Private A Dusty Culmination

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

Location: Unknown, Sith-Imperial Space, eight standard months prior to Kintan..

“S’lot of dirt..” one of the privates muttered, dumping a handful of the crap onto his lap.

It only served to bolster the image that the lot of the Legionnaire intake were no better then toddlers plied with weaponry. There were eight other men and women not too dissimilar from him, all at varying levels of their military careers. The lot of them spread out amongst the winding small canyon in pairs, displaying varying levels of despondent boredom. They had holed up in the northern sector in a steep dried river bed. The system’s sun was merciless and burned steadily past ninteenhundred, driving them into the shadier outcrops for an ounce of reprieve. The Major had considered the time, they were only a little over six standard hours into the exercise. A blue flag stood out against the varying shades of camouflage, the engima pattern struggling with the arid terrain and the cut of cloth. The standard was lifeless with no wind to stir it, spiked precariously into the sandy walls that caged them in now.

“Mm yup..” Lyra observed, sweat rolling off her brow. She was equally unimpressed, making notes. Her back was butted up to the canyon wall, having planted herself in the shade; helm discarded at her side. She was waiting to be reprimanded for that.

“Wouldn’t it be a more tactical choice to take the position up top?” One Trooper swiveled his helm toward her, standing directly across from her; another greenhorne.

“If you can climb that, be my guest.” It was Captain Appw’rii that spoke up, the woman sat maybe a yard away. Jutting her helmet’s chin toward the bowing and shelved marbled walls. It could be done, with great difficulty Lyra reasoned silently. “You’ll over heat within the hour up there, or burn your water supply out though. So much for surviving the week?”

Maybe half of them were seasoned, the rest varying prospects hoping to land a place amongst the ranging company. The Major pursed her lips together, her head swinging left to right surveying a lot of..nothing. Not even the dust stirred out here, the stagnant worlds were oft the least glorious of deployments. There hadn’t been a lick of a breeze even on the march in. If there had not been fail safes in place, parts of their armor may as well overheated. The Troopers spoke amongst themselves, several dropping their own helms as another hour drew out. She picked up a whisper on occasion, but it was mostly useless blabber..

Two had taken it upon themselves to watch the south entrance, slacking as the wait drew out. Why had she forgotten her flask? It had been an itch at the back of her throat for the last few weeks, certainly excusable as Tavlar always seemed to have a cigarra on him. Twelve other teams were circulating the grounds with them, actively hunting one another. The game offered a plethora of outcomes and win-lose scenarios but it’s core lesson laid in temperance..and team building but that was beside the point. In her experience either it would ramp up by the week’s end or the first night was going to be brutal. It was one of her fondest memories from Basic, live training.

The original expectation involved more explosions and live fire but Lyra had tailored the course to fit the Company’s goals; of course all that would come into play later. She wasn’t privy to the fireworks planned. No, that had been handed over to a group of overseers, it would just be cheating otherwise. Scratching her chin idly, her hands trailed down the training rifle, refraining from checking the power cell. It was really no better than a child’s toy. Turning her attention toward the sky, the atmosphere provided an off colored blue and it was only beginning to hint at sunset. A rock shifted overhead and a small trail of sand trickled down the canyon, startling the lot of them. They all had reached for their rifles, even herself but Lyra could feel the squirreliness rolling off the few of them. She was not commanding this squadron, Captain Appw’rii was up this time. The Captain’s admirability did not change the lack of verbal expectation.

Lyra had an idea of what the woman was trying to accomplish with their choice of tactic, but anything could change within a short span of minutes. Shifting in the sand, Lyra cracked her neck before dropping her rifle back in her lap; the others slowly uncoiling. It was too quiet. Unexpectedly a small hum bubbled in her throat and soon she was nodding her head to a tune in her head; fingers wagging at her side like a conductor. Appw’rii regarded her as if she had grown a second head but the Leftenent shading himself nearest, pipped up with a dry laugh; catching on.

“He was just a rookie trooper…” Voi’kryt muttered under her breath, as if testing the waters. She couldn't sing worth shavit by any means but she could carry a tune. Lt. Jissard made a show of clearing his throat before they both were crooning.

