The quiet after the battle felt heavier than the chaos itself. The battlefield, now a graveyard of twisted metal and scorched earth, stretched far beyond the city. Wrecked mechs lay in tangled heaps, silent reminders of the cost of survival. Cleanup crews moved among them, but Kovacs stayed back, watching from the edge of the workshop.

The M60 stood nearby, its battered frame looming in the fading sunlight. He couldn’t stop staring at it. This machine, his creation, had turned the tide. But it had also been a weapon—a tool that brought destruction as much as it brought hope.

Kovacs ran a hand through his hair, his mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. The people of Prescott saw the M60 as a symbol of resilience, but to him, it was also a stark reminder of the cost of his work. Every scratch on its armor represented a risk, every dent a pilot who had placed their life in his hands.

“I built it to save them,” he muttered to himself, his voice low. “But how many lives were lost because I didn’t build it sooner?”

The thought weighed heavily on him. He had always been a builder, someone who created intending to preserve and protect. But now, he wasn’t sure if being a mech smith meant saving lives or sending people to die in machines of his design.

***

The faint hum of the workshop’s communication system pulled him from his thoughts. Kovacs glanced at the console, frowning. Communication across the galaxy was notoriously slow, relying on ships to carry messages physically. Yet here was a recorded transmission, labeled with a familiar name: Ilara.

Kovacs hesitated for a moment before pressing play. The screen flickered to life, and Ilara’s face appeared. She looked as calm and composed as ever, her sharp eyes giving away little of what she might be thinking.

“Kovacs,” she began, her voice steady. “If you’re seeing this, it means news of Prescott has reached me. I imagine the battle is over, though not without a price.”

He leaned forward, his breath catching slightly as she continued.

“I wanted to tell you something before you left for Prescott, but there wasn’t time. You’re at a crossroads now, and I need you to understand what it means to be a mech smith. It’s not just about designing machines or building better weapons. It’s about the people who will use them, the lives you’ll save—and the lives you won’t. You’ll always carry both with you.”

Her expression softened, just slightly. “You have talent, Kovacs. But talent isn’t enough. To grow, you need to face what you fear most: failure. Every design, every decision, will be weighed against the lives it affects. If that weight ever feels light, you’ve lost your way.”

Kovacs exhaled slowly, her words hitting harder than he’d expected.

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“I’ve sent you something,” Ilara continued. “Blueprints, schematics—pieces of knowledge I think you’re ready for. But don’t let them become a crutch. Use them to push yourself further. Build not just better machines, but a better world. You owe it to Prescott, and to yourself.”

The message ended abruptly, the screen going dark. For a moment, Kovacs sat in silence, Ilara’s words echoing in his mind. He opened the files she’d sent, scanning through advanced schematics and theories that pushed the boundaries of what he thought possible. But her challenge lingered longer than the designs themselves.

***

Meanwhile, Jackie stood at the edge of the city, watching as survivors worked to rebuild. The capital bore scars from the battle, but the people were already moving forward, repairing walls and clearing debris. The resilience she saw in them mirrored the resilience she felt growing within herself.

She touched the burnished edge of her helmet, still streaked with grime from the fight. The cheers of the people earlier had felt almost surreal, their gratitude pouring over her like a wave. They saw her as a leader now, a protector. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to embrace that role.

Her comm buzzed softly, pulling her from her thoughts. It was Kovacs.

“Hey,” his voice crackled over the line. “You alright?”

Jackie smirked faintly, shaking her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Heard you’ve been brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” he replied defensively. “Just... reflecting.”

“Uh-huh.” She let out a quiet laugh. “What are you reflecting on?”

He hesitated before answering. “What it means to be a mech smith. What it means to build machines that people depend on, knowing those machines might also fail them.”

Jackie’s smirk faded, replaced by a softer expression. “Kovacs, you can’t carry all of that. You’ve already done more than anyone could’ve asked for. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t even have the M60, let alone a chance to fight back.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But it still feels like I could’ve done more.”

She leaned against the railing, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “That feeling never goes away. Every time I get in a cockpit, I think about the people I didn’t save. The squadmates I lost. It’s part of the job. But you can’t let it bury you. Otherwise, what’s the point of fighting?”

Kovacs didn’t respond immediately, but her words seemed to settle something in him. “Thanks, Jackie,” he said finally. “For reminding me.”

“Anytime, builder boy,” she said with a grin. “And for the record, you’re doing fine.”

As the evening deepened, the fires on the horizon dimmed, replaced by the soft glow of makeshift lights illuminating the city. Jackie and Kovacs found themselves on the same platform as before, overlooking the quiet bustle of a recovering Prescott.

Jackie broke the silence first. “Do you think we’ll ever really win?”

Kovacs tilted his head, considering. “I think ‘winning’ looks different now. It’s not about a big moment or a single victory. It’s about surviving. About building something stronger each time we get knocked down.”

She nodded, her gaze distant. “And what about you? What’s next?”

Kovacs glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Keep building. Keep learning. Ilara sent me some... let’s call them upgrades. But they’re just tools. The rest is up to me.”

Jackie smiled faintly. “Good. Because Prescott’s going to need you. Whether you like it or not.”

“And they’re going to need you,” he replied. “Leader or not.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet settling between them like a shared understanding. Jackie slipped her hand into his, her grip firm but warm.

“One battle at a time, Kovacs,” she said, her voice steady.

He nodded, his fingers tightening around hers. “One battle at a time.”

Above them, the stars shone brighter as the smoke cleared, illuminating the path forward—even if they couldn’t see it yet.