A city devastated. A world in grief.
By the time the last of the Bryn'adûl invaders fell, over a hundred thousand locals had been slaughtered. Butchered by unspeakable horrors let loose upon their world, the sheer brutality of whom the defenders were woefully unprepared for. Even with the desperate aid of Antarian Rangers, Mandalorians, and Jedi, the corpses lay strewn in the area surrounding the vast crater where the Bryn ship had made impact.
Even with the help of so many allied forces coming together for the first time in history, defeating just this minor incursion had so quickly turned into a bloodbath.
As the young lieutenant stumbled about the battlefield, he witnessed traumatised families digging through the piles of mutilated corpses for loved ones, hoping to find something to bury. Women and children wept openly as, in most cases, they would not find them.
He'd sworn as the first enemy sightings warned them of a Bryn invasion that he would defend this city. That his boots would be the last to step off the battlefield, and that no man would be left behind. He could not have forseen the loss of lives necessary to fulfill his oath. Each body he passed etched itself upon his heart, to be inscribed upon his soul forevermore.
Thirdas would go on to find himself a quiet corner in the shadow of a dilapidated structure, where he would sit down and weep uncontrollably. He tore the armour from his torso, finding it too constrictive, exposing the blood-soaked shirt underneath. There wasn't an inch of him that was not covered in blood and dirt, and his limbs trembled with exhaustion.
It had been the worst slaughter he had ever witnessed, and it occurred on his watch.
How could he not blame himself?
There was some unspoken grumbling from top brass, but when they witnessed the extent of the trauma inflicted upon the city and its brave defenders, it put to rest any such trivial concerns.
General Vhaan presented a dejected Thirdas with a pair of oak leaves, citing that it was thanks to his efforts that the city was saved. Ashamed, Thirdas could barely hold the general's gaze, nor could he muster a proper salute as the rank insignia was pinned to his collar.
"Congratulations, Major Heavenshield," they told him. The words failed to reach his heart, so utterly burdened by the loss of life. What the general said next however, did.
"We were meaning to present the City of Anvil and its inhabitants with the Heart of Valour for their great sacrifice," General Vhaan produced a pristine velvet box. Within lay the highest award one could bestow a civilian, or in this case an entire city. "Perhaps, as their commanding officer, you would care to do the honours?"
Thirdas looked down at the box, hesitant to accept it for fear that his dirty hands would stain it. But, accept it he did.
Turning towards the crowd consisting of military and civilians alike, the newly-chistened major stepped forward with award in hand.
"Citizens of Anvil," he did his best not to falter in his resolve.
"I will not pretend that our victory here is a great one. There is no joy in victory when so much sacrifice is needed. Each and every one of you have lost loved ones; a husband or wife, a mother or father, a son or daughter. I know it hurts. I know there is nothing I or anyone else can say that will diminish the crippling sense of loss you all must feel. But the truth is, your sacrifice has not been in vain."
"Centuries from now, the Battle of Anvil and all who fought in it will be remembered. This is where the war against the Bryn'adûl turned; this city will forever be known as the immovable rock against which an unrelenting force, was forced to relent. Anvil and its brave citizens are from now on immortalised in galactic history, as the moment the great powers came together as one. You did this; not I, nor any other man in uniform."
Opening the box, he unveiled the award lay within to the crowd by holding it high.
"I hereby bestow the Heart of Valour upon the people of Anvil, the highest civilian honour the Silver Jedi Concord has to offer. Anvil stands, and so it always shall!"
A once disheartened audience erupted in heartfelt cheers and mourning alike, as each citizen let their emotions run free in the face of receiving such a prestigious award for their great sacrifice. They turned to the nearest soldier and embraced them, regardless of rank or creed, thanking them for their service. There was sorrow, yes, but there was also immense relief that the city still stood.
Thirdas stood with the award held above his head, observing the outpour of emotion. Even he was now able to muster a smile.
When evening came, and the last troops, alive or dead, were loaded onto the last shuttles taking them off-world, Major Heavenshield made sure he was the last soul to climb aboard, his oath to Anvil fulfilled.