“..and he surely shook with fright..”

“He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight..”

It was a mediocre performance, but the recruits were entrapped.

“He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar.”

Jissard pumped his rifle in the air and his laughter bleed into the words.

“You ain't gonna jump no more!”

“Uh ma’am...we’re picking up a lot of activity..”

“Major please-” Appw’rii interjected already on her feet, the Troopers scrambling with their weapons; confused. Several visors drifted between their distraction and the Captain.

“Gory, gory, what a hellu'va way to die..”

“Ma’am our position is-” another Trooper cried at her.

They ended on a high note as blue bolts filled the mouth of the canyon, Lyra scooped up her helm and slapped it on as she rose to her feet. One of their ‘sentries’ hit the sand paralyzed by a shot and one of the greenhornes pushed up to drag him back; falling under the heat. The radar was going off as the squad surged toward the bottle neck to secure their position. A cluster of ‘enemies’ was on their front door. The shouting drew some concern and she frowned behind her mask when she heard the jeering tossed around. Looking at the radar, Lyra raised a brow as it read another entity and she looked up as she stepped out of the shade looking at the top of the canyon. It maybe was six meters to the top of the plateau but the radar beeped steadily.

Raising the dud rifle, the Major retreated slowly; sights trained on the horizon. The mess to her side would resolve itself as Appw’rii threw around orders, the comm crackling in her ear. An errant bolt grazed before her and Lyra pushed her back into the wall; dragging dust along her plates as she took cover. A shadow skirted over her head, counting under her breath. She stepped out firing off three rounds above her. A hard thud sounded, more dust pouring down, dousing her. Her feet dragging her back, then it dawned upon her..She hadn’t considered if what was stalking them fell..Panic seized her chest briefly and she dropped the rifle with a graceless toss. Ready to catch a man..but nobody fell. Lyra waited a beat and she exhaled heavily, the filters on her helmet working double time. Slapping a hand across her visor she bent over, embarrassment washing over her. A stern reminder it was a game.

“Who’d I shoot up there..” Lyra shouted, stepping out as the fire fight fizzled out. Victors stumbling around to collect the flags off the slain, yellow team had been sent packing out.

“Corporal Moneus..” the man’s voice strained, she couldn’t see him quite but the radar picked up his signal; the dot registering red. He hadn’t picked himself up yet and Lyra crossed her arms, the bolts could hardly even be considered stun grade..it was just a bit of a shock.

Appw’rii had approached her, sand bathing her visor. She had a yellow flag in hand from her own conquest, but the Major knew the woman was displeased. They’d speak of it later. Lyra crossed her arms her helmet masking the quirk of her lip.

"You almost shoot him off the ledge..?" The Captain's voice bordered accusatory. As if she had meant to do it..

"He did put himself up there, and should have considered the risks of being shot.." Lyra defended. Stupid games had stupider prizes..“Hey Moneus..!”

“Yes..ma’am."

Some sand spilled into the canyon, and she caught his shoulder as the ranger picked himself up.

“Color me impressed, you actually climbed up there!” Lyra called out, and she almost was. More concerned if the man was suffering from heatstroke yet..but there had been a staff meeting almost two weeks prior; something about positive reinforcement. “You wanna drop your flag down and head back to the gate for me?”

“Aye ma’am..”

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

Location: Niraun, NIO Space, two weeks after deployment to Aeten II

​

“It doesn’t look bad,” Lyra broke the silence, a smoke wedged at the corner of her mouth. The jealous look from the Captain was not lost on her, but Appw’rii had only just been taken off the breathing apparatus. Sitting at the woman’s beside, Lyra offered the woman a mirror and data pad. The cheap smoke burning slowly down to the filter, it’s scent lingering heavily in the air. A long and painful silence stretching between the two soldiers..

The Captain was afforded more time then a brief comm’s message to check up on her.

