A/N: Re-edited and re-uploaded.

-Rear Admiral John Caradin-

-Etlanin System, 4.04.1346 TE-

I watched as my home burned to the ground in a tide of nuclear fire.

The warhead had struck the Eastern continent, an intense burst of light that quickly led to ripples of earth-shattering heat waves which fanned out over the planet. Mountains groaned and cracked as the wave passed over them, entire oceans evaporated and turned into sizzling pools of radioactive waste within seconds. The greatest of Man's structures were ripped to shreds instantly. The iconic Rivera Memorial Spaceport, once the central hub of TEC commerce and later military operations in the star system, disintegrated and was wiped away in the blink of an eye. Every town I had visited, every city that I knew, every single geographical feature that I grew up with was simply gone.

Etlanin IV was once the bastion of the TEC's frontier expansion, a verdant symbol of a prosperous people reaching outwards. In a few minutes it had been utterly destroyed after being bathed in the power of the most destructive weapon ever constructed in humanity's history. All it took was a single message back to STRATCOM:

"Prolonged defense of Etlanin system untenable, request usage of Novalith Cannon for denial of strategic advantage to enemy."

–Rear Adm. Caradin
TDN Akagi, Akkan-class Battlecruiser
154th Flotilla

Humans have used scorched-earth policies as a military tactic for thousands of years. The Cossacks burned their own crops. We wipe entire planets off the galactic map. There was not enough time to dismantle the extensive, sprawling industrial centers on the planet. Even if we did have the luxury of a complete evacuation of our assets, Etlanin IV would remain a habitable garden world which the enemy could then use as a base of operations. With the main body of our fleet destroyed at the asteroid fields at the edge of system and the possibility of a ground war out of the question due to enemy's propensity for orbital bombardment, there was no choice but to withdraw as many people as possible and phase jump to next spot of TEC controlled space. After that, there was only one thing left to do.

Denial of further utility.

The Novalith Cannon is the ultimate weapon of the Trader Emergency Coalition. The concept is actually quite simple. Imagine a traditional rail gun design with two parallel plates charged with electric current, but measuring three times the length of a capital ship and operating on an immense power source that could supply a city with electricity for a year. A nuclear warhead, accelerated to 99.9% of the speed of light through the generated magnetic field, is enough to render a planet uninhabitable through sheer heat and radiation for years. Humanity had been designing military applications of rail guns ever since electromagnetism became a scientific pursuit, and the TEC came up with the Novalith Cannon in response to the growing desperation of the war. With projectiles fired at such high velocities, fortress worlds could be blasted from the comfortable position of a nearby star system. It was intended to eliminate strategic enemy strong points, punching a hole through the front lines which our fleets could then exploit. No one ever thought it would come to this, burning our own worlds to buy time.

My own homeworld turned into a floating husk with the push of a button. And it was my finger that pressed it.

I had a vivid childhood, living on the edge of developed lands on Etlanin IV. Armed conflict was a story of the past and our "navy" consisted of a few aging boats to deal with the occasional pirate raid. I remember…falling asleep to the sounds of faraway ships powering up their engines as they left orbit. Rivera Memorial Spaceport was a hundred miles away, but the sound of vessels coming and going traveled far.

There were entire summers that I spent exploring the untouched forests and rugged mountain ridges around my home. Skipping work in the fields to go off with my friends, pretending to be great adventurers discovering the new and unknown. Finding an ancient tree with massive gnarled limbs. Climbing to a peak of Eagle's Rest, watching the freighters journey up into the sky and disappearing into the clouds of the upper atmosphere. A…girl and I, watching those ships and promising that we'll both make it to the stars someday. She had hair the color of saffron. What was her name?

Perhaps she made it off planet-side in time. Or maybe she was one of the five million people we left behind. The five million that I condemned to die.

It's not the first time I've made sacrifices. I've been in command of fleets and left planets to burn before. There was not enough time; I ordered the remnants of the 154th Flotilla to withdraw from planetary orbit to prevent the Vasari from wiping us out. The evacuation of the populace was incomplete. The fact that this was my planet, my home, my memories, reminded me how dear the sacrifice was this time.

