In the end, it wasn't what he had thought it would be.
Though, there were elements he had expected, of course. For example, he had known there would be no regret. How could there be? This was a fulfillment. The completion of a destiny laid upon him since the day of his conception. Regret? There was no place for it. A sense of triumph, perhaps. Wholeness, and accomplishment. Maybe even that long sought after peace...
But, none of those were there either. Only a vague sense of frustration at the lack of humanity in it all. There was no comitatus bond. The sense of kinship was there, but ... almost watered down. Quiet. Subdued into something so frail it almost didn't exist at all. He recognized the childhood fantasy for what it was as it slipped away in the wake of reality.
In truth, every man died alone.
Moments were not wasted on melodramatic promises or posing. No one called out for revenge, wept for their sacrifice, or pulled together shreds of composure to joke. They simply...breathed. Tasted the smoke and the encroaching closeness of the ever increasingly stale air. The stench from burning conduits filled the nostrils, and the dim flickering red lights had turned the world into something... profoundly still.
The Versailles had died in the coldness of space and...in the coldness of space, there was no scent of fear in the air.
No blood.
No sweat.
No adrenaline.
It felt mechanical.
He'd expected to die fighting. But he was wrong. He was going to die waiting.
Not how it should have ended at all...
And as his vision speckled and then faded, there was time for one last thing. Something felt rather then thought...
What else had he been wrong about?
"This is how the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper."