President Andrew N. Clark
09:48 EST
November 12, 2030
Unity Spire Grounds
Knoxville, TN
----------------------------------------
The final note of SkyTeam’s Promise lingered in the air, an electric hum of innovation that seemed to vibrate in the crowd’s very bones. Their anthem was more than a song—it was a challenge, a bold declaration of what was yet to come. The precision of their march, the sleek design of their uniforms, and the overwhelming power of their message had left a mark on everyone present. I could feel it.
I stepped toward the podium, the faint whir of the wind against the Unity Spire accompanying my measured movements. The polished wood was cool beneath my palms as I rested my hands on its edges, scanning the plaza. My gaze moved across the crowd, past the immaculate formations of the 102nd Airborne Division, the Night Guardians’ shadowy ranks, and the commanding presence of SkyTeam. Thousands of faces stared back at me—some filled with pride, others with awe, and a few reflecting the quiet tears of those who understood the weight of today.
This wasn’t just any ceremony. It was THE ceremony. The day the Free States of America stood up not only to honor its past but to lay the foundation for its future. And I was here, in the center of it all, not as a symbol of power but as a voice for the people who had built this new nation from the ashes.
I drew a deep breath and began. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, my voice carrying effortlessly over the plaza, amplified by the precise systems SkyTeam had engineered. “Today, we have witnessed something extraordinary—not just a Pass and Review, but a declaration of who we are and who we aim to become.”
“Through every anthem, every formation, and every step we’ve seen today,” I continued, letting the weight of my words settle over the plaza, “we have been reminded of the incredible journey that brought us here. This ceremony is more than tradition—it is a testament to our unity, our resilience, and our shared future.”
I shifted my gaze toward the formations of the 102nd Airborne Division, their ranks standing tall and unyielding under the midday sun. The banners, guidons, and shimmering insignias of each unit caught the light, painting a picture of collective strength. For a moment, I allowed myself the rare luxury of pride—not for myself, but for them, for what they represented.
“Each unit we have seen today tells a story,” I said, my voice steady. “From Headquarters and Headquarters Company, the nerve center of every operation, to the disciplined resolve of the Night Witches and the indomitable power of the 254th Infantry Pack, we have witnessed what it means to rise together. And then there’s the 77th Armored Regiment—revived from history, a force of iron and will, once lost and now reborn as an emblem of our determination.”
I turned my gaze toward the Night Guardians, their polished black ceremonial uniforms stark against the vibrant backdrop of the Unity Spire. “And let us not forget the Night Guardians, who stand as a bridge between our world and the supernatural, a reminder that our strength lies in unity—not just of people, but of ideals.”
The wind shifted slightly, carrying with it the faintest flutter of banners and the quiet murmur of the crowd. My gaze finally rested on the distinct figures of Director Staroko and Dr. Volkova at the forefront of SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation.
“And then, there is SkyTeam,” I continued, my tone taking on a note of reverence. “The architects of tomorrow. Through their tireless innovation, they have lifted this nation from its darkest days and shown us what is possible when we dare to dream—and to act.”
I paused, letting the crowd feel the full weight of the moment. “What we have witnessed today is more than a military display. It is a declaration—not just to ourselves but to the world. We are here. We are strong. And we are united.”
The applause that followed was restrained at first, a ripple of respectful appreciation that grew into a wave of thunderous approval. I let it crest and ebb before continuing.
“But,” I said, my voice rising above the echoes, “this day is not just about the present. It is about the future. And before we take that next step—before we lower the banner of the past to raise the banner of tomorrow—I want to speak to the people of this nation, to those here and those watching from every corner of the Free States.”
I stepped back slightly from the podium, my hands clasping its edges as I leaned forward, the gesture deliberate, as though I were addressing each individual directly.
“This moment is not the result of one leader, one unit, or even one generation. It is the result of every hand that has toiled, every voice that has risen, and every heart that has refused to yield. It is you who have carried us here. And it is you who will carry us forward.”
My gaze swept the crowd once more. Families huddled together, veterans stood at attention, and even the soldiers in formation seemed to hold their breath.
“As we prepare to close this chapter of the ceremony,” I said, my voice firm but warm, “let us do so with a promise—a promise to honor the sacrifices of those who came before us and to strive, always, for the ideals that unite us.”
The faint sound of movement behind me signaled the approach of the honor guard, their presence a solemn reminder of what was yet to come. In the distance, I could see the team preparing to lower the Star-Spangled Banner for the final time. The breeze picked up, catching its edges as if the flag itself were reluctant to let go of this moment.
“Today, we honor the banner of the past,” I said, my tone softening. “But we do not leave it behind. Its ideals, its dreams, and its sacrifices will live on in the banner we raise next. This is not the end of a story—it is the beginning of a new chapter.”
I stepped back from the podium, signaling the honor guard to begin. The drums rolled softly, a heartbeat that underscored the solemnity of the moment. My role wasn’t done, not yet, but for now, I allowed myself to step into the background, letting the flag take center stage.
As the honor guard approached the flagpole, the plaza fell into a reverent silence, every eye fixed on the symbol of a nation that had weathered so much. This was the moment the Free States would bid farewell to the past—and embrace the future.
The Honor Guard moved with precision, their faces solemn as they approached the flagpole. Each step was deliberate, a silent reflection of the weight they carried. The Star-Spangled Banner—the emblem of a nation that had endured trials few could comprehend—was about to be lowered for the final time.
I gripped the podium tighter than I intended, the cool wood grounding me against the swell of emotions rising in my chest. This wasn’t just history in the making; it was history in its closing act. For all its imperfections, this flag had been our anchor through chaos. And now, it was time to let go.
The bugler stepped forward, lifting his instrument, and the first notes of Retreat broke the silence. The mournful melody swept over the plaza, reaching into the heart of every soldier, every civilian, every soul. The Honor Guard began to lower the flag, their movements precise and reverent.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the fabric as it descended, its stars and stripes catching the light like a final defiance against the forces that had once sought to unravel it. My chest tightened, the enormity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. I felt my throat constrict, but I forced myself to stay composed. They were watching. They all were.
When the banner reached the hands of the Honor Guard, the first fold was made—and then I heard it. A single voice, deep and steady, rising from the formation of the Night Guardians.
"When shadows fall and fears arise,
We turn our gaze to silver skies.
Mother Luna, soft and bright,
Your light brings peace to darkest night."
The melody was haunting, steeped in reverence. It took a moment for me to place it, but when I did, a chill ran down my spine. Luna’s Lullaby. The Werewolves’ Hymn. A song I had only ever heard in fragments during moments of their deepest solidarity.
As the first folds of the flag were made, more voices joined Christian’s. From the Guardians’ ranks came a harmony so rich and resonant it seemed to spill over the plaza like a rising tide. But it didn’t stop there.
Across the formations of the 102nd, other voices began to rise—soldiers who bore the wolf within them, who knew this hymn as part of their heritage. The sound spread, gaining momentum with each verse, weaving through the ranks and filling the plaza with a unity that transcended words. This wasn’t just a hymn; it was a thread that stitched together the supernatural and the mortal, the past and the present.
"Rest, dear kin, in Luna’s glow,
Through mist and dark, her blessings flow.
In every beam, her touch remains,
A guiding star through night’s domains."
I closed my eyes for a moment, the music washing over me. This wasn’t just a song. It was a farewell, a promise, and a bridge between the past and the future. The hymn carried a depth of emotion that words alone could never convey. As the Honor Guard continued their careful work, folding the banner with reverent precision, the plaza seemed to breathe in unison with the melody.
The LED screens displayed serene images of moonlit forests and tranquil glens, reinforcing the hymn’s profound connection to nature and balance. The Star-Spangled Banner stood juxtaposed against these images, its symbolism amplified by the voices that rose to honor it.
"O gentle light in twilight’s keep,
Your watch endures while mortals sleep.
Beneath your gaze, we find our peace,
From dusk till dawn, our fears release."
My composure cracked. I felt a tear slide down my cheek, unbidden but unstoppable. This wasn’t just history—it was deeply personal. This flag, this anthem, these people—they were the culmination of sacrifices I could never repay. The hymn’s words felt like a balm to wounds I hadn’t realized I still carried.