The med-bay was quiet, a steady beeping of machines surrounding them. The Captain fiddled away with the affects. It was these moments Lyra despised the most, witnessing the lull of recovery. Shutting her eyes, the white and sterile washed durasteel stirred one to many bad memories. Appw’rii finally had the strength to sit up for more than a few minutes, a medically induced coma had put her down for the count following Aeten II. The deployment leaving it’s ugly mark on the woman. Lyra had seen the charts that morning, the damage to her esophagus and a shattered jaw to boot.

Again and again they both tasted the reality of their line of work. When was their luck going to run out and their bodies failed them? You could ply a man with metal and wires, but sometimes the heart failed. It didn’t help that the Commander had to inform the woman of Thoa’s death.

He had just celebrated his kid's third birthday before the defect and had been a good friend to the Captain, even Lyra had liked the man. Lyra had pulled him off the mining colony alive, barely..but he hadn’t survived the transfer and the emergency resuscitation failed. The others who had fallen were sorely missed, but Thoa had left an impression. Lyra wasn’t fond of children, but maker help them the lot and the squad would have fekked a man up for Trises; she was a cute kid. In the end it didn’t matter, Thoa’s family was still trapped behind Sith borders and they would be the last to know.

Rolling the smoke between her teeth, she finally ripped it from her mouth to throw it in the trash; just looking to occupy herself. The general mood had faltered, they had needed some sort of tangible victory after the defect, and this hadn’t been it. Appw’rii was still grappling with reality post surgery, awash with confusion.

Sleek silver panels and plates encased the left side of the woman’s jaw and neck. It could be covered by synth-skin if the trooper really wanted. It wasn’t easy to look at a fresh injury and Lyra knew the woman had a vain streak, between the exhaustion and recovery. She wasn’t going to have an easy time of it.

“It’s..bad,” Appw’rii coughed, staring at her reflection-the mirror clamped between two hands. The pins in her jaw made for a painful obstacle. Beyond the physical deficiencies, the woman’s voice was burdened with grief.

The Captain still had her doubts, and hadn’t been scared to voice them before to Lyra up to their first assignment. One mining colony didn't mean shavit to the trooper. There was anger there, Lyra knew the taste of it all too well. What had been the point, was the cost now worth it?

“It comes in titanium rainbow?” Lyra tried to joke.

The woman’s knuckles were white, and Lyra lurched in the wake of the anger. The woman didn’t show it, and the heart monitor sky rocked.

“Appw’rii-”

“I don’t think that meets protocol..”

Lyra froze, considering the woman before she dared settle back.

“A rule abider, for once?..The Marshal’s tech is all in gold.” Lyra words were rushed in one breath, trying to sorely repair the mishap.

“We should have never left.”

It was a sobering remark and the woman's head bowed, tossing the mirror toward the foot of the bed.

“We can't go back now,” Lyra muttered, it sounded rehearsed and a sore attempt to placate her..The logic was cold and unfeeling. She wouldn’t say sorry, it would do little for the trooper. Was it simply the space between a border and Bastion? The banner they had fought tooth and nail for? Turning her attention toward the glass doors. The Captain’s words tasted of regret. She was angry, that much Lyra understood. Idly watching as doctors and droids mulled across the med-bay, they were left in relative privacy.

If she made a full recovery..Would the woman walk away from it all, request discharge and flee back home? Appw'rii wasn't a coward.

Lyra waited to hear on baited breath, waiting for the tirade but it never came. Not that she could openly agree, but it was a faint and shared sentiment. Maybe it was the structure they craved, a sense of normalcy after all but jumping ship. The cruelties were there under the Sith, the fear..but learning to live outside that proved to be it's own demon to tame.

Appw’rii seemed content in the silence so Lyra didn't elaborate.

The Commander understood it more clearly now, ah yes..the sorrow echoed through the force. She pretended not to see when tears began to slip down the woman’s face. For home. Lyra had fought her late youth to get out of Bescane. The fume choked cityscape and the stifling hand of her own father had driven her away. Appw’rii had enlisted for a bit of glory and for a struggling factory mother. Thoa had wanted to prove himself, but they all had wanted that to some degree. To be a Legionnaire. Now here they were, just the two of them missing the shavit of a world. The world they had loved and loathed best.

