Peace Of Mind

The seat beneath Fali was padded, but not well - certainly nothing like the luxurious ejection seat fitted in Freyla. He tried leaning back, but the rest stopped halfway up and flexed dangerously. So he settled for holding himself upright, relying on the core strength he’d built over years of high-G maneuvers.

The hall was large, ornate, the kind of place that only hosted the best of the best. Yet somehow, they’d filled it with cheap chairs undeserving of such grandeur. Rows upon rows stretched before him, almost at capacity, while above and behind, balconies loomed - packed tight with people.

Fali couldn’t wrap his head around it. Every one of these men and women, from wildly different walks of life, had endured their own harrowing experiences. Each held prestige, each was a hero in their own way. And yet here, they were equals. No one asked for autographs, no one crowded in or fawned over the others. There was only quiet, mutual respect.

A small smile tugged at his lips. This was where he belonged.

Soft chatter filled the open space - indistinct, but comforting after three long months of struggling to find direction. Three months since he and most of the people in this room had been demobilized.

He’d looked forward to this - to asking others how they’d managed. His own transition hadn’t gone smoothly. He couldn’t walk a block without someone recognizing him, cameras flashing, people calling his name. He’d tried for a few small jobs, but none had lasted; interviewers only saw his fame, not his skill. Every offer felt like charity or publicity, and he’d turned them all down.

He didn’t want to be hired for what he’d done. He wanted to be valued for what he could do.

Still, he was lucky. His service pay and bonuses had left him comfortable - wealthy, even. He could go decades without work if he lived modestly. But if there was one thing the air force had taught him, it was that inactivity bred despair. He needed something - anything - to stay sharp.

So, he filled his time browsing listings for private aircraft. He wasn’t ready to buy one yet, but the thought of it - painting his mascot on the nose, christening it Freyla II - gave him something to hold onto. He could almost feel the throttle in his hand, the roar of the engine as the starter whined to life, the rush of air as the plane leapt free of the earth.

He missed flying more than anything. He missed her.

The idea of carving through the blue sky again, wings rocking, sunlight on the canopy, made his heart ache with longing.

Then the lights dimmed.

The quiet murmur of conversation faded as a well-dressed man stepped out onto the stage. His eyes sparkled under the spotlight as he raised a microphone to his lips.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first annual Veteran’s Concert - the first of what I hope will be many.”

The thought frightened Fali more than he cared to admit. Each concert would be another reminder of his actions - he knew it already. At least, he thought, most of the others here would feel the same way.

Still, he clapped along with everyone else as the host’s smile brightened.

“I thank you all for coming. This is a very special…”

Fali’s focus slipped as the man began to drone on about the meaning and purpose of the event, followed by an endless string of thank-yous. His mind wandered - to the sky again, to his imagined airplane - and once more, he was behind the controls.

He felt the light shudder of wheels leaving the ground, the gentle rise as the earth fell away. The airfield shrank beneath him, the runway a single stripe cutting through a field of green.

“...and without further ado, I welcome our first act…”

He followed a winding road through a valley, the peaks brushing the tips of his wings. The cars below crawled along the asphalt like toys, bound to their path. He smiled. They’re trapped down there. I’m free up here.

“...and please give a big round of applause for…!”

The engine sputtered, but a quick tweak to the fuel mixture smoothed it out again. He guided the little plane along the hills, letting it roll with the land like a ship on gentle waves. Every pull of the stick changed his weight - back made him heavy, forward made him almost weightless. If he pushed hard enough, only the straps over his shoulders would keep him from floating away.

“...and that was the amazing singer…”

He skimmed low over a glittering lake, the reflection of his plane dancing across the surface. People stood on the shore, waving. He waved back, chuckling softly as he climbed higher, piercing the clouds until the ground was a dream far below. God, how he loved the sky.

“...we are lucky to have with us tonight…”

A flash of movement. His head snapped to the side - too late. An enemy jet screamed past, tracer rounds slicing the air as he yanked the stick and stomped the rudder. The little aircraft shuddered violently, wind tearing past as he dove. The enemy overshot, but circled back fast. He was defenseless - his little propeller plane had no guns.

“...and it is my great pleasure to welcome our final act of the night, the one and only Reaper’s Songstress!”

He rolled, looped, and weaved, his slower stall speed his only edge. Each overshoot was another chance he couldn’t take, another perfect shot without a weapon to fire. Sweat stung his eyes. His palms slipped on the controls.

Then, through the chaos - the roar of engines, the chatter of gunfire - something else reached him. A faint sound, distant at first, but achingly beautiful. It slid into his consciousness like sunlight through storm clouds.

A song.

Sweet as honey. Smooth as silk. Gentle, soothing, pure.

He let go of the controls. The sky blurred. The aircraft faded. He sank back into the padded seat of the concert hall, letting the music wash through him.

A woman’s voice - light, graceful, and impossibly human - floated above the gentle notes of a guitar. He couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of the words, though they were clear and deliberate. But he didn’t need to. He felt them.

For the first time in months, his mind was silent.

When the song ended and applause erupted, he didn’t move. He barely noticed the host returning to the stage until the crowd began to rise.

Then, just before the lights shifted, he caught a final glimpse-

A woman in a sparkly white dress, dark hair flowing behind her, a guitar tucked carefully under one arm as she stepped off the stage.

The host was thanking everyone for coming, announcing tea and snacks in the foyer. But Fali wasn’t listening.

He’d already made up his mind.