Weeks had passed since the Dominion's defeat. The city, though scarred, was alive again. Rebels rebuilt homes, cleared rubble, and tended to the wounded. Life, fragile but persistent, returned.
I walked through the streets, Hunter frame stripped down, plating polished, optics dimmed. The body was still mine, a tool, a weapon—but now it felt more like a shield than a curse. Inside, I was still Kieran: human, alive, grounded.
Lira joined me, carrying water, her smile faint but real. "You've changed," she said softly.
"I've survived," I replied. "And learned." I gestured to the ruins around us. "We all have. The Dominion is gone… for now. But we're still here. That matters."
She nodded, eyes thoughtful. "And we'll stay here. Rebuild. Protect what's ours."
Helen appeared nearby, overseeing repairs, her expression softer than usual. "The city has endured," she said. "And so have you. Kieran. You've proven that even when the world pushes against you, strength and will can prevail."
I glanced at the horizon, the sun rising over twisted towers and smoldering streets. The war had left scars, but it had also left lessons—about power, control, and the importance of holding onto humanity, no matter the body I wore.
Lira's hand found mine again, steadying, grounding. "We're ready for whatever comes next," she whispered.
I squeezed her hand, a faint smile forming. "Then we'll face it… together."
For the first time in a long while, the city felt like home. The Dominion's echoes were gone, the whispers silenced. The battle had been won, not just with claws and steel, but with the strength of will, memory, and human determination.
And as I stood there, side by side with those who had survived beside me, I knew this truth would endure: no matter the darkness, no matter the power I wielded, I was Kieran. And that was enough.
The city breathed. We breathed. And for now, the future was ours.