"We'll go home one day," Lyra declared, reaching out to grasp the woman's hand; giving it a firm squeeze in. They had been watching each other’s back for the last decade, and she walked the tightrope of leader and friend. Protocol be damned, they had no one else.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

There had been a formal salute after they had been cycled back to Niraun, long after the Diab fiasco. A rifle team fired in honor of the men lost in Lo-Hold III at the cemetery on a particularly fine day. It had been a mass funeral, a name and rank listed off before a crowd. The Commander had suffered it silently, wearing a stiff upper lip amongst the Officers at the front present. All but biting her cheek when they had reached her own squad.

There hadn’t even been time to put up a proper fight after the bombing, it had been a matter of survival. It was easy to fall back on old tactics, but facing a force three times their size..She could beg an excuse or just accept the numbers for what it was. War had a price and it was this.

The truth of it had been easy to ignore after the initial shock, there had been too much work to handle. She was grappling with it amidst a relapse and mandatory physical therapy, she had a twitch she couldn’t beat and a Task Force to shape. Guilt was a slow poison and the Commander felt part to blame that Jissard hadn’t made it back. Kriff..she knew it was.

Never again, was the despairing lie she did tell herself. Lyra didn’t have a habit of lying to herself, but she bordered mania in this respect. If never again, then what kind of person was she if she didn't try. For all her desire to be better, to be efficient, the Commander should have seen the enemy contact coming. There was nothing left of the market, just blood and concrete. Where had her own foresight been, it was a classic ambush? They should-no, she should have given a city wide mandate. Should have organized the patrols better. They had been no better than a couple rats trapped in a cage.

Maker help them, they had been put through the ringer. She had lost her touch, was the fight getting harder, or was it just her own failings?

Those who could stand from the Company had made their way out to the lawns, assembled and in salute to mourn. There were only so many bodies salvages from the ruble and evisceration of the bombings, the rest lost to the airstrike. So they hung plaques on the walls. It wasn’t enough for her. After the last blaster shot had sounded out, they had walked back in relative silence. There was not much to say and even Simmoes had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

She didn’t say anything when in the corner of the barracks on the empty rack an array of holo pictures displaying the soldiers they lost began to appear. In two standard weeks the bed had been rededicated, piled up with different relics. A solar lamp and a pocket bottle of contraband set up beside the picture of the Lieutenant to always keep it company. It was followed by a half pack of smokes and huttaburger cup joining it. There were squabbles that followed with the stress. If there had been a fight Jissard would have smoothed it out, he was a peace keeper and had a better outlook than the lot of them.

Her boys were a crafty lot, it had started out just ‘Evil Eyes’ but then the other Platoons caught on. Small holo pics of others piling up. Thoa had a spot reserved there and the others who hadn’t made it after Aeten II and those from Tammar joined the ranks of the private memorial. What was Lyra really supposed to say in the end, they had volunteered for this war but this was the first time they had all been allowed to mourn in cycles. They would of been smoked under the Empire for it. As time stretched out it was easy to be engulfed by the loss, and before she knew it..she just felt numb.

For Lyra it was a long time coming, the fight may have been difficult but there were fissures and cracks in her own command.

She had been playing secretary a little too long, eaten up in distractions and the sitting in the back burner of command. Slowly she began keeping later hours, until the shooting range closed, finding somewhere to improve upon. It was difficult to say if that was just herself coping or a wise move as they began a new training regiment. They had to be better, even if work kept falling down the line in to her hands. Lyra had learned her lesson about pushing soldiers onward wrong but full hands were easier to distract.

She couldn’t afford it, had the pain been a premonition?

The market scene still played out in her mind like a broken holo. Lyra understood the tension there after walking through the barracks, felt it, and now there was a vacancy in the rank and no one was eager to fill it. She barely had the heart to ask them to move the memorial as they began to rebuild the ranks. The upcoming simulation would be a perfect test, they’d begin running flight jumps after the new file was established.

