Private A Failed Mandate

[Zara Saga]

The golden marble floors of the forum gave way to grimy durasteel as Zara moved through the service corridors. She was still wearing her council attire and passed guards who saluted out of reflex. She didn't acknowledge them, not even a glance. The further she got from the Diarchy's heart, the looser her braid became, a single strand slipping across her cheek like a fraying thread of identity. By the time she reached the street, the evening had cooled. The air tasted like carbon and fried synthfish. Somewhere, a transport screamed overhead. Bastion's skyline buzzed with life, the kind of ordinary survival that made her question what all the speeches were even for.

She slipped into The Stained Chalice without ceremony. It was a hole in the wall, quiet for now. Neon lights flickered in confused patterns, casting faded green and rose across her sharp cheekbones. There were no fancy guards here, no holocams, just a few silent drinkers and a bartender old enough to remember three governments ago.

He barely looked up from cleaning a glass. "Forum over already?" he grunted, setting the glass on the counter. "Need to prep for the rush if the Diarchy's dismissed the floor." Zara slid onto a stool with the elegance of a queen sneaking out of a funeral. Her elbows landed on the counter. Her voice, when it came, was smooth but frayed at the edges. "They're not the Diarchy anymore," she muttered. "The Lilaste Order's taken over the ear of the Diarchs. We're just pretending to have a say now."

The bartender raised a single, grizzled eyebrow. He'd heard ten thousand laments about politics before, but this one made him actually pause his cloth mid-wipe. Zara didn't elaborate. She reached up, unfastened the remaining braid, and let her pale hair fall in a curtain around her face. Then she tapped the bar twice, a silent order. "Something strong," she added after a beat. "And not the kind that comes with a speech about resilience."

The bartender poured something gold and dangerous into a short glass and set it down gently in front of her. Zara stared into the drink as if it might whisper back a reason to keep trying. It didn't. She raised it in a quiet mock toast, her eyes glazed and bitter. "To the Diarchy," she said dryly. "Or whats left of it," Then she downed it in one.

Rokul​

 

[Rokul]

Location: Bastion
Tags: Zara Saga

It had taken him a short while to catch up towards Zara. Rokul had followed the small wisps of the Force he could feel, gentle little threads that tugged him in specific directions. Eventually he came across the Stained Chalice and let out a small short sigh to himself, his eyes narrowing at the sign. This better not be a repeat of Taris. He didn't want to get covered in burns again.

Instead he made his way into the hole in the wall, his gaze slowly flickering over those inside. He didn't fit in here. Rokul was far too clean. Too professional to just be found in some random hole in the wall. But that wasn't what he was here for. He was here for someone specific as he made his way over towards Zara, hearing the last words of her toast.

"...Well, if you've left the Diarchy no longer has any beauty in it."

The typical stoicness in Rokul's voice was gone. What it had been replaced with, he couldn't quite name himself. There was some kind of emotion but was it anger? Fondness? Frustration? He couldn't put his finger on it as the man stood next to Zara, leaning against the counter and looking directly ahead of himself, not looking over towards Zara yet.

Instead his gaze settled on the Bartender for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the elderly Gentlemen. This was a dangerous situation in Rokul's mind. Zara loved to speak her mind. And the more she drank, the more it was likely for her to say something that could potentially give off the wrong appearances. He hated this. He missed things when they were far simpler.

"...I'll have the same as her. And do you have somewhere private that the pair of us can talk?"

He jabbed his thumb over towards Zara and then back to himself before finally turning his attention over towards Zara. His eyes focused on her face for a moment, taking note of how her braid had started to come undone. It felt like so much was coming undone as he ran a hand through his hair.

"...I saw it all you know. I heard it all."

What was he supposed to do? Be open with Zara? Try and placate her with sweet words and gentle care? Be blunt? There were so many choices. Rokul was terrible at choices. He always had to be told what to do...but he had to make his own choices this time.

"...They had some points you know. About justice. Order. Rushing after the Jedi, facing a war against them...That could put that all at risk. Put peace for the average person at risk."

Rokul took the drink that was finally handed to him, sipping at it and wincing at the burn. He still didn't have a taste for alcohol...but that wasn't going to stop him.

