The cold expanse of space stretched endlessly around the Battleship Victory, a solitary behemoth adrift in the void. Its hull, scarred from countless skirmishes, bore the testament of a war that had raged for what seemed like eons. Inside, the dimly lit corridors echoed with the soft hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder of the isolation that space imposed.
Commander Elena Marris paced the bridge, her boots thudding softly against the metal floor. The vast emptiness outside the viewport mirrored the hollowness she felt within. The war had taken more than just resources and lives; it had chipped away at her soul, leaving a void as vast as the one her ship sailed through.
"Commander, we're approaching the rendezvous coordinates," Lieutenant Hargreaves reported, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.
Elena nodded, her gaze fixed on the stars. "Any sign of the Tempest?"
"Not yet, ma'am. But they should be here any minute."
