CORELLIA:
GOLD BEACHES
HOME TO QURIAN VOSS AND LENA BALTHAZAR VOSS (PARENTS TO LIRA VOSS)
2 weeks ago
The Voss household did not feel rich, it felt earned. That was the first thing Connel noticed. Not the polished floors. Not the framed art. Not the quiet comfort tucked into every corner of the home. Those things existed, certainly, but they were secondary to the feeling beneath them all.
This place had been built slowly, carefully. It was built like something protected.
The smell of cooked nerf still lingered faintly in the air as Lena Bathlazar led them down the hallway, one hand lightly resting against the wall as she walked. Lira moved beside Connel quietly, shoulder brushing his arm every few steps, grounding him without trying to. They were here so that he could meet them, she was introducing him, but she knew why he wanted to come, she knew, every girl knows.
Dinner had already done its dance, questions had been asked, answers had been given, plates left half-finished. There were no explosions. Just tension sitting in the room like a third parent. Then Qurian gave him that look again. It wasn’t hostile, nor was it even disapproving.
Just… watching. Measuring distance between man and daughter like a mechanic checking a stress fracture.
That’s when Connel moved.
Not physically. Not much. Just enough to stop being a guest… and start being honest. He needed no Force theatrics or Jedi mysticism. Just his instinct, he’s seen that look before. In commanders. In fathers. In himself. So he didn’t deflect it.
He met it. I get it.
A simple quip, no need for explanation yet. That alone brought silence, because Qurian wasn’t expecting to be understood. Connel didn’t posture or defend himself. He did something far more dangerous.
He stepped onto Qurian’s ground.
You don’t trust me. Not because of who I am… but because of what I am around her. That landed, he could see it. Lena didn’t interrupt. Lira didn’t move, because now this wasn't dinner. This was two men speaking a language that doesn’t need translation, it clicked into something deeper. You walked away from something once. Whatever it was… you didn’t just leave it. You buried it.
He didn’t say Mandalorian, he didn’t know to, or need to if he did. Qurian’s reaction told him everything. There was a flicker. A tightening jaw. The ghost of a life he never wanted to let into this house.
Connel didn’t press it. He respects it. You did that so she wouldn’t have to grow up around it. No, this is not a confrontation, it’s recognition, and this is where Connel did something he almost never allowed himself to do. He stopped being composed, not dramatic, not broken. Just… honest in a way that would cost him something.
I didn’t get that choice. Silence tightened. My father didn’t walk away from what he was. He stood in front of it.
He let that hang. ... and it killed him.
There was no embellishment, nor any heroic speech. There was just truth, laid flat on the table between the plates. He was not asking for sympathy. Only explaining the weight he himself carried. So yeah… I know exactly why you’re looking at me like that. Because if I fail… she pays for it.
There it is.
… and that’s the moment Qurian realized something. This isn’t a reckless warrior standing in his home. This is a man who has already lived the consequence he fears for her. Then and there things subtly shifted, Connel didn’t tighten after saying it, nor did he retreat. He didn’t armor back up.
He… let it sit.
For maybe the first time, he said it out loud without carrying it like a wound that needs defending. He was not trying to prove anything. He just… told the truth and left it there.
Nothing dramatic, but it was something deep. Like setting down a pack you didn’t realize you’d been wearing for years. There was no long speech, no sudden warmth. There was just something small, grounded, earned.
Qurian just leaned back and studied Connel again, different this time. Then he said: “You don’t get to fail.”
No threat, Nor a command, but a standard. In Corellian father-language? That’s acceptance with teeth.
Lira didn’t jump in to defend. She didn’t soften it, because she saw it. This wasn’t about approval. This was about truth being weighed… and not breaking. Maybe later, when the tension finally exhaled, she nudged him, quiet: “Took you long enough.”
Half teasing. Half something else, because she knows what that cost him. That did not matter now as they walked the hallway.
Ahead of them, Lena stopped at a door and opened it.
The guest room was already prepared. Sheets folded were tight, spare clothes laid neatly at the foot of the bed. Towels stacked with impossible precision. It was set up for an inspection. Connel paused for half a second, prepared before he had even arrived.
Interesting.
“If you need anything,” Lena said smoothly, “you’ll ask.”
Not cold, not warm, just firm.
Connel nodded once. Understood.
Qurian stood in the hallway behind them, his broad shoulders filling half the corridor. He had barely spoken since dinner ended, but he had watched. Every word. Every silence. Every hesitation.
And Connel knew exactly why.
