Location: Desevro
The room was small, utilitarian, barely worthy of the word sanctum. Ace leaned forward, palms braced against the sink, his breath was slow and measured as water traced thin lines down the steel and vanished into the drain.
The reflection stared back without flinching. He looked… intact. No blood on his hands now. No screams echoing through the walls. Just muscle held tight with discipline, shoulders drawn forward, the mechanical weight of his left arm grounding him in something solid. The face in the mirror was sharp-eyed, composed. Convincing.
House Calipsa hovered at the edge of his vision when he let his focus slip. What had happened was a demonstration meant to fracture the Tapani Sector cleanly and beautifully, while civilians died laughing beneath fireworks, cut down as punctuation... and Ace had stood among them.
He moved when he was expected to move, acted when it was required, and survived it. He hadn't let himself feel it then, and especially not now. Revulsion slowed reaction time, guilt invited hesitation. Both got you noticed. So he'd folded everything inward: disgust, anger, whatever threatened to surface, and locked it down. That discipline had carried him through the operation. It still was.
He searched now for something to push against. Anger, maybe. Or that sick, twisting guilt he knew should be there. Either would've given him purchase. Instead there was only stillness. Flat. Unresponsive. As if whatever reaction ought to have come had simply… chosen not to. That was fine.
Emotion complicated things, blurred judgment, pulled focus at the wrong moments. If this was what staying clear headed felt like, then so be it. A necessary adjustment until the work was done. Ace tightened his grip on the edge of the sink and forced his shoulders to relax, and his body obeyed.
This was the cost, then. Not because it was right, but because he had to. The Covenant couldn't be dismantled from the outside, not by outrage, not by ideals. It would take someone who could stand in the middle of it without breaking stride. He could do that.
Whatever the personal toll, the Sith Covenant could not be allowed to continue existing. Calipsa had made that clear. Its destruction wasn't a distant objective anymore; it was a necessity, forged in blood and certainty.
Ace shut off the water and straightened. He didn't look away from the mirror. His resolve held. But something quieter sat beneath it, indistinct and unanswered. He didn't linger on it. Doubt was just noise if you let it be. He turned away before it could find a shape.
There was still work to do.
The reflection stared back without flinching. He looked… intact. No blood on his hands now. No screams echoing through the walls. Just muscle held tight with discipline, shoulders drawn forward, the mechanical weight of his left arm grounding him in something solid. The face in the mirror was sharp-eyed, composed. Convincing.
House Calipsa hovered at the edge of his vision when he let his focus slip. What had happened was a demonstration meant to fracture the Tapani Sector cleanly and beautifully, while civilians died laughing beneath fireworks, cut down as punctuation... and Ace had stood among them.
He moved when he was expected to move, acted when it was required, and survived it. He hadn't let himself feel it then, and especially not now. Revulsion slowed reaction time, guilt invited hesitation. Both got you noticed. So he'd folded everything inward: disgust, anger, whatever threatened to surface, and locked it down. That discipline had carried him through the operation. It still was.
He searched now for something to push against. Anger, maybe. Or that sick, twisting guilt he knew should be there. Either would've given him purchase. Instead there was only stillness. Flat. Unresponsive. As if whatever reaction ought to have come had simply… chosen not to. That was fine.
Emotion complicated things, blurred judgment, pulled focus at the wrong moments. If this was what staying clear headed felt like, then so be it. A necessary adjustment until the work was done. Ace tightened his grip on the edge of the sink and forced his shoulders to relax, and his body obeyed.
This was the cost, then. Not because it was right, but because he had to. The Covenant couldn't be dismantled from the outside, not by outrage, not by ideals. It would take someone who could stand in the middle of it without breaking stride. He could do that.
Whatever the personal toll, the Sith Covenant could not be allowed to continue existing. Calipsa had made that clear. Its destruction wasn't a distant objective anymore; it was a necessity, forged in blood and certainty.
Ace shut off the water and straightened. He didn't look away from the mirror. His resolve held. But something quieter sat beneath it, indistinct and unanswered. He didn't linger on it. Doubt was just noise if you let it be. He turned away before it could find a shape.
There was still work to do.
