He felt tired.
His metallic bones were aged, his fire dulled over the years.
Eyes haunted by the seven thousand years of war that he had endured looked dark and empty.
And so was he.
There was nothing more to life than an endless existence of "balancing". The Lotus worked day and night for peace in the solar system, while the Tenno were the extension of her hand. And that hand had been covered by blood.
His silent steps across the Grineer Galloon was tainted with bitterness of repetition. The black body of his was sharpened with strips of yellow and small hesitations of light, and painted with the life water of dead men.
And suddenly there was a window. It was on his left, as sad and damaged as he was. Rust on the edges of the frame marked it as ancient, while cracks, not on the outside, but on the inside showed its age.
His fingers lightly brushed against it, rubbing the dirt and dust away. And he saw.
The frozen night.
The sun shone on the horizon of space, warming his frozen face. His stunned features were showered with bright rays, spraying their sunshine into each of the cracks. Other suns of different solar systems added to the light, together as one like old friends. The abyss between them that were so enormous was covered by warmth, expelling the darkness.
The man sighed and turned around. Before long, the sight was forgotten.
But, just maybe, a really small ember sparkled in his heart before disappearing like it was never there.