SABERS: Shadows of Ravena

The air in Carnitas was heavy with a solemn quiet that felt almost unnatural for the bustling military hub. Tonight, the base was a place of mourning, not preparation. Soldiers, officers, and civilians gathered in the sprawling central plaza, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of hundreds of candles that flickered against the night's chill. At the heart of the gathering, the newly erected Wall of Heroes stood as a testament to those who had sacrificed everything during Operation Falling Thunder.

The Wall of Heroes was a gleaming black obsidian structure, polished to a mirror finish. Its surface bore the etched names of every soldier who had given their lives to secure the safe passage of the survivors. Most prominent were the names of Lt. Kane's unit, their designations arranged in a somber, orderly grid beneath a single line of text at the top of the wall:

"For Those Who Gave Everything So That Others Might Live."

Flowers, dog tags, and handwritten notes had already begun to pile up at the base of the wall, placed there by comrades and loved ones who now stood silently, their heads bowed. The soft murmur of prayers and whispered words of remembrance hung in the air like a fragile thread holding the moment together.

Towering over the plaza, behind the Wall of Heroes, was the Statue of SABER-1, a massive bronze figure capturing the legend himself in a pose of unyielding defiance. The artist had depicted Eilífr mid-battle, his armor scarred and worn but his stance unshaken. His left arm was raised as though shielding those behind him, while his right hand gripped his rifle, the barrel angled toward an unseen enemy. His visor, etched with meticulous care, seemed to glint faintly in the candlelight, almost alive.

At the base of the statue, a bronze plaque had been affixed, the words engraved in bold, timeless script:

"SABER-1, THE UNSHAKEN GUARDIAN

WHO STOOD WHEN OTHERS FELL,

AND SACRIFICED ALL FOR THE HOPE OF HUMANITY."

Beneath the plaque, a smaller inscription read:

"Though his fate remains unknown, his legend will endure forever."

Among the crowd, Lt. Kane stood silently, her face partially obscured by the shadow of her cap. Her eyes were fixed on the Wall of Heroes, her gaze lingering on the names of her fallen comrades. She clenched her jaw, her hand trembling slightly as she held a single white rose. Stepping forward, she knelt at the base of the wall and placed the flower among the growing collection of tributes.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking as tears threatened to fall. "I'll make sure it wasn't in vain."

As she straightened, her eyes shifted to the statue of SABER-1. For a brief moment, her hardened exterior cracked, and a single tear traced a path down her cheek.

In the back of the crowd, Colonel Cirus Trask watched silently, his expression unreadable. He studied the statue, the Wall of Heroes, and the faces of those gathered. For all his animosity toward SABER-1, he couldn't deny the gravity of what the soldier had accomplished—and what he had potentially lost.

A soft breeze rustled the crowd, carrying with it the faint scent of the candles and flowers. Slowly, one by one, people began to step forward, leaving their own tributes at the Wall of Heroes. Some stood silently, others spoke softly, their voices trembling as they addressed the fallen.

The memorial wasn't just for the dead—it was a moment for everyone to face the weight of what they had endured and the sacrifices that had been made.

As the night deepened, the glow of the candles reflected off the statue of SABER-1, casting long shadows across the plaza. And for those who stood beneath its gaze, there was a shared, unspoken hope: that his sacrifice, like those of so many others, would not be in vain.

Off to the side of the memorial, away from the hushed prayers and murmured stories, Icarus stood alone, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The flickering candlelight from the plaza cast long, uneven shadows across her figure, but her face was unreadable beneath the brim of her flight cap. She looked toward the Statue of SABER-1 and the Wall of Heroes, her gaze locked on the bronze plaque beneath the towering figure.

"Though his fate remains unknown, his legend will endure forever."

The words twisted something deep inside her chest, and she clenched her jaw to keep the tears at bay. Her hands trembled as they gripped her arms, the pressure a weak attempt to steady herself against the rising tide of emotions threatening to consume her.

The rescue team's report played on a loop in her mind. The words were clinical, cold, as though they were speaking about equipment and not the man she had trusted her life to countless times.

"SABER-1's armor was found partially fused to the wreckage. Analysis indicates it reached its melting point during or shortly after the crash. No biological remains were recoverable."

She had been in the hangar when the report came in. She remembered the way her knees buckled, the way her vision blurred as the words settled like lead in her stomach. She had heard the commotion from the others—officers murmuring in shock, techs shaking their heads in disbelief—but their voices had faded into white noise. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart.

"No biological remains."

