And yet somehow, the last thing Cooper left behind still pulsed with life.
On the table beside Varen lay the holo-com, scorched at the edges. The Federation insignia, though charred, still bore its eagle crest—its wings outstretched over a shattered star.
Cooper had handed it to him with shaking fingers. The last thing he gave before letting go.
He hadn’t dared open it.
Not until now.
With a trembling hand, Varen picked up the device. His thumb hovered over the activation button.
He wasn’t ready.
But—he may never be.
The holo-com buzzed to life. Its screen flickered blue, then slowly stabilized into a familiar face.
Cooper. Whole. Smiling. Alive.
"Hey, kid…
If you’re seeing this, then... yeah. I didn’t make it. And that sucks. Believe me, this wasn't the plan."
He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when nerves got the better of him.
"But first—listen to me. What happened? It wasn’t on you. Not even close. So don’t carry this like it’s punishment.
I made a choice. And I’d make it again."
"You lived. That’s what matters."
His smile faded as the weight of his words settled in.
"You’ve got a future. One worth fighting for. So don’t waste it chasing ghosts.
Don’t let my end be the end of your story."
He leaned in. The holo blurred slightly—artifacting from old damage.
"Remember that old fence between our yards?
The one you used to climb when you couldn’t sleep?
You’d knock on my window and start talking about the stars—like they belonged to you already. You must’ve been, what, six? Seven?
You said you wanted to fly before you even learned to ride a bike."
"I knew then. You had light in you. Something rare."
"You were like a son to me. I hope you knew that."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
A breath. Steady now. His eyes didn’t waver from the lens.
"So here’s the choice, Varen.
You can walk away. Build something quiet. No one would blame you.
Or…
You carry the fire. You become the man I always knew you were becoming."
"Live. Fully. Freely. Fiercely."
"Make it count."
"Make me count."
One final smile. Faint, but full of meaning.
Then the screen went black.
A tear slipped from Varen’s eye. He didn’t stop it.
Then another.
He let them fall, unashamed.
"I’ll make it count," he whispered, voice cracking.
"I’ll make you count."
Since the bunker collapsed, since the world cracked open beneath his feet—something in him had been drowning.
Now… it paused.
Not peace.
Not yet.
But direction.
He stared through the medical bay window. The stars shimmered beyond the reinforced glass—no longer cold, no longer indifferent. They glittered like questions, waiting to be earned.
Behind him, the holo-com sat silent. But the weight of Cooper’s final gift still pressed warm in his palm.
Then came the knock.
Telo stepped inside. His boots thudded softly on the metal floor. He looked worse than before—left arm in a sling, jaw bruised purple, one eye still swollen shut.
But the other burned with intent.
"You look like hell," Varen muttered.
"You should see the other guy," Telo said dryly, then held out a datapad. "Figured you’d want to see this."
Varen took it. Expected a medical chart. Maybe a casualty list.
Instead, the screen flared red.
[CLASSIFIED TRANSMISSION – SFM-SFC – EYES ONLY]
A pulse of encryption cycles began to spin. He tapped the confirmation pad.
The Federation insignia returned. Clear this time. White and gold against the stars.
Vice Admiral Rynn Kaelor appeared—standing tall on the bridge of a ship Varen didn’t recognize. Sleek console lights glowed behind her. Her posture was straight-backed, formal. But her eyes were sharper than her tone.
[BEGIN HOLO MESSAGE – CLASSIFIED TRANSMISSION // SFM-SFC ENLISTMENT CHANNEL]
"Cadet Candidate Varen Noctus."
She paused.
"This message reaches you under posthumous authorization by Captain Elias Cooper – Sol Federation Military. Protocol Code: Emberline"
"His recommendation carried more than emotion. It carried merit. Strategic merit. Cooper saw in you something rare."
"Normally, civilians from unincorporated fringe sectors don’t see this level of clearance—let alone Academy access."
She stepped slightly to the side. A digital panel pulsed off-screen as she tapped a command. Encryption locks shimmered and unraveled.
"But sometimes… rules bend for the right kind of soul."
"Per Directive 9-Gamma-17 under Exceptional Enlistment Statutes, you are hereby offered provisional enrollment into the Sol Federation Naval Academy – Sector Theta-Prime."
"Training is not conducted on Arun. Transport will be arranged once readiness is confirmed."
"This is not a courtesy.
This is not a favor."
"This is a challenge."
She leaned in.
"If you accept—know this: you step into fire. Into legacy. Into war.
But you won’t walk in alone."
A pause.
"We lost good people. Cooper was one of them. If he believed in you… we owe it to his memory to see what he saw."
Her voice shifted. A note of command, but not without care.
"The stars are watching, Cadet Noctus.
The next move is yours."
"Transmission ends upon acknowledgment."
"Make it count."
The screen went black.
Varen stared at it, motionless.
The datapad sat in his lap like a live charge.
First Cooper… now this.
A spark lit inside him.
Not fire. Not fury.
Hope.
Wrapped in expectation.
A door had opened.
And beyond it—a future that would demand everything he had left.
The stars weren’t just stories in the sky anymore.
They were calling.
And Varen had just been challenged to answer.