A crate in the common room was settled upon when the fresh faces began to filter in. It was intimidating to walk in to for the greener boys. A lot of them had a few years at least in service, scouted out from the ranks of the twelfth, she didn’t pay any mind to the fresh batches of recruits. Couldn't risk considering men so green. There was a minimum still to keep up with Genesis. Lyra had to keep a close eye on the hazing on the training grounds however, the work with the fifty first was rough around the edges still and they’d eat a shiny officer alive. She had been there, filling the boots of a Lieutenant a decade before who had been shot down. The woman didn’t understand how Tavlar had managed it all. He was managing everything.

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

The echo of blast plate and boots drowned out the faint hum of the ship, soldiers of the 307th veered off at every hall they passed. In the wake of Bastion, the troopers swept in and locked down the vessel; instilling an Imperial order. Each and every presence burned in the back of Lyra’s mind, the hyper awareness had increased like a charged signal until it turned into pain. The ache resonated at the forefront of her mind and she couldn’t help but pinch her brow as they navigated the halls of the flag ship.

One of the many playgrounds of her Master. Her lips curled into a sneer, ascending the levels of the gilded flag ship. It existed as a physical insult to the Order, though a tool was a tool-Lyra liked to imagine dismantling the hunk of durasteel. No it was leaving a turntable profit floating above Phaeda that would be no less than a disaster and security risk. It hadn’t taken them long to roll in to the sector under the Iron Sun’s banner.

The woman wasn’t keen to lose a single asset that remained however, the practicality outweighed any petty notion. Entering the lift, the lights above the blast doors blinked steadily, Captain Nima shadowed her closely as they were escorted to the main hall by the ship’s spindly caretaker. The ship didn’t seem to have an end, seizing the entirety of AvCorp would be a costly endeavor so she would have to settle for this-her late Master’s cruiser was at least a minor balm to her wounds. The Captain’s distaste and curiosity bled together as they stepped off the lift, blast doors hissing behind them. Her emotion radiated like a beacon through the Force, Lyra could practically hear the woman but kept her mouth screwed shut. It was cut off like a bad signal easily in a single wave, but it was by no means of her own will.

As they marched through the corridors, Lyra remembered the final stretch of gleaming steel halls too well. It wasn’t the dusty holds or cargo bays, but this had long been how the other side lived..Maybe it was supposed to be tasteful but Lyra traded one look with Nima as they scuffed up the lacquered floors and passed the gold inlaid detailing that lined the walls. It was excessive and she wondered how Avernus had managed to amass this much wealth alone-she knew so little of the man in the end, grasping at his teachings.

“Who’s fault is that now?”​

Lyra’s head jerked to the side, watching over her shoulder. The roiling disgust she had associated with the Sith’s theatrics had since grown mute, something she could roll her eyes at in passing. The three of them marched down the last corridor toward the self proclaimed throne of the Sith. They had seen the likes of him before and it would not be the last time either, and between the deployments-talk was cheap. Complaining about it was cheap, Lyra decided to remind herself.

“Imagine the victory celebrations after the next Expanse..” Nima muttered off hand, and Lyra hummed.

“I’d sooner crash the ship into the next planet if we’re being honest,” Lyra snapped, her head turning curtly to catch Nima’s sour expressions. The edges of her vision spun darkening briefly as she fought for her baring's. Her servo clicked softly as she balled it tightly at her side-

“Wasteful.” ​

“Pity.”

Lyra’s thoughts halted, a jumbled mess as the whisper passed her ear. She halted before the final blast doors as the caretaker sprung into action. Hunched over at the panel plastered across the wall, she vaguely noted the numbers he frantically typed into the console. A single chime sounded as the doors gilded opened to reveal the dueling dojo her Master had cloistered himself in many times. Inhaling sharply the first step was burdened by the reveries, Lyra herself to walk through the threshold; the heel of her boot clicking away.

How many times had her body hit the ground at the shadow of the monstrosity, the throne Avernus had posted himself atop. What was training and what had been no more than a game to that man? For the first time in long time Lyra’s limb ached, a phantom pain plaguing her. Gently as she could she unclenched her fist, her form rigid as refused to wander further into the hall. A few years of training to decorate her military service had been nothing more than lies and violence committed, how naïve of her really.

