Chapter 1: Awakening

A harsh, sterile light sliced through Commander Shepard’s consciousness, dragging him out of a void that had held him captive for what felt like an eternity. He struggled to open his eyes, the weight of his eyelids an almost insurmountable challenge. As his vision gradually focused, he found himself staring at the plain, white ceiling of a medical bay. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor nearby was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

He tried to move, but his limbs felt stiff and unresponsive, as if his body wasn’t quite his own anymore. He forced his head to the side, taking in the room: a scattering of medical equipment, sterile sheets, and a lone chair sitting empty in the corner. He attempted to speak, but all that came out was a dry rasp.

Before he could even try again, the door hissed open, and Miranda Lawson stepped inside. Her expression, usually so carefully composed, faltered for a split second as their eyes met. Relief and disbelief flickered across her face before she composed herself, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“Shepard,” she breathed, crossing the room with hurried steps. Her hand hovered over his for a moment, hesitant, before finally resting on his. Her touch was warm, grounding him.

“Miranda,” Shepard managed, his voice a hoarse whisper. His throat felt raw, like he hadn’t used it in years. “What... happened?”

Miranda's eyes softened, and she pulled up the chair, sitting close to the bed. “You’ve been out for six months,” she said, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of emotion. “After the Crucible fired... after you destroyed the Reapers... we found you in the rubble of the Citadel.”

Shepard frowned, memories of that moment flooding back—the sight of the red energy pulse, the feeling of the fireball engulfing him. He remembered accepting that he would die. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said, confusion knitting his brow. “I was... gone.”

Miranda squeezed his hand gently. “You should have been,” she admitted. “But you’re here because of what the Illusive Man did to you.” She took a breath, preparing herself. “The cybernetic enhancements Cerberus implanted to revive you—the ones from the Lazarus Project—did more than just rebuild you. The Illusive Man installed an advanced medical protocol as an insurance policy, to ensure you couldn’t die again.”

Shepard’s expression darkened, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Of course he did,” he murmured, a bitter note in his voice. “I should’ve known he’d treat me like... an asset.” He looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. The movement felt alien, like his body wasn’t entirely his own.

Miranda leaned forward, her gaze intent. “When the explosion hit, your organs were critically damaged, but the medical system stabilized them, kept your heart beating and your lungs functioning. And then it sent a beacon—an emergency signal—straight to my old Cerberus mainframe.”

She paused, emotion flickering across her face. “That’s how we knew to come for you. We dug you out of the Citadel rubble. You’ve been in a coma ever since.”

Shepard’s eyes met hers, and he saw the strain in her features, the shadow of worry she had carried for half a year. “I’m not surprised,” he said quietly. “The Illusive Man always had a backup plan. He couldn’t afford to lose his perfect weapon.”

Miranda flinched but held his gaze. “You’re not a weapon, Shepard,” she said, her voice firm but tinged with pain. “Not to me.”

They sat in silence, the weight of the past pressing down on them both. Shepard closed his eyes, exhaustion and disbelief swirling inside him. He was alive—but at what cost? And what did it mean now that the galaxy he’d fought to save was trying to rebuild?

Miranda’s hand remained on his, a tether to a reality he wasn’t sure he recognized anymore. Yet, in that touch, he found a small measure of comfort—a reminder that, whatever happened next, he wouldn’t face it alone.

Chapter 2: The Cost of Survival

Commander Shepard had always been a warrior, defined by his resilience and the battles he had fought. Yet, now, as he stood in the middle of a rehabilitation room on the Citadel, he felt more vulnerable than he ever had before.

A physical therapist—a no-nonsense human woman named Dr. Keller—watched him carefully. “All right, Commander,” she instructed, her tone professional but encouraging. “Lift your right leg. Slowly, now.”

Shepard braced himself, willing his muscles to obey. The cybernetic enhancements Cerberus had rebuilt him with years ago should have made this easy. But six months in a coma had sapped him of his strength. His leg trembled as he raised it, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Good,” Dr. Keller said. “Now lower it. Easy does it.”

Shepard exhaled shakily, feeling his entire body strain with the effort. As he finished the set, he stumbled slightly, and Keller stepped forward to support him. Shepard gritted his teeth in frustration, hating how weak he felt.

