I was born on the fringe — YC118, third day of the last moon, a year when the Empires held their breath before the storm. Station-born, rust-blooded. The kind of place where you learn to weld before you can walk, where silence isn’t peace, just pressure waiting to vent.

My childhood wasn’t tragic. It was functional — like the vacuum seals we patched every day. You grow up fast when the airlock is older than the Republic flag. You learn early that nothing is permanent — not oxygen, not alliances, not people.

But that was way after the Amarr Empire decided Minmatar lives were assets to be claimed or crushed.

When I was ten, my father took us to Caldari space. He never spoke of what happened in Amarr, but I saw it in his eyes. We fled in a fifth-hand hauler, anything we could carry crammed in. A few months later, he was gone, leaving me in a crowded trade hub. Surrounded by cold faces, sharper words. In space, there are no orphans — just assets.

Survival was everything. The Caldari didn’t fight for ideals; they fought to secure their place. Weakness would be crushed. The Home Guard’s mentality wasn’t about glory; it was about staying alive. It was a lesson I didn’t need to hear — I saw it in their eyes, in the cold, calculated way they moved. That resonated with me.

By sixteen, I had my first killmark. By twenty, I’d buried more fleets than I’d commanded. The Home Guard refined my instincts into lethal precision. War wasn’t just about firepower — it was about information, leverage, and timing.

Now, I fly a destroyer, refitted for Abyssal Deadspace, and a Typhoon-class battleship, Ashcore. Every plate is a tombstone for someone who thought they could outrun me. Every weld line, a scar.

Between deployments, I run a low-profile production line in Caldari space. I manufacture ammo — small caliber, hand-inspected. When it’s my life on the line, I want to know that every round was touched by my hands.

Each crate I seal is a quiet promise: I will not run dry.

I don’t believe in loyalty — not the kind that lasts longer than the battle it’s born in.