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There was once a time where the name "Meta Knight" was unavoidable.
In the golden era of the GSA, Meta Knight was the face of the army; he was a hero of the people. He had the charisma, the strength, and the style of the ideal knight, and he was well beloved as a result.
Then Nightmare's campaigns in Blackjack Galaxy began. Tart Star, gone; Lumio, destroyed; Lock Star, no signs of life. It was blow after blow. The people's faith in the GSA began to plummet, and so did the reputation of the infallible knights whose numbers grew lesser by the day. Then, the battle of Jigo occurred. Nightmare had grown tired of the stalemate they had carefully obtained through years of fighting, and with one offensive, managed a feat only known in history books and myths.
Blackjack Galaxy joined those history books that day. Last he checked, it had become nothing more than a small foot note. A reminder that one is never safe, even with the many galactic councils that exist, even with the endless monopolies that persist. A reminder that even galaxies can die in an instant.
Meta Knight came back from that battle different: he became a recluse. Conversation never interested him anymore. On bad days, no one could find him, and on his face now lied a metal mask that covered his every emotion. His role changed from frontline general to recon unit overnight.
Meta Knight wasn't the GSA's star anymore, and so he faded into the background. Casualties grew as the years went on. Eventually, there was no need for beautiful and inspirational knights, for everyone who would love seeing one were long gone.
Then, the GSA quietly collapsed. Leadership had disappeared over the years; he returned to his position as a general because there was no one else, and by the end he was left leading a small fading regiment. One day, in the middle of a battlefield, he turned around to find there was no left. No one left to command. No one left to accompany him.
Another galaxy was ravaged by Nightmare. New organizations took power. The younger generation prevailed over the old. The world moved on without knights. It moved on without him.
He received the news that Nightmare had been sealed five years after the fall of the GSA, and he's been drifting ever since.
As he sits here and finishes polishing his sword in his depressing little spaceship, he thinks about how lucky he was at the end of everything; he's still alive after all! Is that not something to be joyful over? He's a walking history book. A famous one too, even if said fame is non-existent today. These are all good things that were denied to his peers.
But he's not sure about the last time he's felt joy. Was it before Joe Sr. passing? Before Sir Arthur left with his own pack of young knights? What about complete and utter happiness unmired by the stress of war? Was that when Garlude and Joe Sr. took him to find the best chocolate cake? When they held his hands and told him "happy birthday" for the first time in a hundred years? When he was a young lad and saw—
There's blood. He freezes where he's seated. His tainted red-blue-black blood stains his glove and waterstone. He cut himself, he realizes belatedly. A stupid rookie mistake for a knight several centuries old, and a sign his thoughts drifted too far.
He tosses the waterstone across the tiny bridge of this spaceship. What it lands on no doubt ends up dented from the sound of it, but he cares little about this thing he pilots. He's not going to need it once he lands at his destination. And Galaxia? It's been a worthwhile companion, but there will also be no need to polish it once he accomplishes his goals.
Happiness is such a strange thing. When one is young, they are encouraged to seek what fulfills them, what they desire, what makes them happy. That is what is supposed to drive people, and by extension the society they live in.
He has no such thing. He hasn't had such for a long time. His drive is made of something else, a crazed yet tired thing. His goals have no exact end either. They will continue and expand until he breathes his last.
Meta Knight walks to the controls. That name has long since become a distant legend spoken only in niche university courses. Once he's done, it will once again be widespread. Perhaps they will call him a mad man as well, or a martyr of fools. Perhaps he and his spaceship of distant childish dreams will annihilate all those schools along with their nations. Their planets disappearing like his own, like Blackjack Galaxy and his friends.
He grips a lever tight with his bloody hand. So long as "Meta Knight" is remembered, his fate matters little. He yanks the lever, and his dingy spaceship flies off towards a faraway star.