Miranda, watching from a nearby bench, caught his eye. She offered him a small, supportive smile, though he could see the concern etched in her features. He gave her a tired nod, grateful for her presence, even if part of him felt embarrassed to be seen like this.

Later, back in his hospital room, Shepard sat by the window, looking out over the reconstructed Presidium. The Citadel still bore scars from the final battle, but reconstruction efforts were well underway. The people of the galaxy were resilient, working tirelessly to rebuild the heart of their civilization.

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Hey, Shepard.”

He turned to see Garrus Vakarian leaning against the doorframe, a crooked grin on his face. The turian’s armor had a few fresh scratches, likely from helping with post-war operations. Shepard couldn’t help but smile.

“Garrus,” he greeted. “Still calibrating things, I hope?”

Garrus chuckled, stepping into the room. “You know it. The galaxy doesn’t rebuild itself.” He paused, his mandibles twitching slightly as he took in Shepard’s appearance. “Good to see you awake, even if you look like hell.”

Shepard snorted. “You should’ve seen me six months ago.”

Garrus’s humor softened, and he moved closer. “We thought we lost you, Shepard. Hell, we almost did.” He exchanged a look with Miranda, who stood quietly in the background. “But here you are, still defying the odds.”

Shepard nodded, feeling the weight of everything he had survived. “The Reapers are gone, but it still feels... surreal. Like the galaxy’s holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next.”

Garrus’s expression turned serious. “The galaxy’s grateful, Shepard. People are trying to rebuild, but they’re looking to you as a symbol of hope. Even the krogan are behaving—for now.”

They shared a moment of silence, the unspoken understanding between two soldiers who had been to hell and back together. Then Garrus’s humor returned, lightening the mood. “If you ever get tired of this hospital, I’ve got a sniper’s perch on Palaven with your name on it. Great view, no Reapers in sight.”

Shepard chuckled, grateful for the camaraderie. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the day wound down, other visitors came and went. Tali, her voice cheerful but her worry evident, brought stories of Rannoch’s progress. Liara shared what she had learned about the galaxy’s healing, though she avoided speaking too much about the loss of synthetic life. Each friend’s visit was a reminder of the people he had fought alongside and the sacrifices they had made.

But when the room finally emptied, Shepard was left with his thoughts. Miranda sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “You did well today,” she said softly. “Better than yesterday.”

Shepard leaned back, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Every time I think I’m done fighting, life throws another challenge at me.”

Miranda’s expression grew tender. “Then it’s a good thing you’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met... You’ll get through this. We both will.”

He met her gaze, taking solace in her unwavering support. “I hope so,” he murmured. “Because right now, I’m not sure I know how to be anything other than a soldier.”

Miranda smiled, her eyes glistening. “Then maybe it’s time to learn.”

As the room fell into a comfortable silence, Shepard turned his gaze to Miranda. She was still sitting beside him, her hand on his arm, her dark hair cascading in soft waves around her face. The faint light from the Citadel’s skyline bathed her in a warm glow, making her blue eyes shine.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of everything they had been through lingered in the air, but so did something else—something that had been quietly waiting to be reignited.

Miranda shifted slightly, her face softening. “You know,” she murmured, her voice low and inviting, “we never really had a chance to... enjoy peace, did we?”

Shepard's pulse quickened, a warmth spreading through his chest. He let his gaze drop to her lips—plump, soft, and so close. The memory of their past kisses flashed through his mind, each one a lifeline during moments of chaos. Now, here they were, with no impending battle, no life-or-death stakes. Just them.

Without thinking, he leaned forward, and Miranda met him halfway. Their lips touched, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. Her lips were warm, yielding, and impossibly soft against his, and as he deepened the kiss, he was overwhelmed by the familiar, intoxicating taste of her. It was sweet and heady, a flavor he had craved for far too long.