"But...you...we aren't an average person. The average citizen. Peace...isn't something I fully understand. We focus on the next fight. The next war. Sitting around doing nothing feels...wrong. At least for me...But not always. The moments we talk...I think that's the closest to peace I feel."

​

 

[Zara Saga]

​

Zara didn't respond to Rokul right away; that would have been too kind. Instead, she turned her head slightly, not all the way, just enough to show she knew he was there. The corner of her lip quirked, but it wasn't a smile. It was something colder, smaller, a twitch of amusement or maybe warning. Her eyes, half-lidded and glimmering under the bar's flickering neon, didn't meet his. They dropped lazily to his boots, then trailed up his stance, his posture, that pressed and polished uniform, like she was trying to decide if she liked it or not.

When he said, "You left, and the Diarchy lost its only beauty," she made a soft sound, a kind of exhale that might have once been a laugh, but died on the way out. "Look at you, becoming quite the poet," she murmured, mostly to her glass. She swirled the last inch of her drink, watching it slosh, gold and volatile, like her mood. Her braid had come mostly undone now, just a twist of silver-gold resting over one shoulder, unfastened and messy. Her bare hand traced along the lip of her glass as Rokul ordered, as he tried, awkwardly, to broker some kind of truce between philosophy and feeling.

Zara didn't help him. Instead, she let him squirm, let him stumble through noble sentiments, through his confusion about peace and war, and her. She didn't interrupt, just turned her head slowly, one arm now resting along the bar as she studied him. One leg crossed over the other, Zara remained regal in ruin, unapologetically silent, watching. That stare, long, unreadable, and utterly still, had undone more enemies than all her speeches combined. When Rokul winced from the harshness of his drink, her lip twitched again.

"Still drinking like you're trying to impress someone," she said, finally. Then she slid off her stool, movements slow and graceful, like a cat descending from a sun-warmed windowsill. She didn't ask the bartender's permission; she didn't need to. With a sleight of hand that had probably made Reign grind his teeth more than once, Zara slipped a half-full bottle off the back shelf and disappeared toward the back hallway without ever looking back. The door to the private room swung open and shut behind her. She didn't wait for Rokul to follow.

Inside, the room held a cracked leather booth and a flickering wall sconce; it smelled like dust and old cigars. She didn't care. Zara slid into the booth like she owned the place, setting the stolen bottle on the table with a quiet thud. She didn't bother with glasses, nor did she bother with words. She just sat and stared, letting her silence hang like a dare. Her eyes burned with all the fury she wasn't shouting anymore, inviting his guilt, his opinion, his judgment, all of it. She wanted him to say it, whatever it was he'd come here to say. Because right now, in this booth, in this dim-lit corner of a galaxy that suddenly didn't want her anymore, Rokul was all she had.

Rokul​

 

[Rokul]

Location: Bastion
Tags: Zara Saga

This was everything he had expected from Zara. That didn't make it any easier for him. It didn't make it necessarily worse either. It was just...expected. Rokul didn't expect any from of aid from Zara. For her to disagree or agree with anything he was saying. That would have been too easy. Life wasn't easy. That's what Rokul was finding out swiftly. War? War was easy. Just be pointed off in a direction and smash some heads together. It was what came after war, the breaks inbetween of battles that were the difficult part. That's when you had to think for yourself. You had to help keep the peace you had tried to make...or help it all burn down around you. Rokul still wasn't entirely sure which route he was going down yet as he got up to his feet, throwing a few credits over towards the Bartender. He wasn't made of money at the end of the day. Most of what he earned he sent back to his parents on Dantooine. Material wealth was not a focus of his.

And then he followed Zara carefully. Closing the door to the private room behind himself before he leaned against the door, folding his arms along his front and staring Zara down for a moment. Just letting the silence fill the air. Rokul knew she wouldn't be the first one to break it, but he was also showing that he was in no rush to get back. He hadn't said a word since she brought up him drinking as if he was trying to impress someone. He was carefully picking over his words. Running them through his head.

"...You made it sound like you wanted to revolt. I get it. There have been...plenty of decisions made that I don't agree with. But they're above my paygrade."

