"Ashes of Crestfall: The Rise of Aaron San Agustin"

The crisp white walls of Velmont Command Headquarters felt colder than usual that morning. Inside a fortified conference room sealed by biometric locks, a gathering of military brass, intelligence directors, and senior policymakers sat around a long oak table polished to a mirrored sheen. The digital screen on the far wall displayed encrypted footage of the African extraction mission, paused on a frame of Aaron carrying Selena through falling rubble under gunfire.

General Ryder, head of Strategic Defense Operations, tapped his pen lightly against his file. The rhythmic click reverberated through the silent room before he finally spoke.

"Gentlemen… and Madam Secretary," he began, his gravelly voice measured and calm, "this… Phantom Wolf… has proven once again why he remains our most effective off-books asset."

Beside him, Secretary of National Security, Elizabeth Johnson, folded her manicured hands on the table. Her eyes, sharp behind thin gold-rimmed glasses, narrowed as she scanned the classified dossier before her.

"And yet," she said coolly, "the situation has spiraled into a potential international incident. Blackwater and Golden Retriever have deployed contingents into Northern Karkane following Camp Red Vulture's fall. Satellite feeds show troop mobilizations within a sixty-mile radius."

One intelligence analyst shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, resource corridor control in that region is now in chaos. Multiple private military groups are vying for territorial dominance. This could lead to proxy conflicts affecting national interests in Central Africa."

The room fell silent as each official contemplated the consequences.

Finally, General Ryder turned to the screen, eyes fixed on Aaron's paused image. "And what of him? Status report."

Colonel Graham cleared his throat, glancing down at his notes. "Stable. Thoracic repair successful. Breathing unassisted as of 0400 hours. He will survive."

A murmur of relief flickered among them before Elizabeth Johnson spoke again, her tone icy but intrigued. "What does he want in return for his silence on this mission's classified events?"

Colonel Graham shifted uncomfortably. "We debriefed him under sedation. His single request remains unchanged."

She arched a brow. "And that is?"

"He wants out," Graham said softly. "Complete retirement. No surveillance. No operational recall. And… he requests the release of his former Phantom Commando team members under the same conditions. Total freedom."

The secretary leaned back, eyes narrowed in thought as she drummed her crimson nails against her file. "He knows too much."

General Ryder exhaled, fatigue lining his hard features. "He has given more than any soldier could. We owe him his life back."

Hours later, in other side of hospital wings.

The sun streamed through the tall windows of Aaron's private room, falling across his bandaged chest and the clean pressed sheets around him. Machines beeped steadily in the silence.

He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought as Commander Graham entered quietly, flanked by two uniformed officers.

"Morning, Phantom," Graham said, pulling up a chair. His voice held the cautious warmth of a father figure trying to reach a son long lost to war.

Aaron didn't look away from the ceiling. "It's done, then?"

Graham nodded. "The Secretary signed the approval this morning. You and your team are released from all operational recall, effective immediately. Clean records. Financial severance. Diplomatic anonymity upheld."

For the first time since waking, Aaron closed his eyes, letting out a slow exhale that seemed to drain five years of darkness from his chest.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"There's more," Graham added, gesturing to the officer beside him. The man stepped forward, holding out a small, velvet-lined box.

Aaron turned his gaze and blinked slowly as Graham opened it before him. Inside lay a platinum medal engraved with the Defense Intelligence insignia, its silver eagle wings flanking an obsidian dagger.

"By order of the National Security Committee," Graham read solemnly, "for unparalleled bravery and unrecorded valor, you are awarded the Defense Intelligence Exceptional Service Commendation."

Aaron stared at it silently. The medal caught the morning light, glittering faintly on the crisp hospital sheet. Memories surged in his mind—bullets tearing through night jungles, the acrid stench of gunpowder, screams of fallen teammates, his mother's broken smile the day she died.

He closed his eyes. Awards… what use are they to the dead?

Graham seemed to read his thoughts. "You deserve more than this, Aaron. You deserve peace."

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Aaron's lips. "Peace… I wouldn't know what to do with it."

"Find out," Graham replied softly, placing the medal box on the bedside table. "Your life is your own now. For the first time… you are free."

Meanwhile, In an undisclosed conference room within Velmont City Hall a political ripples begin, Clarisse Vane leaned back in her leather chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the bustling city below. The skyline glittered under the noon sun, a forest of glass and steel hiding countless secrets within its shadows.

A young aide entered, carrying a tablet. "Madam Mayor, confirmation just came in. The Fonte family's offshore funds have been transferred to Defense Systems as per their promised investment."

"Good," she said curtly, flicking her eyes over the tablet's figures. "Ensure acquisition integration begins today. We'll leverage their holdings to finalize the MENA expansion deal."

"Ma'am… about Phantom Wolf… he—"

"Leave it," she interrupted coldly, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "For now… let the wolf wander. We have bigger games to play."