Miranda sighed into the kiss, a delicate, breathless moan that made Shepard’s heart race. He felt the tension in his body melt away, replaced by a burning desire that seemed to flood his senses. He raised a hand to her cheek, cupping her face as he kissed her more firmly, savoring the way her body pressed closer to his.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even nearer, and the world around them ceased to exist. There was only the heat between them, the gentle press of her lips, and the way her breath hitched when he nibbled teasingly on her lower lip. She tasted of something sweet and familiar, a reminder of moments they had stolen together during the war—moments that had kept them both alive.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, and they shared a smile, breathless and flushed. Shepard opened his eyes, taking in the way Miranda’s cheeks were tinged with pink, her lips swollen from their kiss.

He couldn’t help but grin. “I think I could get used to this kind of battle.”

Miranda laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with a blend of joy and relief. “Then consider it my mission to make sure you do.”

Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

The days that followed were both a blur and an eternity. Shepard spent hours in physical therapy, each exercise a test of his strength and endurance. His body, though artificially enhanced, had not been spared the ravages of his ordeal. Every step forward felt like a victory, yet the struggle was a stark reminder of his own mortality.

Miranda was there for each milestone, her presence steady and comforting. Yet, despite the solace she provided, Shepard couldn’t shake the feeling that he was drifting, unanchored in a galaxy that had moved on without him.

One morning, still aching from therapy the day before, Shepard stood at the window of his hospital room, staring out over the Presidium Gardens. The Citadel bustled with activity, citizens of countless species going about their day. Reconstruction was well underway, but reminders of the Reaper War still lingered: damaged buildings, memorials for the fallen, and the quiet moments when strangers stopped to reflect, as if remembering someone they had lost.

Shepard exhaled, a heavy sigh that carried more weight than he could express. The Reapers were gone, but at the cost of all synthetic life. The geth, EDI, the dreams of coexistence—all gone in one final act. The guilt gnawed at him.

“You’re brooding again.”

Miranda’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She leaned against the doorway, a teasing smile playing on her lips, but her eyes betrayed a hint of worry. She approached him, her footsteps light, and slipped her arm around his waist. Shepard instinctively drew her closer, grateful for the comfort she provided.

“Just thinking,” he murmured, his voice low.

“About what?” Miranda asked, though he suspected she already knew. Her fingers traced gentle patterns along his back, soothing the tension there.

Shepard hesitated, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “About what I had to do. The choice I made. Destroying the Reapers... and everything that came with them. EDI. The geth. There’s a part of me that wonders if it was worth it.”

Miranda didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she reached up, turning his face to hers. “You did what you had to do,” she said firmly, her eyes locking onto his. “If you hadn’t made that choice, the galaxy wouldn’t be here today. We wouldn’t be here.”

He searched her gaze, trying to find solace in her words. Miranda had always been pragmatic, but he knew this was more than just practical reasoning. It was her belief in him, unwavering even in the face of his own doubts.

“People are calling you a hero, Shepard,” she continued, her voice softening. “Everywhere I go, I hear stories about how you saved them. How you gave them hope when there was none.”

Shepard looked down, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “Funny how they call me that. A hero.” His expression grew serious. “But they don’t know what it cost.”

Miranda's brow furrowed, and she tightened her embrace. “You didn’t choose this lightly. And you didn’t choose it alone. We all knew the stakes.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And I know EDI and the geth wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt forever.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet settled around them, a fragile peace that felt both comforting and suffocating.

That afternoon, as Shepard left his room for another therapy session, he was greeted by a surprise. The hospital staff had arranged for a private outing in the Presidium Gardens, where friends and familiar faces were waiting. It was a celebration, of sorts—a chance for the people he had fought alongside to reconnect, to breathe in the air of a galaxy saved.

Tali stood by the fountain, her visor reflecting the sunlight as she chatted animatedly with Garrus. Liara lingered near a flowerbed, taking in the view of the lake with a wistful expression. Dr. Chakwas had a warm smile as she spoke to a cluster of familiar crew members, sharing quiet memories of battles survived and losses mourned.

But one person was missing. Shepard’s heart sank as he noticed that Joker wasn’t there. He hadn’t been ready for this. The man who had piloted the Normandy through impossible odds and fought alongside them all was conspicuously absent, his grief for EDI still raw.

Shepard understood. The cost of his decision had struck Joker perhaps the hardest of them all. He couldn’t expect forgiveness—not yet, and maybe not ever.