A small beat. A deep breath in as he stepped away from the door and took a step closer towards Zara, his eyes focused on her as he raised his hand up, about to point at Zara before he clenched his hand into a fist instead and brought it straight back down to his side.

"You acted as if you were spitting in the Diarchs' faces. The same Diarchs who have given you, me and so many other people so much."

His voice was picking up. It wasn't necessarily a yell but his frustrations were coming out as he took another step closer. Both of his hands clenched into fists. Aggression was what Rokul did best. Not talking. Not emotions. But that's what he was trying to go through right now.

"I am praying to whatever created this Galaxy that it was an act. That you didn't mean to spit in their faces. That you still care for the Diarchs. And believe in them. That you didn't intend to almost stoke some kind of fire of rebellion against the two specific people who have given me purpose. Who I have been willing to die for."

Rokul's gaze settled on Zara as he stood directly in front of her, focusing on his breathing. Until...something seemed to break for a moment. His gaze softened. His voice lost some of his edge as he looked at Zara.

"...Because then I'd have to choose. And I don't know if I can. I couldn't care less about the Order. The Jedi. The Sith. Damn them all. But what I can care about is you. The Diarchy's given me a purpose. Made me feel like I have a role. But...you make me feel like I'm not a cog in the machine. They've given me a Purpose, but you've given me a Will."

His voice trailed off for a moment as the Soldier clenched his fists as tightly as he could, until the tips of his fingers started to turn white. His gaze falling from Zara to stare down at his feet.

"...Go on then. Tell me how I'm a traitor. For not siding with you. That I'm a coward because I don't want to make a choice. I know you want to say something."

​

 

[Zara Saga]

​

Zara poured herself another drink. As always, no glasses. The neck of the bottle tilted directly to her lips felt like the only honest thing left in the room. She drank, watching Rokul all the while, her eyes hooded and unreadable. Her expression remained utterly blank, showing no reaction to his frustration, his heartbreak, or even when his fists clenched, as if he wanted to punch something, or someone, or maybe just the stubborn part of himself that still believed people could be saved.

She let him finish, letting him bare it all: his desperation, his loyalty, his choice. When he finally fell silent, she laughed. Not cruelly, not mockingly, but softly, sadly, like someone who couldn't quite decide if the joke was on him or on her.

"You dramatic little soldier," she murmured, her voice low and thick with that velvet edge she saved for private rooms and dangerous conversations. "I never asked you to choose." She leaned back in the cracked booth, one boot sliding lazily onto the seat beside her, knee bent as if she owned the whole galaxy and was just too tired to collect.

She tilted the bottle toward Rokul in a mock toast. "You can make your own decisions, Rokul. You're allowed. I'm not your warlord. Hell, I might not even be your superior after that little show in there. You think I expected you to follow me out of that chamber? I didn't even expect me to follow me."

She drank again, this time slower, letting the burn trace a line of warmth down the inside of her throat. Her gaze hadn't left him for a moment. "No one sides with me right now. Not Rellik, not Reign. Not the people. That's fine. I'll be a good little girl from now on. I'll show up when summoned, I'll vote how I'm told, I'll smile on the holonet and nod like a wind-up doll. The fire's out. Gone." She snapped her fingers once, like the crack of a dying ember. "No more rebellion. No more speeches. You don't have to worry. They will soon realize their mistake and come crawling back."

But then her voice softened, darkened, not in tone, but in its very weight, like a tide pulling back before it surged forward. "What does worry me..." she said, dragging her eyes over him now, slow and dangerous, "...is you."

She sat forward now, elbows on the table, chin resting lightly on the back of one hand. Her other hand toyed with the bottle, while her lips curved in that half-smile she used like a weapon, the one that came before someone said yes, or said too much. "I give you a will?" she repeated the word with an upward lilt, as if it tasted strange in her mouth. "But tell me something, Rokul." Her eyes narrowed, not cruelly, but sharply, peering straight through him like glass. "How could you care about someone like me? Someone who'd dare speak against the Diarchs? Someone who'd walk into a forum and make a fool of herself in front of the whole damn galaxy? Someone who'd burn a banner and call it clarity?"