Because he would have done the same thing. Lena gave Lira a small look before turning away down the hallway. Qurian lingered another moment, not staring, but measuring. Then he nodded once to himself and walked off. The house settled into quiet.
Lira exhaled softly behind him.
“You didn’t have to tell him all that.”
Connel looked toward the dark hallway where Qurian had disappeared. Yeah, he said quietly. I did.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then somewhere deeper in the house came the sharp metallic clank of something hitting durasteel followed by a muttered curse. Lira smirked faintly. There it is.
Connel glanced sideways. There what is?
“My father losing an argument with machinery.” Then a beat. “You’re smiling.”
I know. Terrifying.
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Connel’s mouth before he quietly stepped back into the hallway. Lira watched him go without stopping him, because she already knew where he was headed.
The workshop smelled like oil, ozone, and old metal.
A half-disassembled power regulator sat open across the bench while Qurian leaned over it with the grim expression of a man actively considering violence against an inanimate object. Connel stopped in the doorway. Need a hand?
Qurian didn’t look up. “I’ve got it.” Standard answer.
Connel nodded once anyway and stepped inside. Silence settled between them naturally after that. Nothing awkward, just cautious.
Qurian worked. Connel observed. Then, after a moment, Connel reached for a hydrospanner before Qurian asked for it. The older man paused briefly before taking it. Interesting. A few minutes later Connel steadied the regulator housing before it slipped. Then adjusted a cable before it snagged. No overexplaining. No showing off. Just awareness.
The kind learned the hard way.
“You’ve done this before,” Qurian finally said.
Connel shrugged slightly. Broken things are broken things. That almost sounded like humor. Almost.
Qurian grunted. Then the regulator suddenly screamed. A sharp rising whine split the room. Connel’s head snapped up instantly.
Wait.
Too late.
The housing ruptured with a violent crack. A spray of sparks erupted outward as the pressure line blew free like a striking serpent straight toward Qurian’s face.
Connel moved immediately. Without hesitation or thought.
He slammed into Qurian hard enough to shove him sideways as the pressurized coupling exploded past where he had been standing. The detached metal line smashed into Connel’s shoulder instead with a brutal crack.
The impact hurled him into the edge of the workbench.
Tools clattered across the floor. The workshop lights flickered once. Then there was silence. The kind that rang. Qurian caught himself against the wall and turned immediately.
Connel was already pushing himself upright. His sleeve had been torn open near the shoulder. Angry red burns and bruising were already forming beneath the fabric, but he ignored them completely. Instead he looked toward the smoking regulator. That coupling was fractured deeper than it looked.
Like that was the important part.
Qurian stared at him, Not at the injury, but at the reaction. At the complete absence of self-preservation in the moment it counted. “You’re not careful,” Qurian said at last.
Connel flexed his shoulder once, wincing despite himself. Sometimes careful gets people hurt.
The words landed heavily in the quiet room. Because Qurian knew exactly what kind of man said something like that, and exactly what kind of life created one. For a long moment neither spoke.
Then Qurian bent down, grabbed another tool from the floor, and tossed it lightly toward Connel. “Hold that.” No ceremony. No dramatic acknowledgment. Just trust. Small.
Real.
Connel caught the tool automatically and stepped back toward the bench beside him. For the first time that night, Qurian stopped watching him like a possible threat. Much later, after the house had gone dark and the repair was finally finished, Qurian stepped quietly out onto the back porch.
The cool Corellian night air rolled gently across the fields beyond the property. Three figures waited there already. Broad-shouldered men in worn jackets and old scars. The kind who stood like soldiers even out of armor. One of them glanced toward the house. “That him?”
Qurian leaned against the porch railing. “Yeah.”
Another scoffed softly. “Kid looks intense.”
“He is,” Qurian answered plainly.
A third crossed his arms. “You sure about this?”
Qurian was quiet for a moment.
Inside the house, through the kitchen window, he could just barely see Lira moving around while Connel sat at the table holding an ice pack against his shoulder as she argued with him about pretending he wasn’t injured.
The sight pulled the faintest hint of something tired from Qurian’s expression. Then he looked back toward the others. “Lay off him.”
That got their attention. One of them frowned. “Qur—”
“I said lay off.”
Not aggressive. Not defensive. Certain. The porch fell quiet. Qurian looked back toward the house again. “He’s carrying enough already.”
Silence lingered for another moment before one of the older men finally grunted knowingly and leaned back against the railing. That sound alone carried decades of understanding. No more questions followed. And inside the house, for the first time in longer than he could remember…
Connel Vanagor laughed.