Some military analyst might praise me, congratulating me on maintaining an orderly retreat and still managing to get the majority of the population off planet. The psychologist would pat my hand, telling me that I did what I could and it's not my fault. "It's the Vasari," they'll say, "they're the ones responsible."

No. It wasn't the Vasari. Yes, they launched an offensive. But it was my orders to mount a defense of the Etalnin system. It was I who ordered Commodore Huerta to take a third of the flotilla and make a daring counterattack on the flanks of the Vasari invaders. I'm responsible for the naval personnel who died when that counterattack failed. In turn, I'm responsible for the haphazard withdrawal, so chaotic that five million people got left behind to die. And I'm the one who put in the request for the Novalith Cannon. I'm the one who sat and watched as a TEC warhead raced across space towards my home world, for the sake of "strategic balance of the region."

And when I see the grieving widows and orphaned children, I will grasp my blue navy cap in one hand and solemnly say, "My condolences for your loss." As if a few words can mend a broken family or heal a thousand festering wounds.

Joining the Navy once was my ticket off to the greater galaxy. I planned on a few easy tours patrolling trade routes against pirates and then using the cash to make it big in the Core Worlds. It was a naïve ambition, a wish for something beyond the wheat fields and ship factories which characterized life on Etlanin IV. Climbing mountains wasn't enough. I was young, carefree, and wanted to reach for more. It was only one month after receiving my commission as an ensign that the news came of a frontier world under attack by a mysterious alien race.

It's been twenty years since then.

This war has dragged on and on. It's almost as if the thousand years of peace under the Trade Order never existed. All that matters is the threat to survival, the very real possibility of the extinction of the human race. For the first few months, when the first Vasari ships arrived, it was a war of confusion. We still attempted to negotiate and resolve the conflict with an olive branch in our hands. After the frontier worlds began to fall, it was a war of ideology and xenonationalism. The democratic Trade Order, centered on compromise and squabbling between planetary members, disappeared under the auspices of the militarized Trader Emergency Coalition. Citizens were called to arms to defend their way of life. Civilian freighters were cannibalized for their reactors, aging cruisers brought back into service. Propaganda went into full swing, portraying the TEC as an iron wall holding back the onslaught of the vicious alien hordes. We fought for every spot of dirt under a banner of pride and honor.

Now it is a war of survival. We've shakily stabilized some fronts, but many others remain hotly contested. The remaining half of our territory churns out ships frantically, but our forces remain scattered and hard-pressed. Every day the casualty list grows by the thousands. A fleet routed here, a squadron destroyed there. It's de-sensitizing as the innumerable tragedies turn into simple numbers on a page. Everyone has lost someone, whether it's in the hundreds of lives which are lost on a single naval ship or it's the people who are left behind during hasty evacuations. This war has reached a point where there is no difference between a million deaths and a thousand, only cold logic with regard to the overview of the war.

It is a war of math. A decision to reinforce a flotilla's defensive line or to allow those men and women to die in order to buy time is made by consulting a calculator and a map. There is no room for ethics anymore. Faced with no prospect of reinforcements, protocol dictated I deny the strategic advantage of this system. So I sent in the request for the Novalith Cannon, and burned away my birthplace along with any lasting sentimentality.

Etlanin IV will become a small negative mark on Command's glorified spreadsheet. But elsewhere, the ships that could have been used to reinforce my decimated fleet are providing desperately needed support to the defenders of other star systems. Those men can wipe the sweat from their brow and breathe a sigh of relief at the welcome sight of incoming TEC squadrons exiting from phase jump. While in our lonely corner of space, the crews grimly go about their duties, following a command which they have heard too many times before: Retreat.

By this time, the battlecruiser had turned completely around and proceeded to the far edge of the Etlanin system. My observation port in the command center only reveals the speckled darkness of space. I'm unfamiliar with the stars that greet me; every spot in the galaxy sees space differently. The grey hulls of nearby ships shine in the blue glow of their exhaust ports, many of which are freighters carrying those who managed to get off Etlanin IV in time. The command center is still bustling with activity. No one gets to rest until the dangers of the Vasari are well behind us.

