Watching the sun set over the plains we once called ours. There is a profound, heavy stillness in knowing that every victory we claim for the Empire is merely a way to delay an inevitable sunset.
General Riose speaks of glory and the restoration of order, but does anyone else feel like we are simply rearranging the furniture in a house that is already burning? Duty is a demanding master, but sometimes I wonder if we serve the living or the ghosts of what we used to be.