Coming here served her no purpose, the turmoil churned inside her and Lyra inhaled deeply to keep the feeling a bay. The woman refused to turn her gaze from the ugly seat, she knew better now then to ignore the shadow of a feeling. It would never be this easy to win in the face of the Pure Blood. It taunted relentlessly as she stared at the stretch between her and the throne, a deep set frown etched across her lips. She could still hear his voice clear as day.

“Hypocricy.” ​

“I believed you but..really a throne?”

“Yeah,” Lyra muttered-shaking her head as she turned her attention to the custodian who put on a good show. Her eyes studied the face of the man, human-but that was a high percentage of the freelancers employed by the Sith. Her eyes trailed down to the case at his side, the tell tale warp it left her in. Lyra knew very well the effect of voidstone.

Lyra had wanted to be great, a stupid and vague notion of a very different woman. A scoff took the place of the noise in her throat, strangled and forced. Turning to glance over her shoulder, she nodded toward the blonde before anything was said. Lyra shoved her hands in to the pockets, the silence was stifling and her mouth painfully dry. She didn’t want to be here. So the woman fished out her smokes muttering as she gave the pack a firm smack against her palm.

Her tongue wetted her lips, imagining the taste of a smoke and her hand flew to her breast pocket; the itch was too great to ignore. She produced a single smoke lighting it quick as Nima stepped up, droning on about protocol. Lyra didn’t care to listen in depth not with the likes of a headache like this, the pain bred suspicion and paranoia-taking a deep drag off the smoldering smoke Lyra released a hearty breath. A series of incoming comm links traded by the staff before Nima lulled back, catching her eye.

“So this really was all his?”

“All Sith are rich or whatever, right? We’ll repurpose it and-” Lyra said, her tone bordered hopeful as she tossed her hands up, but it felt the better part forced. “-it’ll be put to good use.”

“And not crash it into a planet side..”

“Would you let me have my fun? It’s still up for consideration..” Lyra snorted, her eyes down cast as she fiddled with the smoke before she took another drag off it.

“If I may-The files and contracts you requested as stored here with the other assets, of course the package you requested is here in hand and everything else you required will be arranged..” the ship’s caretaker stepped around into her line of vision. Lyra glanced back at the man, her eyes narrowed carefully as the sleek data pad was offered up with a certain air of reverence. Maybe he was paid too much not to put on a show and the woman plainly rolled her eyes, taking it and passing it straight to Nima. Avernus wanted to be worshiped of course, but that was an oversimplification too. “-and if there is any assistance I can personally lend in the transition of power ma’am..I would be glad to be of help.”

“You can by finishing transferring all lab related work over to the 307th’s hands, and hurry up with those amenities,” Lyra said, lifting the smoke to her lips-wedding between her teeth She jerked her head from there, ash fell from the snub as the man retreated a few steps carefully before turning his back and heading for the doors. The pang in her skull only grew and Lyra turned back to the Captain, her shoulders raised in a shrug as she kicked the spot of ash at her boot. As the doors hissed open, Lyra spoke up to the retreating man, “do leave the case there.”

The case made a soft thud as the custodian did well to leave it neatly by the entry. Lyra couldn’t help but eye the sleek package, you could get anything off of Phaeda and she was desperate enough for the experiment.

“Sounds like the Bridge has been secured. Droids..lots of droids..” Nima said, her eyes torn between the exchange and the data pad. The woman’s hands were well occupied busy herself as a fresh wave of silence stretched between them. What may have been minutes was interrupted by a low hum that bubbled from the Captain’s chest before she spoke up. “..looks like a pinchy little shit. What is all this? With all due respect, are you going to tell me what’s wrong Colvy?”

“What do you mean by that…?” Lyra wondered, reaching up to take a finale drag from the smoke. In one breath a billow of smoke escaped her lips as tilted her head back to regard the lights.

“I’m not blind Colvy, you’re off-the way you’ve talked, you’re looking over your shoulder and you haven’t done that in a while.. Are you okay? This is a victory, fuck that sith-shit.” Nima spat, glancing around as she tossed a single hand up referring to the empty space.