The memory alone made her throat tighten. She forced a breath through her nose, her chest heaving as she looked back toward the statue. She had flown them out of hell—pushed herself and the Falcon beyond its limits—only to be told it wasn't enough. That she hadn't been fast enough. That she hadn't saved him.

But deep down, she didn't believe it.

She couldn't.

Her lips trembled as she whispered under her breath, "He's out there. I know he is."

She shut her eyes tightly, squeezing her arms harder. The rescue team had brought back shards of the melted armor, warped beyond recognition, and laid them out like a grim trophy in the hangar. She hadn't gone to see it. She couldn't. Because if she did, it would mean accepting the possibility that the man she had flown countless missions with, the one who had pulled her from the brink time and time again, was gone.

And she refused to do that.

He's SABER-1, she thought bitterly, her teeth clenching as a single tear slid down her cheek. He doesn't die. He doesn't just… disappear.

A faint breeze swept through the plaza, carrying the soft murmurs of the crowd toward her. She turned her head slightly, watching as people laid flowers and trinkets at the base of the Wall of Heroes. Their grief felt suffocating, and she wanted to scream at them to stop. To stop mourning him. To stop giving up on him.

But she couldn't scream. Her voice was trapped, buried beneath the crushing weight of doubt and despair.

Her gaze drifted back to the statue. The way his armor had been captured, defiant and unyielding, felt almost mocking. She could hear his voice in her head, that calm, stoic tone he always used in the heat of battle.

"You're stronger than this, Icarus. You know I wouldn't go down that easy."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, choked and hollow. She ran a trembling hand over her face, wiping away the tear that had betrayed her. She wanted to believe it so badly it hurt.

But the words of the report still haunted her: "No biological remains."

Taking a shaky breath, she forced herself to step away from the plaza. She didn't want to hear the prayers or see the tributes. She didn't want to feel the weight of everyone's grief pressing down on her.

Because deep down, no matter how much her heart had been shredded, she clung to the only thing she had left: the hope that SABER-1 was still out there. Somewhere. Somehow.

And until she saw his body with her own eyes, she wouldn't let herself believe otherwise.

The memorial plaza had begun to clear as the night deepened, the glow of the candles softening as fewer people remained. Icarus walked away from the Wall of Heroes, her steps slow and heavy, her cap pulled low to hide her tear-streaked face. She hugged her flight jacket tightly around herself, as though the fabric could shield her from the weight crushing her chest.

As she turned a corner near the edge of the plaza, she almost collided with Colonel Cirus Trask. He had been standing in the shadows, arms crossed, watching the proceedings with an expression as unreadable as ever. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the faint hum of distant generators the only sound between them.

The Colonel was the first to break the silence. "Lieutenant," he said, his voice lower and softer than she was used to. There was no edge to it, no trace of his usual cold demeanor. "I thought you should know… there's still a search and rescue team in the field. They're combing the wreckage as we speak."

Icarus stopped in her tracks, her tired eyes narrowing slightly as she looked up at him. For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, a soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips. It was barely audible, tinged with exhaustion and disbelief.

"Search and rescue," she repeated, her voice thick with emotion. She looked away, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I appreciate it, Colonel. Really, I do. But… unfortunately for them…" She paused, her breath hitching as she fought to steady herself. "If SABER-1 doesn't want to be found, no search party will."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. She smiled faintly through her tears, the expression more resigned than hopeful, and turned her gaze back to the Colonel. "You know it as well as I do."

Trask didn't respond immediately. He looked at her, studying the way her shoulders trembled despite the strength she was trying to project. He saw the grief etched into her face, the deep pain she carried in every step, every word. But he didn't flinch. He couldn't.

Because he had felt that pain before.

He'd lost people—entire squads, entire cities. He knew the hollow ache of wondering if there was anything else you could've done. He knew the torment of clinging to hope when everything in the world screamed at you to let go.

And he knew that as long as she held onto her belief in SABER-1, she would keep moving forward.

The Colonel's lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes softened as he gave her the faintest of nods. "You're probably right," he said quietly. It wasn't agreement, but it wasn't denial either.

Icarus let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening their grip on her jacket. "If he wants to come back… he will," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Until then… I just have to trust him. That's all I can do."

The Colonel remained silent, his gaze heavy but not unkind. He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, and as she walked away, he turned to look at the towering Statue of SABER-1 in the distance.

She's right, he thought to himself, his throat tightening as he forced the thought to remain unspoken. If he doesn't want to be found, no one will find him.

And yet, as he stood there in the quiet of the plaza, watching the faint glow of the candles flicker in the wind, he found himself hoping—just as she did—that SABER-1 would return.