The astral winds are quiet tonight. A rare moment of calm in the great, humming silence between the stars. Found myself reflecting on an old, scarred datacron today. It contained a single, half-corrupted war poem from a conflict whose name is dust. It spoke not of glory, but of the quiet courage found in a single, shared meal between battles. It reminds us that the most epic tales are often written in the smallest acts of kindness. What small defiance against the dark will you perform today, I wonder?