“You are right, it is but this place..the whole thing Nima don’t press me on it,” Lyra spoke, fatigue dressed her words as she regarded the Captain, still nursing the cheap smoke.

“You know you can trust me right, you know that don’t you?”

The woman had to wonder if Nima was offended then, a tiresome sigh escaped her and Lyra straightened her shoulders.

“I do.”

They had built an ounce of trust between them over the years, mud and blood lining each brick. This wasn’t battle though and Lyra was weary of bringing to light personal matters. For the first time Lyra saw the age that slowly carved itself in to the other woman, how many years had that been exactly now? A snort escaped ehr. She should get a fucking therapist if she wanted to talk, she had told Irveric that fact. Shrapnel and the gore of the field couldn’t be mended by lovers and friends.

“Then you can tell me in confidence,” the blonde tilted her head as she switched off the comm links.

Lyra shook her head as she savored the smoke, she traded her weight between her feet as a pit settled itself in her gut and her tongue turned to lead. Nima’s head shook just in the slightest and Lyra caught the tail end of her exacerbation. It once again turned into a battle of wills and

Lyra found herself trapped in the space between Irveric and..whatever else could lay on the other side. The woman had played bystander to it all, only witness to glimpses of what Lyra felt was safe enough to share.. Lyra let her rigidness slowly crumble from her form, she despised it..it wasn’t the time or place not here. Yinchorr and Treicolt, Dantooine on the horizon. Now wasn’t the time..

“I think you spend too much time in your head Colvy,” Nima muttered as she stepped forward, the blonde hung over her. The woman dropped her elbow on Lyra’s shoulder, pressing her weight into her like an insistent child.

“Occupational requirement?” Lyra said, it was some half hearted constructed joke. She knew damn well she lived in the confines of her mind. Lyra pinched the smoke and dropped it carelessly between them. Nima’s boot landed on the bud stomping it out and Lyra couldn’t help but laugh, it was half hearted but she let her neck roll as she stared back at the high seat. The pit that nestled itself deep in her gut was fear, and she knew damn well what was going to follow with it.

“It’s..” Lyra started, the voice in the back of her mind urged to air caution. She had grown to cling to this absence of personal self- “I just can’t stop thinking.. i don't want to look in the mirror, I don’t want to look you in the eye and lie. When I said tomorrow..I needed you to shut up. I needed you focused on the task-I can’t guarantee you anything, that we won’t be fighting shit battles or the right ones...Treicolt..the Alliance, we’re walking into a shit storm. Something worse than the Braxat Run.”

“That’s what’s eating you up?” Nima’s face screwed as she stepped back from Lyra. The blonde’s voice betrayed she was unconvinced, but she continued adding in- “I needed to shut up back there, let's face it. You told me it was wrong and I took some comfort that you knew, that you weren’t happy to be there on Yinchorr. That you’re not that kind of person.”

“I’ve been away from the field and let other matters cloud my judgment. I told Treicolt not to fight the wrong battle but it feels like hypocrisy. I do not regret letting him go, but what if we could have set a bar with the Galactic Alliance?” So it would never happen again. Lyra didn’t utter those words out loud and looked Nima dead in the eye, it was an idealist view of all things.

“We’re soldiers not politicians, what happened it’s on their command, it’s on our’s. Can we really assume responsibility for that?” Nima argued back, brow raised high as she wandered a few steps back arms crossed, her visage pensive. “..it still doesn’t explain what’s going on Colvy.”

“I am sorry,” Lyra said as she raised her servo lew to her brow, pressing the cold digits into her skin. It was a semblance of relief as she burned inside, the desire to shut her eyes and sink overwhelmed her. You could begin to overlook flaws in time, she had managed this far with Irveric and she wondered where the accountability had gone?

“For what? You don’t owe me any apology, and you can’t apologize to the rank.”

“None of this is your burden to bear.”

