Lyra // Terminus

The breach had already begun when the last carriers lifted into the storm. Engines roared against the collapsing sky, their silhouettes vanishing into a horizon of fire. Behind them, the city fractured—steel spires folding like paper, data towers bleeding light into the void.

Lyra stayed.

Not because of orders. Not because of failure. Because someone had to hold the line long enough for the last names to escape the registry. Her family among them. The weight of that choice settled across her armor like ash, fusing with the scars of every battle before this one.

She walked the memory corridors one last time, panels flickering with faces and fragments of lives already erased. Then she stepped into the open, rifle in hand, the storm clawing at her silhouette. Ahead, the breach pulsed like a wound in the earth, spilling machines and fire into the ruins.

The salutes came without words—three soldiers, shadows against the blaze. She nodded once, then turned away. The ground shook. The sky tore. And Lyra  moved forward, alone, into the mouth of the collapse.