GOLD BEACHES
HOME TO QURIAN VOSS AND LENA BALTHAZAR VOSS (PARENTS TO LIRA VOSS)
2 weeks ago
The Voss household did not feel rich, it felt earned. That was the first thing Connel noticed. Not the polished floors. Not the framed art. Not the quiet comfort tucked into every corner of the home. Those things existed, certainly, but they were secondary to the feeling beneath them all.
This place had been built slowly, carefully. It was built like something protected.
The smell of cooked nerf still lingered faintly in the air as Lena Bathlazar led them down the hallway, one hand lightly resting against the wall as she walked. Lira moved beside Connel quietly, shoulder brushing his arm every few steps, grounding him without trying to. They were here so that he could meet them, she was introducing him, but she knew why he wanted to come, she knew, every girl knows.
Dinner had already done its dance, questions had been asked, answers had been given, plates left half-finished. There were no explosions. Just tension sitting in the room like a third parent. Then Qurian gave him that look again. It wasn’t hostile, nor was it even disapproving.
Just… watching. Measuring distance between man and daughter like a mechanic checking a stress fracture.
That’s when Connel moved.
Not physically. Not much. Just enough to stop being a guest… and start being honest. He needed no Force theatrics or Jedi mysticism. Just his instinct, he’s seen that look before. In commanders. In fathers. In himself. So he didn’t deflect it.
He met it. I get it.
A simple quip, no need for explanation yet. That alone brought silence, because Qurian wasn’t expecting to be understood. Connel didn’t posture or defend himself. He did something far more dangerous.
He stepped onto Qurian’s ground.
You don’t trust me. Not because of who I am… but because of what I am around her. That landed, he could see it. Lena didn’t interrupt. Lira didn’t move, because now this wasn't dinner. This was two men speaking a language that doesn’t need translation, it clicked into something deeper. You walked away from something once. Whatever it was… you didn’t just leave it. You buried it.
He didn’t say Mandalorian, he didn’t know to, or need to if he did. Qurian’s reaction told him everything. There was a flicker. A tightening jaw. The ghost of a life he never wanted to let into this house.
Connel didn’t press it. He respects it. You did that so she wouldn’t have to grow up around it. No, this is not a confrontation, it’s recognition, and this is where Connel did something he almost never allowed himself to do. He stopped being composed, not dramatic, not broken. Just… honest in a way that would cost him something.
I didn’t get that choice. Silence tightened. My father didn’t walk away from what he was. He stood in front of it.
He let that hang. ... and it killed him.
There was no embellishment, nor any heroic speech. There was just truth, laid flat on the table between the plates. He was not asking for sympathy. Only explaining the weight he himself carried. So yeah… I know exactly why you’re looking at me like that. Because if I fail… she pays for it.
There it is.
… and that’s the moment Qurian realized something. This isn’t a reckless warrior standing in his home. This is a man who has already lived the consequence he fears for her. Then and there things subtly shifted, Connel didn’t tighten after saying it, nor did he retreat. He didn’t armor back up.
He… let it sit.
For maybe the first time, he said it out loud without carrying it like a wound that needs defending. He was not trying to prove anything. He just… told the truth and left it there.
Nothing dramatic, but it was something deep. Like setting down a pack you didn’t realize you’d been wearing for years. There was no long speech, no sudden warmth. There was just something small, grounded, earned.
Qurian just leaned back and studied Connel again, different this time. Then he said: “You don’t get to fail.”
No threat, Nor a command, but a standard. In Corellian father-language? That’s acceptance with teeth.
Lira didn’t jump in to defend. She didn’t soften it, because she saw it. This wasn’t about approval. This was about truth being weighed… and not breaking. Maybe later, when the tension finally exhaled, she nudged him, quiet: “Took you long enough.”
Half teasing. Half something else, because she knows what that cost him. That did not matter now as they walked the hallway.
Ahead of them, Lena stopped at a door and opened it.
The guest room was already prepared. Sheets folded were tight, spare clothes laid neatly at the foot of the bed. Towels stacked with impossible precision. It was set up for an inspection. Connel paused for half a second, prepared before he had even arrived.
Interesting.
“If you need anything,” Lena said smoothly, “you’ll ask.”
Not cold, not warm, just firm.
Connel nodded once. Understood.
Qurian stood in the hallway behind them, his broad shoulders filling half the corridor. He had barely spoken since dinner ended, but he had watched. Every word. Every silence. Every hesitation.
And Connel knew exactly why.
