Public Hall of Rememberance

[Laphisto]

As you enter the Hall of Remembrance aboard Aurora Station, a solemn silence greets you, replacing the usual background hum of station activity. This place is a permanent fixture of the station, a sanctuary dedicated to the fallen and the missing—those who gave everything in service to the Lilaste Order. The air here feels different, as though even the station itself respects the sanctity of this space.

Banners hang from the towering walls, muted in color but unmistakable in their meaning, each bearing the emblem of the Order. These banners gently sway in the artificial breeze, their movement the only sign of life in this otherwise still chamber. The room is bathed in soft, ambient lighting, casting a gentle glow over the scene without drawing attention away from the central focus.

At the heart of the hall stands a holo projector, a permanent installation. The projector is a standard piece of technology, simple and unadorned apart from the personal touches added over the years. Ribbons in colors of mourning are tied around its edges, and small emblems representing various battalions and units have been carefully carved into its base. These subtle decorations elevate the projector from a mere tool to a sacred memorial, honoring the soldiers it displays.

The projector hums quietly as it cycles through its endless task, casting a soft blue light upward into the room. Above it, a large holographic display flickers to life. The faces of the fallen, rendered in blue, slowly rotate in midair. Each face is accompanied by a brief, glowing inscription: the name, rank, ID number, and final moments of the soldier it honors. The details are simple but powerful:

• Captain Jara Ven
  • ID: 5624-LO
  • Status: KIA - Battle of Ropagi II
  • Cause of Death: Shipboard explosion while leading evacuation efforts

Her face is solemn, her eyes forward as if she's still in the midst of her final command. As her image fades, another appears:

• Private Valis Kurn
  • ID: 7812-LO
  • Status: MIA - Attack of Mon Cala
  • Last Seen: Defending His position after Crashed LAET/I

His expression is fierce, a testament to the bravery that led him into the thick of battle. His fate remains unknown, but his memory lives on here.

Each name, each face is treated with the same care and respect. The stories of their sacrifice, where they fought, and how they died or disappeared, are displayed in soft, glowing text. Some entries are accompanied by small holographic icons—personal crests, unit insignias, or awards—adding a personal touch to the memory of the individual. The projector never stops, its quiet hum the only sound in the hall, as it eternally cycles through the names of those who can never be forgotten.

The Hall of Remembrance is more than a memorial. It's a place of reflection, a place where members of the Order can come to pay their respects, to remember comrades lost, or to seek inspiration in the bravery of those who came before them. The quiet stillness invites you to linger, to stand among the holograms of the fallen, and reflect on the cost of service to the Order. Here, in this permanent sanctuary, the memories of the lost will endure, forever rotating in the soft glow of the holo projector, a lasting tribute to their sacrifice.

 

[Dravin macovish]

Dravin entered the Hall of Remembrance, his steps slow and deliberate. The soft hum of the holo projector cycling through the names of the fallen greeted him as always, but today felt heavier. Seven of those names were his, faces that belonged to members of his squadron, friends who had trusted him. He had led them, assigned them their roles—and he had lost them. Especially those who had filled the cursed 8th slot.

He made his way to one of the smaller mini projectors, his hand hovering for a moment as he prepared to summon their names. The cursed 8th slot—it had become something of a haunting shadow within his squadron, a position that seemed to doom whoever was assigned to it. Seven lives lost in that position, and no explanation. No one liked to talk about it, but everyone knew.

As the projector flickered to life, the faces of the fallen appeared before him, rendered in soft blue light. Their names, their ranks, all too familiar.

Sergeant Orvin Drex
Private Tor Jamar
Corporal Helys Arn
Lieutenant Risa Balen
Captain Fen Gorran
Private Valea Gorn
Ensign Jero Tala

Seven faces, seven lives. All had taken the 8th slot. All had never returned.

Dravin's eyes lingered on each face, the familiar tightness in his chest returning. He clenched his fists, fighting back the guilt that gnawed at him. He was their squadron leader. It had been his responsibility to protect them, to make the right calls. But no amount of skill or leadership could change what had happened. That cursed 8th spot had claimed them one by one, as if it were marked for death.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. Each face in front of him carried memories—bravery in battle, laughter in quieter moments, and the gut-wrenching loss when they didn't return.

For a moment, he allowed himself to stand there in silence, paying his respects, letting the faces of his fallen squadmates wash over him. It was his burden to bear—the curse of the 8th slot, the weight of leadership, the responsibility of ensuring their sacrifices weren't forgotten.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he looked at their names one last time. They deserved to be remembered, not just as casualties of war, but as individuals who had given everything. "You'll never be forgotten," he vowed, his voice stronger now. "I'll make sure of it."

With a final glance at the projector, he turned and made his way toward the exit. The central projector continued its endless cycle, and in time, their faces would appear there too, part of the greater memory of the Lilaste Order's fallen. But for Dravin, their memory would always live with him—seven lives, taken too soon by the cursed 8th slot, a burden he would carry until his own end.

