The shuttle descended through a blanket of gray cloud, its hull rattling softly as repulsors and maneuvering thrusters fought the turbulent winds. Tavian Hale sat alone beside a viewport, watching the world below emerge from the haze.
It was not what he had expected.
When he had volunteered for the Indomitus Legion, he had imagined a military academy or fortress garrison much like those he had known during his years of service. Instead, the landscape beneath him appeared almost desolate. Dark stone ridges stretched across a barren valley scarred by ancient erosion, while jagged mountains loomed in the distance like silent sentinels. Only one structure dominated the wilderness.
A fortress.
It rose from a plateau overlooking the valley, its walls illuminated by cold white floodlights and beacon towers. From this distance Tavian could make out banners hanging from its battlements, each bearing the same device: a silver crescent embracing an upright sword.
The Crescent Sword.
The symbol of the Indomitus Legion.
"Arrival at Aethr Kheled in two minutes."
The voice belonged to the shuttle's astromech navigator, whose dome-shaped chassis remained connected to the vessel's systems through a maintenance socket near the cockpit. Tavian simply nodded. The droid acknowledged him with a brief electronic chirp before returning its attention to the landing sequence.
The shuttle touched down with a low metallic groan. As the boarding ramp lowered, a gust of cold air swept into the passenger compartment. Tavian slung his duffel bag over one shoulder and stepped onto the landing platform.
Everything else had been left behind. His Army-issued blaster rifle. His armor. His commendations. Fifteen years of military service. The wars. All of it.
Waiting for him at the edge of the platform stood two armored warriors.
At first glance Tavian mistook them for some form of elite Imperial guard. Their armor consisted of black plates edged with gold trim, worn over crimson surcoats that fell almost to their knees. Dark cloaks hung from their shoulders, shifting in the wind. One carried a broad shield bearing the Crescent Sword while a longsword rested at his hip. The other bore a force pike across his back alongside a compact blaster carbine.
Yet it was not the armor that captured Tavian's attention.
It was the heraldry.
At first he only noticed subtle differences between the two warriors. Then more details emerged. Delicate patterns worked into the trim of their armor. Small devices etched into shield rims and sword pommels. Laurel motifs, campaign markings, personal sigils and symbols whose meanings escaped him entirely. The longer he looked, the more he discovered. Every piece appeared intentional, every mark part of a language he could not read. The two Knights clearly belonged to the same order, yet each carried a visible history of service and identity upon their person.
The effect was strangely unsettling.
Military uniforms made men anonymous.
This armor did the opposite.
One of the Knights stepped forward.
"Volunteer?" His voice emerged from behind the helmet as calm and emotionless as a droid's.
"Yes."
"Follow."
No request for identification followed. No security clearance. No background verification. The Knight simply turned and began walking.
Tavian followed.
The interior of the fortress surprised him even more than its exterior. There were no propaganda holoprojectors. No recruiting banners. No parade formations or drill instructors screaming orders at rows of nervous recruits. Instead, the halls were filled with quiet purpose.
Men and women moved through the corridors dressed in simple tunics, riding boots and dark robes adorned with the Crescent Sword. Some wore tabards displaying personal heraldry. Others bore visible scars or cybernetic replacements. Tavian spotted a Nikto speaking quietly with a human woman, a gray-haired veteran carrying a mechanical arm, and a young Twi'lek whose left lekku bore extensive burn scars.
No one appeared hurried. No one appeared idle.
Most curious of all, nobody seemed interested in him.
The Knight eventually stopped before a durasteel door.
"Enter."
The door slid open.
Beyond lay a simple chamber furnished with only a desk, two chairs and a large viewport overlooking the valley. The room possessed none of the grandeur Tavian had expected from an elite military order. And an old man sat behind the desk. He wore no armor. No rank insignia. No decorations. Only a dark robe, simple in design, with a silver Crescent Sword embroidered upon the collar. The door closed behind Tavian. The old man gestured toward the empty chair.
