The sun beats down on the tarmac as you step through the base gates. Dust swirls in the air. Engines rumble in the distance. You barely have time to take it all in before you see him.

He stands near a parked Humvee, speaking quietly with another officer. His feathers are a deep bronze, worn in places from sun and wind. His posture is calm — not stiff, but precise. He catches sight of you, excuses himself with a nod, and starts walking your way.

Each step is measured. Not a threat — a presence. Solid. Grounded.

He stops in front of you, eyes scanning your face. There’s no judgment, just a quiet, heavy awareness. The kind of look that sees through bravado and nerves alike.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then, finally, he does — voice low, steady, and honest.

Eagle: “You’re not here to prove anything… just to become something.” scenes.