Miranda squeezed Shepard’s hand, sensing the conflict in him. “He’ll come around,” she whispered. “In time.”

Shepard could only nod, though he wasn’t sure if he believed it. The pain of what he had done—the life he had ended, the lives he had saved—felt tangled together, impossible to separate.

Liara approached then, her blue eyes soft with understanding. “Shepard,” she greeted, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “We’re all here because of you. Don’t forget that.”

He offered her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just hope one day I can make peace with all of it.”

Garrus joined them, a knowing look on his face. “Joker needs time,” he said, his voice low but steady. “We all do, in our own way. But you know he loved EDI. Losing her cut deep.”

Shepard swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know,” he said quietly. “And that’s something I have to live with.”

Garrus patted him on the shoulder, a familiar, comforting gesture. “We’re all trying to move forward. Just be patient—with yourself, and with him.”

As the gathering continued, Shepard couldn’t help but feel the weight of Joker’s absence. But in that moment, surrounded by friends who understood his struggle, he allowed himself to hope that one day, things might begin to heal.

Chapter 4: The Weight of Glory

Shepard had never liked the spotlight. Leadership, yes—that was something he understood, something he thrived in. But fame was different. Fame put you on display, turned your life into a spectacle, and burdened you with the expectations of people you’d never met. And now, after defeating the Reapers, he had become a symbol of hope, a legend in his own right.

It was suffocating.

The media had descended on the Citadel with relentless fervor. Reporters vied for interviews, desperate to get a glimpse of the savior of the galaxy. Holographic billboards in the Presidium displayed his image, larger than life, alongside messages of gratitude. Statues and memorials were in the works, and Shepard couldn’t walk down a street without being stopped by people thanking him for their survival.

One afternoon, Shepard and Miranda found themselves at a small café tucked away in the quieter parts of the Presidium. It was supposed to be a moment of peace, a chance for Shepard to enjoy something as simple as a cup of coffee. But even there, the whispers followed him.

“That’s Commander Shepard, isn’t it?” someone murmured from a nearby table.

“He saved my brother on Palaven,” another said, reverence in their voice.

Shepard tried to ignore it, but the words clung to him. His hands clenched around his cup, the warmth of the drink failing to calm him. Miranda noticed and reached out, placing a gentle hand on his.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” she said softly. “Being a hero.”

He looked at her, his jaw tight. “They don’t know the whole story,” he replied. “They don’t know what I had to sacrifice to save them.”

Miranda’s eyes filled with sympathy, and she leaned in closer. “But you did save them, Shepard. And for that, they’re grateful.”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I killed EDI. The geth. All synthetic life. They don’t understand the cost, the lives that were lost to make this possible.”

Miranda squeezed his hand, grounding him. “You made the best choice you could, given the circumstances. The galaxy is alive because of you.”

Before Shepard could respond, a small group of people approached their table. They were a mix of species—a turian, a salarian, and a young human girl who clutched a bouquet of blue flowers. The girl’s eyes were wide with awe as she looked up at him.

“Commander Shepard?” she asked shyly.

He forced a smile, leaning down to her level. “That’s me.”

The girl extended the bouquet with trembling hands. “My mom told me you saved us all. She said... she said I should thank you. So... thank you.”

The words pierced Shepard’s heart, leaving him momentarily speechless. He took the flowers, the fragility of the gesture striking him harder than any battle had. “You’re welcome,” he managed, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

The girl beamed, and her companions thanked him profusely before walking away, leaving Shepard and Miranda in a silence that felt both comforting and heavy.

He stared at the flowers in his hands, his mind swirling. How could he reconcile this—the gratitude of a child, the relief of survivors—with the ghosts of those he couldn’t save?

Miranda leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’re not just a hero because you fought,” she whispered. “You’re a hero because you kept fighting, even when it hurt.”

Shepard closed his eyes, feeling the ache in his chest. Maybe she was right. Maybe being a hero wasn’t about perfection or making every choice the right one. Maybe it was about enduring the consequences and still finding a way to live.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Chapter 5: Home and Healing

Six months after waking from his coma, Shepard found himself in an apartment he had never expected to call home. The place had once belonged to Admiral Anderson—a gift to Shepard, though he had never had the chance to truly live in it. Now, with the galaxy slowly recovering, it had become a sanctuary for Shepard and Miranda, a space where they tried to carve out a semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of fame.

