HOUSE VERD ESTATE, MANDALORE
There was no light in this place, not truly.
Aether Verd had seen battle in every shade the galaxy had to offer. He had stood before infernos that drowned planets and walked untouched through the wreckage of civilizations. He had fought on temple floors and blighted lands alike. But none of those conflicts burned here. Here, there was no flame. No hum of energy. No thrum of the Force beneath his skin. There was only absence.
And that absence stretched across the chamber like a shroud.
Here, the light fixtures had been dimmed until they cast only the faintest glow, and the walls were bare save for a single ancient banner folded carefully in the corner. There were no weapons, no sigils, no throne. Only a figure seated upon the floor, cross-legged and motionless, his helm resting quietly beside him.
In his lap, a Ysalamir slumbered.
The creature’s presence filled the room with a kind of pressureless weight, one that pushed power away. Without the Force, even time seemed uncertain. There was no pulse, no rhythm... only stillness. And that was the point.
Across the room, a presence watched him. Her shape belonged to another world entirely. Her armor, if it could be called that, was all jagged edges and natural curves, each angle grown rather than forged. Her limbs were long, her features sharper than any blade. She did not belong here, but she had earned her place all the same. A Yuuzhan Vong Shaper, bound by debt to the Verd line, once architect of the Dreadguard, now walking beside his lineage once more.
This was not the first time they had done this.
It had become routine and ritual. In the moments Aether could spare from leading his people, he would return here, strip himself of the Force, and listen. Hours would pass with no motion nor sound. Success eluded him.
But this time, something changed...
His breathing did not quicken. His body did not tremble. But his eyes opened.
And though there was no light to speak of, something in his gaze had shifted. He did not rise right away. He simply looked ahead, as if waiting for a shadow to move or a ghost to speak. Slowly, as though unwilling to disturb the silence, he set the Ysalamir beside him and stood.
He did not announce his discovery. Nor did he not question what he felt. He merely turned toward the Shaper, took a step forward, and stepped beyond the creature’s reach.
And just like that, it was gone.
The feeling. The weight. His ability to perceive that which had stirred in the dark.
Gone.
He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers, and found nothing waiting for him. No warmth, no spark. No call to answer. In that moment, the Force did not know him. He was adrift, not in a sea, but in the vast empty space where water had never been.
The Shaper laughed, her voice low and raw, carrying the strange melody of a language not made for Basic. Her footsteps were heavier than they should have been, and when her hand struck his shoulder, it was less a gesture of encouragement and more a reminder that he was still here.
She did not need to explain what had happened. They both understood.
“Welcome to my world.” she said, complete with a grin of sharp teeth.
Aether didn't answer. He only looked down at the floor where he had been sitting and then back to the Ysalamir curled in the corner. The silence was unchanged. The room was unchanged. But he was not the same.
The Shaper turned, her armor creaking softly as she walked to the center of the room. She motioned once with her hand, the invitation clear.
Again.
No Force, no crutch, and no walls to hold him. Just the Void. Just the truth that now waited in the dark.
And so Aether Verd lowered himself to the ground once more, his back straight, his palms resting on his knees. There was no ceremony to it, only the quiet...and the quiet was enough.
The journey had not ended. In fact, it had only begun to take shape. What was done, must be done again. And again. Until the Void was no longer absence, but power. Until silence became understanding. Until death, in its way, became a weapon.
And the Mand’alor would wield it.
Aether Verd had seen battle in every shade the galaxy had to offer. He had stood before infernos that drowned planets and walked untouched through the wreckage of civilizations. He had fought on temple floors and blighted lands alike. But none of those conflicts burned here. Here, there was no flame. No hum of energy. No thrum of the Force beneath his skin. There was only absence.
And that absence stretched across the chamber like a shroud.
Here, the light fixtures had been dimmed until they cast only the faintest glow, and the walls were bare save for a single ancient banner folded carefully in the corner. There were no weapons, no sigils, no throne. Only a figure seated upon the floor, cross-legged and motionless, his helm resting quietly beside him.
In his lap, a Ysalamir slumbered.
The creature’s presence filled the room with a kind of pressureless weight, one that pushed power away. Without the Force, even time seemed uncertain. There was no pulse, no rhythm... only stillness. And that was the point.
Across the room, a presence watched him. Her shape belonged to another world entirely. Her armor, if it could be called that, was all jagged edges and natural curves, each angle grown rather than forged. Her limbs were long, her features sharper than any blade. She did not belong here, but she had earned her place all the same. A Yuuzhan Vong Shaper, bound by debt to the Verd line, once architect of the Dreadguard, now walking beside his lineage once more.
This was not the first time they had done this.
It had become routine and ritual. In the moments Aether could spare from leading his people, he would return here, strip himself of the Force, and listen. Hours would pass with no motion nor sound. Success eluded him.
But this time, something changed...
His breathing did not quicken. His body did not tremble. But his eyes opened.
And though there was no light to speak of, something in his gaze had shifted. He did not rise right away. He simply looked ahead, as if waiting for a shadow to move or a ghost to speak. Slowly, as though unwilling to disturb the silence, he set the Ysalamir beside him and stood.
He did not announce his discovery. Nor did he not question what he felt. He merely turned toward the Shaper, took a step forward, and stepped beyond the creature’s reach.
And just like that, it was gone.
The feeling. The weight. His ability to perceive that which had stirred in the dark.
Gone.
He looked down at his hands, flexed his fingers, and found nothing waiting for him. No warmth, no spark. No call to answer. In that moment, the Force did not know him. He was adrift, not in a sea, but in the vast empty space where water had never been.
The Shaper laughed, her voice low and raw, carrying the strange melody of a language not made for Basic. Her footsteps were heavier than they should have been, and when her hand struck his shoulder, it was less a gesture of encouragement and more a reminder that he was still here.
She did not need to explain what had happened. They both understood.
“Welcome to my world.” she said, complete with a grin of sharp teeth.
Aether didn't answer. He only looked down at the floor where he had been sitting and then back to the Ysalamir curled in the corner. The silence was unchanged. The room was unchanged. But he was not the same.
The Shaper turned, her armor creaking softly as she walked to the center of the room. She motioned once with her hand, the invitation clear.
Again.
No Force, no crutch, and no walls to hold him. Just the Void. Just the truth that now waited in the dark.
And so Aether Verd lowered himself to the ground once more, his back straight, his palms resting on his knees. There was no ceremony to it, only the quiet...and the quiet was enough.
The journey had not ended. In fact, it had only begun to take shape. What was done, must be done again. And again. Until the Void was no longer absence, but power. Until silence became understanding. Until death, in its way, became a weapon.
And the Mand’alor would wield it.