As the Honor Guard reached the final folds, the hymn grew louder, its harmonies deepening with each note. Christian Madox stepped forward from the formation, his movements deliberate yet fluid, the embodiment of respect. In his hands, the flag was cradled like something sacred.
"When storms arise, fierce winds may blow,
We see your face in skies aglow.
Your light cuts through the night’s deep haze,
And shields us with your ancient rays."
Christian knelt before me, offering the flag with a reverence that mirrored the hymn’s final, swelling notes. His voice, strong and unyielding, carried the last verse with quiet defiance.
"Mother Luna, constant guide,
In shadow’s grasp, you turn the tide.
Through every trial, your silver gleam
Brings courage forth, in softest beam."
The plaza fell silent as the hymn faded, leaving only the sound of the breeze and the rustle of the banners above. For a moment, the world felt frozen, suspended in a unity so profound it seemed untouchable.
I stared at the flag in Christian’s hands, unable to move. It wasn’t just fabric—it was the embodiment of centuries of triumph, struggle, and resilience. My hands trembled as I reached out to take it.
“Thank you, Alpha Madox,” I said, my voice hoarse but steady. “And thank you to all who have served under this banner. Your sacrifices ensure that we stand here today.”
Christian rose smoothly, his movements as fluid as the hymn he had just led. He saluted sharply, his expression unyielding yet proud. I returned the salute, a lump in my throat that refused to dissolve.
The plaza remained silent as he stepped back into formation, the banner of the Night Guardians rippling gently in the breeze. My gaze lingered on the soldiers—humans and werewolves alike—who had joined their voices in a moment that would resonate far beyond today.
I turned my attention back to the folded flag in my hands, its weight somehow heavier than I expected. This was the end of an era. And while I knew the next chapter awaited, it didn’t make the farewell any easier.
The echoes of the hymn faded into silence, and I let the stillness hold for a moment longer, my eyes lingering on the flag folded neatly before me. Its weight—both physical and symbolic—pressed heavily on my chest, demanding reflection. I let my fingers brush its edges briefly, grounding myself in its significance.
The crowd waited, silent but expectant, the gravity of the ceremony etched into every face. I lifted my gaze, scanning the formations of soldiers, the families in the audience, the veterans standing at attention. The collective anticipation was tangible, a force all its own.
“This flag,” I began, my voice steady but thick with emotion, “has been more than a symbol. It has been a witness—to our greatest triumphs and our darkest hours. It has flown in victory, it has flown in mourning, and it has flown in defiance of everything that sought to bring us down. Today, we lower it not as an ending, but as a testament—a reminder of the ideals that have carried us through.”
I paused, my breath catching for a moment as I glanced down at the flag. “But now, we look to the future. To a new chapter, and a new symbol to carry our hopes and dreams forward. And for that, we call upon someone who embodies those ideals—a warrior, a leader, and a voice for this moment.”
I turned toward the 588th Night Witches, scanning their formation until my eyes found her. Star. My heart swelled with pride and tightened with a thousand memories. I had watched her grow from a fierce, defiant girl into the leader who now stood before me, ready to shoulder the weight of this moment.
With a voice carrying both command and affection, I called, “Colonel Star Zaraki, step forward.”
The plaza stilled as all eyes shifted to her. Star moved with a measured, deliberate stride, her amethyst eyes gleaming with quiet intensity. Her Class A uniform was immaculate, her bearing regal, but it was the undercurrent of emotion I saw in her that struck me. She knew what this moment meant—to the nation, to me, to the family we had become.
The path seemed to part before her as she walked, her boots clicking softly against the stone of the plaza. Then, with a soft hum, the air shifted. From somewhere above, a sleek glimmer of black streaked toward her. The crowd murmured in surprise as her skyboard descended gracefully, hovering just above the ground before coming to rest at her feet.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Star paused, glancing up at me, just for a second, and in her eyes, I saw the girl who had once stubbornly insisted she could always win—and the woman who had gone on to prove it. I gave her the slightest nod, and she stepped onto the board with practiced ease.
The skyboard lifted her smoothly into the air, her posture steady and regal as she ascended. She stopped not at the stage, but in the very center of the plaza, rising to a height that placed her above the gathered formations but below the towering Unity Spire. She belonged there, a bridge between the earth and the sky, between what was and what would be.