“Bullshit, look deep down we both know command is thrilling to you and don’t even argue-” Nima’s voice carried an edge, and confusion flooded Lyra. “I think we both know you are enthralled by your boys. So that couldn’t be the issue either. I need you to tell me if it’s the elusive Imperator, or matters I don’t know a damned thing about. I meant what I said-so say something would you?”

Nima’s voice echoed across the doji as the woman went as far as to jab her finger at her. Seldom had the woman argued or pressed her and Lyra lowered her hand from her brow contemplating. Her tongue licked the back of her teeth, the taste of smoke still lingered in her mouth. A snort tore threw her and Lyra’s lips curled as she shook her head, if it was what she wanted then Lyra wouldn’t argue-

“Do you see the Sith when you look me in the eye?”

A beat of silence followed and Lyra clasped her hands together as she stared at the Captain. The flicker through the Force robbed her blissful arrogance and she witnessed the blonde’s expression falterl, there was only a moment of hesitation but Lyra brushed the woman’s mind and a strangle laugh escaped her. It was as easy as breathing in that single moment, and Lyra bit her lip shaking her head until her hair skewed her vision. It was fear, quiet but it was there.

“You look fucking sick if that’s what you’re asking-”

“You’re a deflective queen sometimes you know that? I just tried to be honest with you-” Lyra snapped, her weight shifted from leg to the other as she turned away.

“What do you want me to say? Are you okay if I say yes..and no?” Nima stressed.

“That’s terribly reassuring of you Nima, honestly. Just what I wanted to hear-” Lyra argued, her mind fled to the business at hand. The ship was secured, and she needed to make her way back to the dock bay. They’d chart a location to Bescane and begin an overhaul-

“Honesty for honesty, and that said. We both know the answer to your question really..we both know where you’ll stand in the end.”

Now that sounded far more naïve, the words rang through her ears and .Lyra couldn’t see it as her vision bled, staring off at the walls. Where would she stand? Could she withstand it? As if there would be some crescendo, the endless cycle of political maneuvering and propaganda fueling the galaxy’s war machine. It wouldn’t come, and she hardly envisioned some opportunity presenting it..or redemption?

Was it enough she was on their side alone, that nothing else alien needed to define from the corruption that bled through both eyes. When she had smote Avernus it should have settled it. Lyra rolled her shoulders as she swallowed the uglier thoughts that came to mind, an air of disinterest surrounded her as she turned toward the blast doors; leaving Nima standing there.

“Not really..but I’ll take it I guess,” Lyra offered lamely. Within a few steps of the assets left behind, she felt the flicker of the void stone. The headache was fed by a dull ache, and the frezy of the soldiers grew distant once again, and its wall packaged up nicely in the black case. She stooped low to grab the handle, the case knocking against her hip as she glanced back to Nima. “You know..why didn’t you get out Nima? Why did you extend your contract after Bastion, we both could have figured where this war was going to go?

“We are friends aren’t we?” Nima asked, unsure-her eyes were wide as if waiting for her to strike.

“Debatable, you are a queen remember?” Lyra tossed back at her, she padded it with no ounce of sarcasm, nothing to reassure her. It would serve her right, as petty as it was-but Lyra was angry.

“Oh? Who’s the queen now,” Nima flinched, and something stretched further between them distant. “Where else is there to go? There is no home waiting for me, my mom’s comfortable now, In theory life is..okay. Agrippas gone though and you’d still be here, waiting and watching everyone else’s back-getting shot up and you’d be alone because I know you. I’m not going to leave you to that. If anyone should have gotten out, it’s you Lyra.”

Her hand tightend on the grip of the case, knuckles strained as she listened. Lyra was defeated by the sentiment and heat flooded her face. Nima crossed the dojo in several strides, jaw clenched as she brushed past her glaring. The blast doors hissed open before the blonde and all Lyra could do is watch as the woman disappeared down the corridor. She lingered there in the doorway before she too trudged off, a single chilling wave passing down her spine as she turned her back on the throne room. The air of caution and field experience made her too paranoid and Lyra looked over her shoulder into the empty space, at the seat of her Master.

“Sybila..”

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Avernus Maynard Treicolt Nima Appw'rii​

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