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Summary
After the catastrophic attack on the Resistance Head Quarters, the Sarentu has done everything in their power to remain afloat. Clinging onto the belief that they, and they alone could repair the damage the humans had caused.
But what is one to do when clutching the fragments of shattered glass together, trying to stop the crumbling sheet begins cutting away at their own flesh and bone? Jagged edges tearing into skin until blood seeps and pools underfoot, still desperate to hold onto the sharded pieces remaining stubbornly resolute. Even if it may cost their own life.
One suffers and falls. Only clutching tighter, harsher despite the anguish refusing to let go of a fist full of broken glass. That is unless someone is there to pry their hands free.