Her skyboard became her stage, a floating platform that seemed to defy gravity, just as she herself defied expectations. She stood tall, the breeze catching her hair as she swept her gaze across the plaza. From every angle, her presence was undeniable—a figure of strength and grace, perfectly framed by the sunlight filtering through the spire.
The crowd held its breath, awed by the spectacle. Star was not just a leader. In that moment, she was my daughter, the embodiment of everything I had hoped for her, everything I had fought to make possible. She was also the embodiment of the transition unfolding before us—one foot in the traditions of the past, the other soaring into the future.
I rested my hand on the flag before me and allowed myself a moment of quiet pride. This was the future I had fought for. The future we all had fought for. And now, it was ready to be sung into being.
I gripped the podium, letting my words hang in the air, but my eyes never left Star. She stood there, poised and proud, her skyboard shimmering beneath her like it was part of her very being. For all her strength, for all her composure, I caught it—the faint tremble in her hands, the way her eyes widened, as though she hadn’t expected this. As though she hadn’t realized what she meant to me, to all of us.
“Star Zaraki…” My voice cracked slightly, but I didn’t care. This wasn’t a speech—it was the truth. “She isn’t just a soldier. She isn’t just a hero. She is so much more than that. Star is the embodiment of resilience. Of redemption. Of what it means to belong.”
Her gaze faltered, just for a moment, and I could see it—the raw, unguarded emotion she rarely let show. I knew her well enough to know how hard it was for her to stand here, to hear this, to be vulnerable in front of so many. But she didn’t look away. She met my gaze, her amethyst eyes bright with unshed tears.
“When I chose her to lead us into this next chapter, it wasn’t just because of her bravery or her strength—though she has both in spades. It was because she understands, more deeply than most, what it means to call this place home.”
I let my voice soften, leaning into the moment. “You see, Star didn’t have the luxury of a homeland that embraced her. She was exiled from the country of her birth—the same country that took her from her Autumn family. The same country that branded her as an outsider, that tried to erase her.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, but I stayed focused on her. Star swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as if bracing herself, but the slight hitch in her breath betrayed the storm beneath her calm exterior.
“But when this nation—the very one that tried to destroy her—was on the brink of falling apart,” I continued, my voice rising with conviction, “Star didn’t walk away. She didn’t let bitterness or anger define her. She stood up. She fought. She bled. Not out of hatred, not for vengeance—but for hope. Hope that this place, her home, could become what it was always meant to be.”
Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself. A single tear escaped, tracing a silent path down her cheek. She shifted her weight, her boots planted firmly on the flat surface of her skyboard. Her arms hung at her sides, her hands clenching and unclenching briefly, as though grounding herself in the moment—balancing not just on the board beneath her, but within the emotions surging through her.
“She didn’t fight for herself,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “She fought for all of us. For the ideals we aspire to, even when we fail. For a future where no one else would have to endure what she did.”
Star’s shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. But there was no mistaking it now—she was moved. Deeply. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Her face, her tears, her very presence, told the story words never could.
“That’s why I chose her,” I said, forcing my own voice to remain steady. “Because Star Zaraki is us. Flawed, broken at times—but resilient. Unyielding. She doesn’t just carry the weight of our past—she’s helped us build a future. She’s fought for it, bled for it. And today, she will give it a voice.”
The crowd was utterly silent, hanging on every word. And in the center of it all, Star stood as if rooted to the earth and sky both. She wiped at her cheek quickly, her gaze still locked on mine, and then, as if realizing where she was, she straightened, her head held high.
“When Star sings our new anthem today,” I finished, my voice soft but firm, “it won’t just be words. It will be a story. Her story. Our story. A story of struggle, of triumph, of what it means to rise above the past and fight for something better. A story that is hers—but also ours.”
I stepped back from the podium, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still. Star tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable save for the tears that glistened in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded, her lips curving into the faintest, most heartfelt smile I’d ever seen her wear.
“Star Zaraki,” I said, my voice carrying across the plaza, “the plaza is yours.”