Her voice dropped, nearly a whisper. "Go on. Say it again. That I give you a will." She leaned closer now, close enough for him to see the cracks in the mask she always wore: the pain beneath the elegance, the tiredness that no speech could wash away. "Because I don't even have one anymore."

A brief pause, a silent breath, then she continued, "I'm not some sweet Dantooine girl who'll help you find peace in a field somewhere with a home and a family and a lie to tell ourselves at night. I'm Zara Saga. I'm made of ash and ambition. I ruin things." She took another swig, then set the bottle down gently between them. The air between them pulsed with a silent intensity, heavy and waiting.

"So go ahead, darling," she said softly, but her voice was razored at the edges. "Tell me what it is about me that gives you anything. And think very carefully before you do." Then she waited, burning quieter now, but still burning.

Rokul​

 

[Rokul]

Location: Bastion
Tags: Zara Saga

"I don't follow you because you're my warlord, nor because you're my superior. I did. At first. I admired you because of your strength. Your fire. Your wit. I still admire that. But I don't follow you because I have to. I do it because I want to. I chose to. I chose you with...a lot of things."

Which is why when Zara said the fire had gone out, Rokul's gaze hardened for a moment. That wasn't what he wanted. Not at all. It was that fire that he cared for. That had warmed him. It had thawed him and made him more and more into a person. Less of a cog. Less of a machine. He was a living breathing person and it was because of Zara he was realising that. Yet then came that question. Why did he care about Zara? It was one that he struggled to answer himself. He turned his side to her for a moment, as Rokul stared off to the side of the room.

"...Some might say it's because no-one else will. But I won't pity you like that. You deserve more than just pity Zara. You're strong. Perhaps stronger than I am myself. And...strength is the main thing I have going for me."

Physical strength at least. Mental strength? Rokul felt like he was decent at it. The Force was another matter that he hadn't focused on. He stared down at his hand, flexing it out for a moment as he stared at the callouses. Rokul was no diplomat. He was no noble. He was a grunt. A soldier. What he did best was smashing down walls and taking lives. Talking wasn't something that he expected he'd need to be good at. He didn't expect it to be something he cared for.

"That fire of yours. I don't want it to go out. It frightens me sometimes. I'm worried that it'll burn someone else. But...I'm not worried about it burning me. I'm slowly growing used to getting burnt whilst being around you. But that fire is what makes you, you Zara. You aren't the Archon of Light because of some kind of radiance you give off. It's the Flame. The fire you hold within...Kriff, I'm really starting to sound like a poet now."

And that's when he brought his attention back over towards Zara. Taking in the cracks in her mask. The tiredness. There was no way he could tell her to sleep. To rest. That wasn't Zara's way. She'd keep pushing herself until she burnt herself to cinders. And it was dangerous to be close to someone like that. But Rokul wouldn't back away as he met Zara's gaze once more.

"You want me to repeat it? Then I will. You give me a Will Zara. You make me want to make choices. To go against the grain. You make /want/ things. To see that fire in your eyes. You see yourself as someone who ruins things...Sometimes things have to be broken and ruined before they can be their true form."

Rokul once again let silence fill the room as his eyes focused on hers. There was a lot he had to wrap his mind around. A lot of words that he had to think of.

"In the past? I'd have went with what my parents wanted. I'd do what they want. I was a cog in the machine of my parents...and a cog for the Diarchs. I destroy things for them. I rebuild things if they want me to. It's...my duty. My purpose."

He let out a small sigh at that, running his hand down his face for a moment before he looked at Zara.

"I will say it simply Zara. I don't want some Dantooine Girl. I want you. I want to see your fire. I want to see that smile you give when you feel alive...but more importantly? I want you to know you have someone in your corner. I am on your side. Not...mindlessly. If I disagree with what you're saying, I will make it obvious. But I won't leave you alone."

What was he meant to say now? Rokul had started to give up on carefully thinking over his words as he reached out to grab the bottle. He needed a drink. He had spoken for far too long. His throat was sore. Of course, the burn that went down didn't help, but it let him have an excuse to just stop talking.​