by Darsonnet
He died with his blade sheathed and his honor intact, faithful to a code that had already cost him everything. He wakes seven thousand years later, young again, on the same ground, in a world that buried his people and doesn't know his name. Something ancient and impossibly advanced now rides quietly behind his eyes, more lost than he is. It can sharpen what he already has. It cannot make him worthy of it. The galaxy owes him nothing. He intends to earn the rest.
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