She glanced at the crowd, then down at her board, and finally back at me. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t need to. As her board hovered the air, her stage and her sanctuary all at once, the air seemed to hum with something indescribable. Something real. Something whole.
I stood rooted to the spot, my hands lightly resting on the podium, the folded Star-Spangled Banner before me. My gaze followed Star as she rose above the plaza, carried effortlessly by her skyboard. She stood tall, her amethyst-edged uniform catching the light, the picture of grace and determination. The sight tugged at my heart—pride, love, and a bittersweet ache swirling within me. She had always been a force of nature, but in this moment, she was more. She was history in motion.
There was a flicker in her posture, so subtle most wouldn’t notice. But I did. It was the briefest indication of her implant syncing with the sound system. Scuzball’s work, no doubt. Of course, my digital companion had ensured everything was set for her voice to carry effortlessly across the plaza. No microphones, no wires—just her, her voice, and the weight of the moment.
And then, she began.
"O say can you see, by the fires of the dawn," her voice rang out, clear and resonant, filling the plaza with a raw, unyielding power. I felt my breath catch. It wasn’t just a song; it was her heart laid bare, each note steeped in the kind of conviction that comes only from living through the fire.
As the new flag began its ascent, my chest tightened. The design—bold, resolute—came into view, its vibrant colors catching the sunlight like a beacon. It was beautiful, but it wasn’t just beauty that made my throat tighten. It was what it represented. A future born from ashes, forged in the trials we’d endured.
Star’s voice rose, carried by the swelling orchestra. "What we forged in the dark, when the night was withdrawn?" Every word seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the nation, a song of both defiance and hope. The plaza remained still, captivated. Even the air felt heavy, alive with the emotion that gripped every soul.
The flag climbed higher, its movement deliberate and proud. I tore my gaze from it to look at Star. Her expression was unyielding, her gaze fixed forward as if she were staring into the very future she was singing about. I knew that look. It was the same one she’d worn every time she’d faced impossible odds. And just like every time before, she was turning the impossible into a moment no one would forget.
"Through the trials and tears, through the fight and the flame,
We rose from the ashes, unbroken in name."
Her voice soared, and I felt my vision blur. I blinked quickly, forcing the moisture away. This wasn’t the time for tears—at least not mine. But the anthem, her voice, and that flag—it all carried a weight I hadn’t felt in years. Pride. Loss. Hope. A bittersweet cocktail that I wasn’t sure I could swallow.
As the song swelled into its chorus, the flag reached its zenith, flying proudly against the backdrop of the Unity Spire. Star’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade, clear and unwavering.
"O say, does that Ol' Worn Banner of freedom yet wave,
O’er the land of the strong and the home of the brave?"
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Around me, I caught glimpses of faces in the crowd. Veterans stood ramrod straight, their salutes trembling ever so slightly. Families held each other close, tears streaming freely. Soldiers stood at attention, their faces a mix of pride and reverence.
The second verse began, the orchestra building further, each note adding to the tide of emotion sweeping the plaza. I let my gaze linger on the flag, its bold stars and striking stripes embodying everything we had fought to reclaim.
"From the shadows we came, through the thunder and rain,
With liberty's fire running wild in our veins."
Star’s voice soared with power and emotion, commanding the plaza’s attention as the new Free States flag climbed higher, its bold colors blazing in the sunlight. The design was breathtaking—more than a symbol, it was a testament. A deep midnight blue field stretched across the left half, rich and steady, anchoring the design in strength and unity. Within it, a constellation of thirteen silver stars shimmered in a circular formation, a nod to the original colonies, their arrangement echoing a celestial future.
The right half was crimson, its bold diagonal stripes slicing through with a sense of urgency and progress. It wasn’t the somber red of blood alone—it was the vibrant crimson of courage, of sacrifice honored and transformed into purpose. At the flag’s center, the golden phoenix dominated, its wings spread wide, one wing touching the blue field, the other sweeping into the crimson. Flames licked at its talons, rising as if to consume it, but the phoenix stood unyielding, eternal—a beacon of resilience, rebirth, and unity. Below it, a silver banner unfurled with the inscription E Pluribus Novum—“Out of Many, A New One.”
The flag ascended, a testament to our nation’s journey and its future.
Star’s voice never faltered, carrying the anthem’s third and final verse with the force of someone who lived every word.
"With vigilant hearts, we defend every shore,
A promise of freedom to those who want more.
No tyrant shall rule us, no master shall reign,
For the home of the Free endured, unbroken by pain."
Her voice swelled with the orchestra, and the choir rose behind her, weaving a tapestry of sound that seemed to lift the flag higher still. My throat tightened as I watched her—the woman who had been through so much, standing tall and proud, her voice soaring as though defying the heavens themselves.
"As our banner flies high, with its stars burning bright,
We stand as defenders of truth, honor, and right.
O say, can you see, as our voices ring true,
In the land of the Free, red, white, and blue?"
The final note lingered, an echo that seemed to hang in the air, filling every corner of the plaza and beyond. Silence followed—a breathless, reverent pause—as the flag reached its zenith, catching the sunlight in all its vibrant glory.
The applause began as a ripple and quickly grew into a tidal wave of sound, crashing over the plaza in a tide of pride and emotion. Veterans saluted with unwavering precision, tears glistening in their eyes. Families embraced, their faces streaked with pride and hope. Soldiers stood at attention, their postures straight and proud, their faces marked with the weight of history in the making.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Star. She remained standing on her skyboard, her gaze fixed on the flag. Her shoulders rose and fell with controlled breaths, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of emotion in her eyes. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, and her lips trembled ever so slightly before she steadied herself, her hands clasped behind her back. She didn’t wipe the tear away. She didn’t need to. It was a mark of her humanity, her connection to this moment.
The flag rippled in the breeze above her, the golden phoenix gleaming like a promise kept. My chest swelled with pride and a deep ache I couldn’t quite define. This wasn’t just a performance. It wasn’t just a song. This was Star coming home—not to a place, but to a nation that had once tried to destroy her and had instead been saved by her.
The applause grew louder, rolling over us like thunder. I forced myself to take a breath, to gather the thoughts swirling in my mind. My hands tightened briefly on the podium before I loosened them again. I stepped forward, the folded Star-Spangled Banner still resting before me, and waited for the crowd’s fervor to ebb, for the plaza to return to the solemnity this moment deserved.
As the thunderous applause reached its crescendo, Star descended gracefully, her skyboard gliding through the plaza like a comet drawn to earth. The golden phoenix on the flag rippled high above her, and her silhouette against it was a sight that burned itself into the memory of every onlooker. She leaned slightly into the board’s motion, her movements fluid, as if she was part of the sky she commanded.
The board came to a soft halt just before the podium, its surface shifting subtly as she stepped down, her boots meeting the polished marble with a quiet finality. Star looked up, her amethyst eyes meeting mine, and in that instant, the weight of everything she had endured—and everything she had become—was written in her gaze. Her expression softened, breaking from the commanding presence she had worn moments before, and she took the few steps that separated us.
The plaza was silent now, the crowd caught in a collective moment of awe. When Star reached me, she didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around me in a fierce, unguarded embrace. I felt her tremble slightly, a telltale sign of the emotion she so rarely let show. For a moment, I stood there, simply holding her, my hand resting on her back as the crowd faded from my mind.
I leaned in, my voice barely above a whisper. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”
She stepped back from the embrace, her gaze fell to the folded flag resting on the podium. Its presence felt monumental—more than fabric, more than history. It was the soul of a nation she had fought to protect, even when that same nation had once pushed her to the fringes.
She hesitated, her eyes fixed on the flag, her hands curling at her sides. The weight of what it symbolized was almost too much to bear. Almost.
I caught the flicker of emotion in her expression—a mix of pride and disbelief. Reaching down, I lifted the flag from the podium with deliberate care, its folds sharp and precise, its edges brushing against my hands like it carried the gravity of generations.
“Star,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. I paused, gathering myself. “This banner has stood witness to every triumph and every heartbreak of this nation. It has seen us through our darkest hours and our brightest moments. It represents everything we were, everything we’ve fought to become. And now, as we step forward into the future, it’s only fitting that this flag be entrusted to someone who embodies those ideals.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, her eyes widening slightly as the weight of my words sank in. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but I raised the flag slightly, cutting her off—not with authority, but with quiet determination.