"Sit."
Tavian obeyed.
The old man glanced down at a datapad resting upon the desk before setting it aside. "I have no interest in your service record."
"I'm sorry?" The statement caught Tavian completely off guard.
The old man folded his hands together.
"You served aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Resolute during the Core Wars. You fought pirates in the Mid Rim and participated in the siege of Althen Prime. You were wounded twice and received three commendations. You have also killed men."
"Yes." Tavian shifted uncomfortably.
"I know."
Silence settled over the room. Outside, wind swept across the valley and rattled faintly against the fortress walls.
The old man's eyes remained fixed upon him. "Why are you here?"
Tavian frowned. The answer seemed obvious. "To serve the Empire."
The old man neither nodded nor spoke.
The silence stretched.
Tavian tried again. "To protect people."
Still nothing.
The old man's expression remained unchanged.
For reasons he could not entirely explain, Tavian felt compelled to continue. "Because I'm tired."
The old man tilted his head slightly. "Explain."
Tavian turned toward the viewport.
The memories came easily. The wreckage of cruisers drifting through space above shattered worlds. The screams echoing through breached compartments. The crimson blade of a Sith carving through soldiers who never stood a chance. Months later, a Jedi doing much the same beneath a different banner.
Different causes.
Different philosophies.
The same graves.
"I spent fifteen years fighting wars," Tavian said quietly. "Pirates. Rebels. Warlords. Sith. Jedi. Every one of them claimed they were saving the galaxy. They promised peace. Justice. Freedom. Order. Whatever happened to be convenient." His gaze remained fixed upon the distant mountains. "And every one of them left another battlefield behind."
The old man listened patiently. "What do you seek?"
"An end." The answer came immediately.
"To war?"
Tavian considered the question just to slowly shake his head. "No." His voice became quieter still. "To meaninglessness."
For the first time, the old man smiled. It was a small smile, but genuine. He rose from his chair and approached the viewport. "The Jedi seek harmony. The Sith seek power. Republics seek consensus. Warlords seek dominion." His hands folded behind his back. "And what does the Indomitus Legion seek?"
Tavian waited.
The old man turned toward him. "Purpose."
The word seemed to settle over the room like stone. Simple. Certain. Without apology.
After a long moment, the old man returned to the desk and activated the datapad.
A new file appeared.
++ VOLUNTEER ACCEPTED ++
Tavian stared. "That's it?"
"For now."
"I expected examinations."
"You will have them."
"Physical evaluations?"
"Yes."
"Psychological testing?"
"Among other things."
"What about background investigations?"
The old man's expression almost became amused. "We already know everything worth knowing."
Tavian was not entirely certain whether that was reassuring or terrifying.
The datapad deactivated.
"You will report to the Unanointed Barracks tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "I am not a sir."
Tavian hesitated. "What should I call you?"
The old man regarded him for a moment. "Relictor."
Tavian waited. No name followed. "No family name?"
"The title is sufficient." The answer somehow raised more questions than it answered.
As Tavian stood to leave, the Relictor spoke once more. "Volunteer."
Tavian stopped at the door. "Yes?"
The old man's gaze hardened.
"In the years ahead you will be tested. You will bleed. You will suffer. You will lose things you value. And if you remain, you will become something greater than the man who entered this room today."
The door slid open.
The interview was over.
As Tavian stepped back into the corridor, he paused beside a narrow window overlooking one of the fortress courtyards below. A formation of armored Knights crossed the stone grounds beneath him. Crimson surcoats snapped in the wind as they marched between parked transports and atmospheric gunships. One carried a banner bearing the Crescent Sword. Another rested a gauntleted hand upon the pommel of a longsword while an astromech rolled alongside the formation, chirping irritably at something unseen.
For the first time in many years, Tavian felt something he had not experienced since his youth.
Not hope.
Not ambition.
Purpose.
And for the first time in many years, he found himself looking forward to the morrow.
