up abruptly, walking over to the small window in his room. Through it, he could see the vastness of space stretching before him—endless, cold, and unforgiving. Nebula Station orbited a distant gas giant, its swirling storms of red and blue lighting up the sky.
There, in the silence of the station, surrounded by the debris of a war-torn galaxy, Dominic finally allowed himself to think. He was here, yes. But it wasn't a break. It was just another chapter. The war wouldn't wait for him. The war never stopped.
As the night wore on, he could feel the pull of the front lines, the familiar call of the fight. He had a new rank now, a new responsibility. And despite the bitterness in his soul, despite the nightmares and the memories that would haunt him, he knew one thing for certain.