“You’ve given everything for this country, Star. Even when it turned its back on you, you refused to abandon it. You fought for it. Bled for it. And now, you stand here as a testament to what it means to truly belong. You have earned this, not just as my daughter, but as a symbol of the resilience, sacrifice, and strength that defines the Free States of America.”
I extended the flag toward her, my hands steady. “Take it, Star. Not just for yourself, but for every soul who carried this banner before you, and for every one who will follow.”
She hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward. Her hands trembled slightly as they reached for the flag, brushing against mine as she accepted it. She cradled it close, the precision of its folds stark against the black of her ceremonial uniform.
Her lips parted, and for a moment, I thought she might speak, but no words came. Instead, she nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her expression both humbled and proud.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the breathless silence of the crowd. Then, after a pause, softer still: “Captain.”
I smiled—a real, unguarded smile—and stepped back to let her stand alone, the flag held aloft in her arms. Together, we turned to face the crowd, their applause erupting in a thunderous wave that seemed to shake the very ground beneath us.
Star lifted the flag higher, her shoulders squared, her posture unwavering. In that moment, she wasn’t just my daughter or the woman I had raised—she was a symbol, a bridge between the past and the future. She was hope.
I stepped back to the podium, the applause ebbing like the tide, though the weight of the moment still hung heavy over the plaza. For a moment, I rested my hands on the edges of the podium, taking in the sight before me. The soldiers of the 102nd Airborne stood in perfect formation, their banners rippling lightly in the breeze. The Night Guardians held their solemn stance, their presence a quiet testament to the unity of the supernatural and human worlds. SkyTeam, symbols of the innovation that had carried us through so much, stood ready, their ranks a reflection of the boundless possibilities ahead.
My gaze fell on Star, standing still with the old flag pressed tightly to her chest. Her head was lowered, but the pride on her face shone clearly. My daughter. My soldier. My beacon. The enormity of the moment pressed against my chest, but I steadied myself. There was still more to say, more they needed to hear.
“This flag,” I began, my voice steady despite the tightness in my throat, “was always more than cloth. It was more than stars and stripes. It carried with it the history of a people—sacrifice, pain, and triumph woven into every thread. It weathered storms we thought we could never endure, carried hope through wars we thought we might lose, and stood unyielding against every shadow that dared to fall upon it.”
I paused, letting the gravity of those words settle over the crowd. The plaza remained silent, reverent. “Today, we honored what this flag has meant to us. We honored the men and women who fought beneath it, who bled for it, who gave everything for the ideals it represents. But we did not mourn the past. We honored it by carrying it forward, by becoming the very ideals this banner stood for.”
My eyes returned to Star, who lifted her head as though sensing my gaze. She clutched the flag tighter, her fingers brushing over its fabric as if grounding herself in its meaning. “This flag,” I said, my voice softening, “was not retired. It was not forgotten. It has been entrusted—to a future built on the strength of our shared history and the courage to forge something new.”
I straightened, letting my voice carry farther. “Today, we raised a new banner. We sang a new anthem. But make no mistake, the spirit of this old flag flies just as high, stitched into the fabric of our hearts and this nation. We did not lower one banner to forget it—we raised another to ensure its legacy endures.”
The applause began to ripple through the plaza, but I raised a hand, halting it. The moment wasn’t finished yet. The crowd quieted, their attention fixed on me, waiting for the next words I would speak.
“And now,” I continued, my tone warming, “as we leave this sacred ceremony behind, let us not forget that today was about more than symbols and words. It was about coming together. Later this afternoon, we will gather again for the Thanksgiving Celebration—a time to break bread, to remember what unites us, and to give thanks for the blessings we shared.”
A faint smile touched my lips. “And if this was memorable,” I said, letting the words hang for a moment, “just wait until you see what’s in store for later.”
The soft laughter and murmurs from the crowd were a welcome reprieve from the ceremony’s solemnity. As I stepped back from the podium, I carried the heaviness of the moment with me, tempered by the hope I saw reflected in the faces before me. We had honored the past, and in doing so, we had set a firm and unshakable course for the future.