One of the deck officers—a young lieutenant in a rumpled blue uniform—turns and calls to me, "The Akagi has reached its designated position and Captain Matthews reports that all civilian convoy ships are accounted for."

I curtly nod in acknowledgement and turn my attention to the communications operator, "Establish a channel. All vessels proceed to jump drive, ships carrying civilians are to phase only after the forward naval elements are on their way."

The operator quickly begins to relay the orders as I address the rest of the ship through the intercom, "All personnel, prepare for phase jump. Engineering, direct power to activate the jump drive and launch at my command."

At the nose of the ship, wispy tendrils of light appear, flashing yellow and blue and gold. The tendrils branch out into a corona of energy, swirling together with greater and greater speed. The observation port is completely blocked by this whirling maelstrom. I remember the excitement and slight fear I felt with my first phase jump, so many years ago, still nervously adjusting the pips on my collar and trying to anticipate what I would feel as the ship was launched towards the vast expanse of space. The steel plating which covered every inch of the interior of the ship was so odd and the smell of filtered air unsettling compared to the feel of grass and the smell of fresh air. Encased in a titanium hull, I left the forests and mountains of my adolescent memories and did not return until the blight of war brought me back.

"All ships are a-go."

"Jump drive fully powered."

"Sensors, green."

"Navigation, green."

"All naval personnel prepped for phase jump."

The remnants of our flotilla will get a few days of rest before heading back to the front. We could die next week, defending another TEC colony. Or perhaps destroyed in a surprise pirate raid, which is especially possible in the vulnerable areas behind our front lines. Our sacrifices may mean something, or they may not. Neither glory nor honor is at stake anymore. Our ships are coffins, with the number of stars on your lapel just a proportion of how many nails have already been hammered in.

As a young boy, I remember being awestruck with how immeasurably vast space is. It was a cool, summer night. Sleeplessly lying on pasture of dry grass, listening to the chirps of crickets and the distant hum of freighter engines. That girl, the one whose name I can't recall, was beside me. I remember the starlight dancing in her saffron hair. And then I looked up and saw the inky black darkness, with scattered rivers of bright spots of light radiating from giants made of gas and plasma. I had never felt so insignificant, so frightfully small compared to the universe above.

Perhaps that is why this war will never end. For every star that we defend, there is another for the enemy to attack. For every destroyed Vasari outpost, there is another asteroid which the enemy has established a position. Our front line is drawn out over hundreds of light years. Every gas cloud and every swirling center of dust and rock is a potential foothold. And yet, this conflict which has engulfed the lives of a quadrillion human beings is still utterly tiny in the eyes of the galaxy as a whole. And beyond this galaxy, lies hundreds and hundreds more. The distance stretches and stretches until the mind cannot even comprehend the numbers involved. There will always be more space to fight over.

"Admiral?" asks the operations chief.

Glancing over the green lights of the control panel, I turn to the command crew.

"Jump."

With that, we winked out of Etlanin system. The tendrils of energy fully enveloped the outer hull of the ship as it leaped forward. The phase jump brought nausea and headaches to the entire crew, but we were hurtling away to the embrace of safety. An ever so brief reprieve and then we shall fight once more. We'll soon battle over another planet, another asteroid field, another contested nebula. But there is still a flicker of hope within me. Maybe, just maybe, one day the guns will become silent. Vasari and human alike will be able to examine their sins and look upon their history to search for a solution to overcome the challenges we all face. One day when I can return to the ancient trees of some untouched forest and enjoy the smell of pine needles on a crisp morning.

For now, we remain two rival empires battling in our journey to reach out to the stars and beyond.

A/N: Note that I will be editing my previous chapters as I go along, as the story currently is based off of fleeting moments of inspiration as I go about my day and as a result sometimes turn out to be very, very flawed. I plan on writing this story from a collection of many different perspectives, which loosely weave together as I go along.

This one of my first attempts at creative writing, so thank you for reading and please leave a review! Harsh criticisms, unabashed praise, I welcome them all.

-CinnamonTea

Disclaimer: I do not own Sins of a Solar Empire.