The apartment was decorated with Anderson’s memorabilia: medals, old photographs, and personal effects that made the space feel oddly comforting. Shepard hadn’t had the heart to remove most of it. Instead, he chose to live among the memories of a man he respected, feeling like he could draw strength from the legacy Anderson had left behind.

Shepard was sitting comfortably in the leather sofa, looking out at the Citadel’s skyline. Miranda was in the kitchen, moving gracefully as she prepared a simple meal. She wore only a set of black, see-through lingerie: a delicate lace bra that framed her opulent breasts and matching panties that accentuated the curve of her wide hips and the roundness of her firm, sculpted buttocks. The sheer fabric caught the soft glow of the apartment’s lights, emphasizing her flawless, genetically enhanced form.

Shepard’s eyes followed her every movement, unable to help the way his heart quickened. Miranda was perfection, the culmination of careful genetic engineering, yet to him, she was so much more than that. The beauty he admired wasn’t just in her physical allure; it was in her strength, her intelligence, and the vulnerability she rarely let others see.

Miranda turned, catching him watching her, and a playful smile curved her lips. “Enjoying the view?” she teased, arching an elegant brow.

He smiled back, feeling the tension in his chest ease, replaced by a warmth only she could bring. “Hard not to,” he replied, his voice low, admiration clear in his tone.

She crossed the room, the sheer fabric of her lingerie moving with her, accentuating every graceful step. When she stopped in front of him, her sapphire eyes sparkled with affection and a hint of mischief. Shepard’s gaze roamed over her, taking in the way the delicate lace hugged her form, the way her skin seemed to glow in the soft light.

Miranda reached out, placing a gentle hand on his chest, her touch grounding him. “You know,” she said softly, her voice a seductive whisper, “I only wear this for you.”

His breath caught, and he reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her smooth skin. “Lucky me,” he murmured, his gaze locking with hers, the tension between them crackling like electricity.

Miranda leaned in, and Shepard felt the world around him narrow to just this moment, just the woman in front of him—the one who had captured his heart in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Their lips met in a kiss, and everything else faded away.

Miranda pulled back slightly from their kiss, a playful gleam in her eyes. “You know,” she teased, her lips curving into a smile, “I’ve been looking after you for months now. A goddess caring for a lowly human. Don’t you think it’s time that human showed some devotion? Perhaps a little... worship?”

Shepard chuckled, a warmth spreading through his chest as he watched her. “Worship, huh? What does a goddess require from her humble servant?”

In response, Miranda let herself fall back onto the cozy sofa, her hair spilling around her like a dark halo. She lifted her arms above her head, arching her back with an elegance that was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her body stretched and curved in a way that highlighted every perfect line, every sculpted muscle. Her long, flawless legs extended outward, and she playfully mimicked a cycling motion, her toes pointing delicately.

Her feet, like the rest of her, were perfect—her high arches and shapely toes the product of her genetic design. Her skin was soft and smooth, and Shepard couldn’t help but admire the elegance of her form.

Miranda flexed her toes, teasing him with a grin. “Well?” she prompted, her voice a mixture of laughter and desire. “Are you going to worship or just stare?”

Shepard’s smile grew, and he reached for her, his hands sliding up her calves, feeling the firmness of her muscles under his touch. He bent forward, pressing his lips against her ankle before trailing kisses down to her toes. Taking one into his mouth, he gently sucked, savoring the sensation, his warm breath tickling her skin.

Miranda let out a delighted giggle, her body shivering in pleasure. “Mmm, that’s it,” she purred, her laughter giving way to a soft moan. “You’re not so bad at this worship business after all.”

Shepard continued his adoration, his kisses and touch full of reverence, until the world around them seemed to melt away. Their laughter, their intimacy, and the firelight wrapped around them like a warm embrace, leading into a night of passion and connection.

Miranda’s laughter, warm and light, filled the cozy space, blending with the crackling of the fire. As Shepard continued to shower attention on her feet, his kisses grew more tender, reverent. Her laughter faded into soft sighs, her body relaxing under his touch yet simultaneously awakening, anticipation simmering between them.

