Isyra: The Last Outpost

I look up to the sky, to the stars that twinkle above my head and I wonder; will we ever reach them? There's so much wonder in the sky, so much that we could learn if we turned our attention upward... and yet, that's not something we want to do. We want to stay here, we want to fight and kill one another over issues that are so blown out of proportion that we don't even know how they started.


A thousand more young men and women died today in a war that has been raging for generations now, their only crime being born in an era that lusted more for power and conquest than discovery. If this were peaceful times, if we were a truly great civilization as they claim, those people would have been educated, they would have given their lives to something that would impact Humanity in better ways, beyond dying in a ditch somewhere because two nations can't just get along.


The stars watch us, they see our foolishness; do they weep for us? Can they see how much we suffer because of our own failings, our own lusts for the material? Possession of land, of money... the power that comes with it; what does it all matter? Does such fleeting things truly deserve the sacrifice of so much potential? If the stars do watch us, then maybe they are laughing... maybe they watch the Human drama on this little world and laugh at how stupid we are, at just how small and meaningless our little fights are.


"My God is better than your God, so convert or die", "Your land is better than my own so I'll take it", "Might makes right, and money brings power"... is this all we're capable of thinking? Can't we all just look up to the stars and see how small we are while how vast the rest of the universe truly is? Can't we just be content to live with one another and turn toward the future, to make it better? Can't we all marvel at the glory of all creation and hope to one day see it in all its magnificent splendor?


I look to the sky and I wonder... what will be my fate? I got my orders today, I'll be shipped off to some forsaken corner of the empire to defend some meaningless little patch of dirt that the brass thinks is worth dying for. This may be the last time I can look up at the sky and think these thoughts, the last time I can afford to wonder about the glory of the stars and the frailties of man.


If the stars are watching... will they laugh at my death, or weep at my loss?