As he left the hall, the quiet weight of the past followed him, but so did his determination. He would ensure their memory endured, and he would take the 8th slot next. No one else would fall to it again if he could help it.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto marched into the Hall of Remembrance, his personal guard flanking him in solemn formation. The chamber, usually illuminated by the soft glow of the holo projector, stood dim, its central display silent in anticipation. Around him, the gathered officers, pilots, navigators, engineers, and security personnel of the Lilaste Order stood in unified silence. Some were present in person, their uniforms crisp yet weighed by loss, while others flickered in via holo screens, their spectral blue forms a testament to the reach of the Order, even in mourning.

Each step felt heavier than the last as Laphisto approached the podium, his taloned hands tightening against its edges. His usual composure felt brittle beneath the weight pressing on his chest. The faces of the fallen were already burned into his mind long before they would be recorded in the Hall’s eternal archive.

Because it was his order that had sent them into battle. they had trusted in him, followed his command, believed in the fight he had chosen. They had placed their faith in him as their leader, and now… they were gone.

He let the silence stretch, letting it carry the weight of the names that had yet to be spoken. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but beneath it was something heavier—something raw.

"We gather today to honor those who fell over the skies of Bastion, those who fought and perished among the stars. They stood against the Dark Empire and the Empire of the Lost, knowing the cost, yet they never faltered. Though they are no longer among us, their sacrifice will not be forgotten. Their names, their deeds, their courage will live on within the Lilaste Order, recorded here so that they may never fade into the void."

The hush deepened, thick with grief. The banners of the Order hung lifeless in the still air. Laphisto turned slightly, nodding toward Commander Tarian, who stepped forward, carrying a black-lacquered box, the insignia of the Order engraved upon its surface. Within, service tags and ID chips lay in perfect rows, each one a fragment of a life once lived. The weight of their presence pressed against Laphisto's soul as he reached into the box, retrieving the first ID chip with careful precision.

He hesitated. For the briefest moment, his talons froze around the small metal chip, his breath tightening in his chest. He could still remember the battle—the calls over the comms, the frantic reports, the split-second decisions that had meant life or death.

He had led them into battle.And they had died under his command. His thumb ran over the engraved name, as though the action alone could bring it meaning beyond cold metal and etched letters. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of an unbearable loss as he read aloud.

"Lieutenant Jorren Vax. Saal’kesh Squadron. Fighter Pilot. Killed in Action. His starfighter was critically damaged in battle over Bastion. Rather than eject, he remained behind to cover his squadron’s retreat, ensuring they made it home."

A deep breath. A slow, deliberate movement. Laphisto inserted the chip into the podium’s holo interface, and the quiet sound of a data upload echoed in the still chamber. A moment later, a soft hum filled the air as the main holo projector activated, casting a blue glow. The face of Lieutenant Vax flickered into existence, his name, rank, and final action etched into the holographic display. His eyes, frozen in time, still held the fire of a pilot who had fought until the very end. The silence stretched again, but this time, it was heavier. Laphisto swallowed down the tightness in his throat, reaching for the next tag.

"Petty Officer Arin Dell. Weapons Control Specialist. Killed in Action. Served aboard the Drak’varis. His station was struck in the second wave of enemy fire. He remained at his post, relaying firing solutions until the moment the ship was lost."

Another chip was slotted, and a second face joined the first, their names now forever part of the Hall of Remembrance. One by one, the names were spoken, each ID chip recorded, each face projected into the room. And with each name, the weight on Laphisto’s shoulders grew heavier.

"Flight Officer Sila Ren. Pilot, Kazr’thaan Squadron. Killed in Action. Intercepted an enemy bomber wing targeting the fleet. She eliminated three before her fighter was overwhelmed."

"Chief Engineer Davros Kel. Tazrak’s Fang. Missing in Action. Last seen attempting to reroute power to the main guns as the reactor core collapsed. No transmissions followed."

"Captain Velan Threx. Zar'vakahn. Killed in Action. Remained on the bridge to coordinate evacuation efforts. He refused to abandon his crew."

Each name cut deeper, each loss a wound reopened, never quite healed. These were more than warriors—they were voices in the corridors, hands on the controls, steadfast presences on the battlefield. Now, their faces shone in the soft glow of the holo projector, father's, mother's, daughters, sons. Lives that would never get to be fulfilled

Laphisto’s claws tightened against the podium, his breath slow and measured. He had lost warriors before. He had seen ships break apart in the cold abyss of space. He had seen comrades vanish into the void, their voices snuffed out with nothing left but silent wreckage. And it never got easier.

He had commanded countless battles, and with each victory came a price. No matter how much he planned, how carefully he strategized, lives were always lost. And every time, he carried them with him. Every decision, every maneuver, every sacrifice—they were his responsibility.

Had he made the right calls? Had he done enough to save them? Could he have sent reinforcements sooner? Given better orders? Could he have stopped them from dying for him? The answer did not come. It never did.

When the last name was spoken, Laphisto allowed himself a moment of stillness. He looked up at the faces above, at the soldiers who had given everything. Placing his right hand over his heart, he bowed his head.

"We carry their memory."

As one, the assembled officers, pilots, and crew raised their fists to their chests,dipping into a bow and repeating the phrase

"And we carry their duty."

The Hall of Remembrance now held their names, their stories, their sacrifices. The holo projector continued its quiet vigil, its newly recorded faces now forever a part of the Lilaste Order’s eternal memory, never to be forgotten.