The war for the outer regions had already consumed entire alliances before my name ever appeared on a fleet broadcast. I was nobody special then — just another capsuleer born in the endless machine of New Eden. But somewhere between the burning gates of nullsec and the wreckage drifting above forgotten moons, I became the last surviving brother of a bloodline swallowed by war.

My three older brothers died in different campaigns across the cluster.

One vanished during the collapse of a wormhole operation in Anoikis. Another was lost when his dreadnought was trapped during a Keepstar siege deep in Guristas territory. The eldest died buying time for civilians evacuating from a station under pirate assault in low security space.

When command realized all four of us had served in active combat zones simultaneously, orders spread through the fleet networks like static through a damaged comm relay:

Find him. Bring him home.

A task force crossed systems already consumed by fire to reach me. They fought through gate camps, black ops ambushes, shattered citadels, and entire constellations where cynos burned brighter than stars. Ships died for every jump they made toward me. Pilots I barely knew sacrificed themselves so one exhausted capsuleer could leave the war alive.

By the time they found me, I no longer resembled the pilot they had been sent to recover.

I had watched titans split open like dying suns. I had heard final broadcasts from friends drifting powerless through vacuum. I had seen corporations betray each other for survival and alliances collapse overnight into ash and silence.

And still, somehow, I survived.

When the war ended for me, I disappeared from the front lines. No more sovereignty battles. No more fleet pings at impossible hours. No more kill reports scrolling endlessly across my interface.

Now I drift through quieter systems beneath the glow of distant stars, mining asteroid fields where the only sound is the steady pulse of strip miners against stone. Some call it retirement. Others think I’m hiding.

Maybe they’re both right.

But every scar on my hull, every station I dock in, every region I pass through reminds me of the people who carried me out of hell when they could have saved themselves instead.

That’s why I never stay in one place too long.
Because in New Eden, loyalty is rarer than any ore.
And because I have friends everywhere.