But he still forced a faint smile toward the holographic projector floating before him.
The smile was strained.
The corners of his mouth lifted, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened.
Aquila opened his mouth, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
"Dear sister..."
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I might..."
Aquila's voice began to tremble.
He stopped, took a deep breath.
When he spoke again, his voice steadied somewhat, but the tremor was impossible to hide.
"I might not make it back."
The lounge was quiet.
Only the low hum of the ventilation system and the faint, distant vibrations of the hull being struck.
Aquila stared at the small holographic projector, at the red light recording his final image.
He remembered his childhood, when his sister took him to the seaside to watch the sunrise.
He remembered the unpalatable nutrient meals his mother used to make.
He remembered the day he enlisted, his father standing at the door, saying nothing, just giving his shoulder a firm pat.
Those images flashed through his mind, too fleeting to grasp.
Aquila lowered his head.
Then he raised it again, facing the projector, and softly spoke a sentence.
"Don't tell Mom..."
He paused, his voice growing fainter.
"I'm at the Ten Stone Starfield front line."
As the words fell.
He reached out and turned off the projector.
At that moment.
The door slid open.
Several pilots in pressure suits walked in, their faces bearing the numbness unique to those who had fought too many battles.
Their movements were slow, as if each step drained all their strength.
Then they saw Aquila in the corner.
Saw the figure already leaning back in the chair, eyes closed, motionless.
Saw the holographic projector still glowing with its standby light.
They froze.
No one spoke.
The silence lasted a few seconds.
Then, a teammate slowly walked over to Aquila's side.
He lowered his head, looking at the pale face.
Silently, he reached out and gently patted Aquila's shoulder.
The gesture was light.
Light as a falling leaf.
Then he straightened up, looking at the holographic projector.
His voice emerged, hoarse, yet calm.
"Let me record one too."
The others nearby were taken aback.
Then another teammate stepped forward.
"And me."
"Count me in."
More and more people came over.
They formed a line in front of the small holographic projector.
No one cut in line.
Only silence, and those weary faces etched with stories.
The first teammate stood before the projector.
He used his thumb and forefinger to stretch the corners of his mouth, forcing a not-too-ugly smile.
Facing the projector, he slowly began to speak.
"Dear brother..."
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I can no longer fulfill my duty as an elder brother."
His voice started to tremble, but he held it back and continued.
"Grow up quickly."
"Use that pension to take good care of our parents."
He finished.
He turned off the projector and stepped aside.
The second person stepped up.
It was a young face, looking no older than twenty-five.
His lips were chapped, his eyes sunken, but there was still a glimmer of light in those eyes.
It was the light of someone he could not forget.
He smiled faintly at the projector.
The smile was faint, tinged with an indescribable regret.
"Dear Evelyn..."
"I'm sorry."
"I can't keep the promise I made back then."
His voice began to tremble.
"Not being able to complete our wedding..."
"Is the regret of my life."
He closed his eyes and turned off the projector.
Stepping aside.
At that moment, a man named Wyatt Hayes leaned against the doorframe.
A scornful smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
He looked at those lining up to record their final words.
Those weary, desperate faces.
Hayes shook his head slightly.
"This final message..."
He spoke, his voice not loud, yet clear enough for everyone to hear.
"Isn't it a bit too early?"
The people in line stopped and looked at him.
Hayes shrugged and continued.
"It's just a temporary setback."
"And you're already this disheartened?"
His gaze swept over them, his tone carrying an indescribable nuance.
Both mocking and disappointed.
"Not a shred of the bearing of an Imperial soldier."
The lounge fell silent for a moment.
No one spoke.
Then, a voice came from the corner.
It was Aquila.
He was still leaning back in his chair, eyes closed.
His pale face showed no expression, but his lips moved, emitting a hoarse voice.
"Hayes..."
Hayes looked at him.
Aquila opened his eyes.
Those eyes held no anger, no agitation, only an indescribable, weary calm.
He looked at Hayes and slowly spoke.
"Can't you see it yet?"
Hayes was taken aback.
Aquila continued, his voice not loud, but each word seemed forced from deep within his throat.
"The Federation's offensive is growing stronger."
"Every time we sortie, we face twice our number in Enemy Aircraft."
"Twice."
He repeated the number.
Hayes frowned slightly.
Aquila didn't stop, continuing.
"The previous Erebus Fleet..."
"Has long since vanished."
"This makes it clear—we're being used as the rearguard."
A teammate beside him lowered his head, saying nothing.
Aquila's voice continued to echo in the quiet lounge.
"We haven't received supplies for weeks."
He looked up at Hayes.
"How much ammunition is left?"
"How much energy remains?"
"Don't you have any idea?"
Hayes's lips moved as if to say something, but no words came out.
Aquila looked at him, silent for a second.
Then he uttered a single, quiet sentence.
So quiet it seemed like he was talking to himself.
"Perhaps..."
"The Stargate has been destroyed."
As the words fell.
The lounge plunged into a deathly silence.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Everyone stared at Aquila.
Stared at this young man who had just uttered such a treasonous statement.
The Stargate destroyed?
How could that be?
That was the Empire's lifeline.
That was the route of retreat for all of them.
The dead silence lasted for several seconds.
Then a light laugh broke the silence.
Wyatt Hayes leaned against the doorframe, that infuriatingly scornful smile still on his lips.
He looked at Aquila and shook his head.
"Is this a joke?"
His voice carried undisguised mockery.
"Even that Federation show, Imperial Military Jokes..."
"Probably wouldn't dare to imagine something this bold."
Aquila remained silent.
Hayes continued, speaking faster and faster, as if using his voice to dispel a faint unease in his heart.
"The Stargate is heavily guarded."
"How could the Federation break through the Imperial Fleet's layered defenses and blow that thing up?"
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