[LTC - L14 - Dalastine - NR3F] A pilot's song

Several months after the fall of the Empire, the galaxy still bears the scars of war. Though the New Republic fights to rebuild and bring order to the stars, shadows of the past linger, refusing to fade. Among those who have helped shape this new era, Torin Val stands out, as a pilot of remarkable skill and with an unshakable sense of justice.

 

Born on a remote and unforgiving moon in the Outer Rim, Torin learned early how to endure hardship. The vastness of the sky above him was a promise, a call to something greater. He answered that call in the cockpit of his B-wing, carving his name into history through daring maneuvers and battles fought against Imperial remnants. Yet, for all his victories, he finds himself wrestling with a more elusive struggle. One that cannot be won with blaster fire or precision flying.

 

One of his refuges lies on Dalastine, a world of endless marshes and quiet waters. There, a simple fisherman’s cabin is perched on stilts above the ground, at the edge of a lake. Torin allowed himself to breathe here, for a few days of leave. The hum of repulsorlifts and the crackle of comlink chatter are replaced by the whisper of the wind, and the rhythmic lapping of water against the shore. Sitting by the water’s edge, a steaming cup in his hands, he watches the golden light of a distant sun ripple across the surface. On the other side of the lake, he can distinguish the operational base the New Republic is building on the planet. Various ships come and go, bringing furniture, messages, and people. His starfighter is patiently waiting for him there, sitting on a landing platform, longing to be started again.

 

Torin knows the war is not truly over. He knows his skills may yet be called upon. But here for a brief moment, he surrenders to stillness. In this solitude, far from the roar of turbolasers, he sings a song he wrote in his cockpit : 

 

The starlight fades, the dark runs deep,
No voice to call, no vow to keep,
The thrusters burn, the hull grows cold,
A tale long told, yet never old.

A pilot's fate is dust and steel,
No roots to grow, no ground to feel.
But if I land, if I stand still,
Will the stars shine for me still ?
No world will wait, no heart will glow,
No name to carve in stone below.

Yet still I fly, yet still I roam,
For skies are vast, but none are home.

I've seen the fire, I've seen the blast,
Watched brothers fall and fade to past,
I've chased the dawn, I've danced with death,
My name's a ghost in engine's breath.

Yet still I fly, yet still I roam,
For stars may shine, but not as chrome.