Because he would have done the same thing. Lena gave Lira a small look before turning away down the hallway. Qurian lingered another moment, not staring, but measuring. Then he nodded once to himself and walked off. The house settled into quiet.
Lira exhaled softly behind him.
“You didn’t have to tell him all that.”
Connel looked toward the dark hallway where Qurian had disappeared. Yeah, he said quietly. I did.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then somewhere deeper in the house came the sharp metallic clank of something hitting durasteel followed by a muttered curse. Lira smirked faintly. There it is.
Connel glanced sideways. There what is?
“My father losing an argument with machinery.” Then a beat. “You’re smiling.”
I know. Terrifying.
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Connel’s mouth before he quietly stepped back into the hallway. Lira watched him go without stopping him, because she already knew where he was headed.
The workshop smelled like oil, ozone, and old metal.
A half-disassembled power regulator sat open across the bench while Qurian leaned over it with the grim expression of a man actively considering violence against an inanimate object. Connel stopped in the doorway. Need a hand?
Qurian didn’t look up. “I’ve got it.” Standard answer.
Connel nodded once anyway and stepped inside. Silence settled between them naturally after that. Nothing awkward, just cautious.
Qurian worked. Connel observed. Then, after a moment, Connel reached for a hydrospanner before Qurian asked for it. The older man paused briefly before taking it. Interesting. A few minutes later Connel steadied the regulator housing before it slipped. Then adjusted a cable before it snagged. No overexplaining. No showing off. Just awareness.
The kind learned the hard way.
“You’ve done this before,” Qurian finally said.
Connel shrugged slightly. Broken things are broken things. That almost sounded like humor. Almost.
Qurian grunted. Then the regulator suddenly screamed. A sharp rising whine split the room. Connel’s head snapped up instantly.
Wait.
Too late.
The housing ruptured with a violent crack. A spray of sparks erupted outward as the pressure line blew free like a striking serpent straight toward Qurian’s face.
Connel moved immediately. Without hesitation or thought.
He slammed into Qurian hard enough to shove him sideways as the pressurized coupling exploded past where he had been standing. The detached metal line smashed into Connel’s shoulder instead with a brutal crack.
The impact hurled him into the edge of the workbench.
Tools clattered across the floor. The workshop lights flickered once. Then there was silence. The kind that rang. Qurian caught himself against the wall and turned immediately.
Connel was already pushing himself upright. His sleeve had been torn open near the shoulder. Angry red burns and bruising were already forming beneath the fabric, but he ignored them completely. Instead he looked toward the smoking regulator. That coupling was fractured deeper than it looked.
Like that was the important part.
Qurian stared at him, Not at the injury, but at the reaction. At the complete absence of self-preservation in the moment it counted. “You’re not careful,” Qurian said at last.
Connel flexed his shoulder once, wincing despite himself. Sometimes careful gets people hurt.
The words landed heavily in the quiet room. Because Qurian knew exactly what kind of man said something like that, and exactly what kind of life created one. For a long moment neither spoke.
Then Qurian bent down, grabbed another tool from the floor, and tossed it lightly toward Connel. “Hold that.” No ceremony. No dramatic acknowledgment. Just trust. Small.
Real.
Connel caught the tool automatically and stepped back toward the bench beside him. For the first time that night, Qurian stopped watching him like a possible threat. Much later, after the house had gone dark and the repair was finally finished, Qurian stepped quietly out onto the back porch.
The cool Corellian night air rolled gently across the fields beyond the property. Three figures waited there already. Broad-shouldered men in worn jackets and old scars. The kind who stood like soldiers even out of armor. One of them glanced toward the house. “That him?”
Qurian leaned against the porch railing. “Yeah.”
Another scoffed softly. “Kid looks intense.”
“He is,” Qurian answered plainly.
A third crossed his arms. “You sure about this?”
Qurian was quiet for a moment.
Inside the house, through the kitchen window, he could just barely see Lira moving around while Connel sat at the table holding an ice pack against his shoulder as she argued with him about pretending he wasn’t injured.
The sight pulled the faintest hint of something tired from Qurian’s expression. Then he looked back toward the others. “Lay off him.”
That got their attention. One of them frowned. “Qur—”
“I said lay off.”
Not aggressive. Not defensive. Certain. The porch fell quiet. Qurian looked back toward the house again. “He’s carrying enough already.”
Silence lingered for another moment before one of the older men finally grunted knowingly and leaned back against the railing. That sound alone carried decades of understanding. No more questions followed. And inside the house, for the first time in longer than he could remember…
Connel Vanagor laughed.