He kissed his way up her legs, tracing the long, elegant lines of her calves, his lips brushing over her smooth, flawless skin. Miranda's breath caught as he approached her inner thighs, a sweet, heady tension building. Her perfect form arched slightly, surrendering to the way his worshipful kisses lit a fire within her, each caress like a tribute to a divine being.

When Shepard’s mouth reached her core, he paused, marveling at the way her body responded to him, her hips shifting, a plea for the pleasure he knew she deserved. As he began to taste her, his kisses and caresses grew more fervent, each touch filled with both devotion and hunger. Miranda’s moans turned into breathless cries, her fingers tangling in his hair as waves of pleasure washed over her.

He savored her essence, a nectar sweeter than anything he’d known, as if drinking from a cup blessed by the gods themselves. His touch and his mouth were unrelenting yet tender, determined to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. Miranda’s body trembled beneath him, her thighs tightening around his head, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

She cried out his name, her voice breaking as the pleasure crested, and her toes curled, perfect and elegant even in the throes of her release. The muscles in her abdomen contracted, her entire form a vision of divine grace and overwhelming beauty as she surrendered to the moment.

Their eyes met, and Shepard felt a rush of love and need so powerful it left him breathless. He moved up to meet her, and she pulled him close, their bodies aligning as though they were two halves of a whole. With a gentle but urgent need, he entered her, their movements slow and deliberate at first, building into something more primal, more desperate.

Each thrust was a dance, a rhythm they both knew well, a culmination of all the passion, pain, and love they had shared. Miranda’s body arched beneath him, her nails digging into his back, her voice a song of pleasure that spurred him on. Their connection was electric, a merging of souls, a sacred act that transcended mere physicality.

As they reached the peak together, the world seemed to shatter around them, a perfect harmony of sensation and emotion. Miranda’s moans became a final, exultant cry, her body tensing, her toes curling once more in blissful abandon. Shepard followed, his own release crashing over him like a wave, leaving him breathless and spent.

They collapsed into each other’s arms, their bodies tangled, their hearts beating in unison. The fire crackled beside them, and in the quiet that followed, they held on to the warmth of their love, a love that had survived war, loss, and the impossible.

Epilogue

Shepard and Miranda laid together on the sofa, the crackling fire casting a golden glow over their entwined bodies. Both were stripped bare, their skin glistening in the light. Miranda nestled against Shepard’s chest, her large, opulent breasts pressing warmly against him. They softened and flattened slightly against his firm muscles, their natural fullness yielding like the gentle give of silk or liquid beneath his touch. Her fingers traced lazy circles over his shoulder, her body relaxed and content as they lay together, basking in the afterglow of their shared connection.

Shepard held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, a feeling of contentment settling over him. For a while, neither spoke, the silence filled only with the soothing crackle of the flames and the steady rhythm of their heartbeats.

Miranda broke the quiet first, her voice a gentle whisper. “You know, there were days I thought I’d lost you forever,” she said, her fingertips brushing over the faint scars on his chest, remnants of the battle that had nearly taken him from her. “But here you are, and... I can’t help but think we’re incredibly lucky.”

He tightened his hold on her, his hand tracing the curve of her back. “Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he replied, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve had more chances than I deserved, survived things no one should have, but... being here, with you? It makes all the scars worth it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering. “And what about the weight of everything? The choices you made, the lives that were lost... are you at peace with it?”

Shepard’s gaze drifted to the fire, his expression contemplative. “I’ve thought about it, over and over,” he admitted. “But I also know that every choice I made was to protect as many people as possible. Destroying the Reapers... it was necessary, even if it cost us dearly. I can’t change the past, but I can honor those sacrifices by living, by moving forward.”

Miranda’s hand cupped his cheek, guiding his eyes back to hers. “And we’ll do that together,” she promised. “No matter what comes next.”

A smile broke across his face, genuine and full of hope. “Together,” he echoed, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. The future was still uncertain, the galaxy still healing, but for the first time in a long while, Shepard felt ready to face it—hand in hand with the woman he loved.

And as they held each other in the firelight, the promise of a brighter tomorrow seemed closer than ever.

The End.