First Reply A Galaxy In Flames

[Elara Veyran]

"The board is set."

OPEN
​

The tall transparisteel panes of the High Assembly's observation gallery caught the light of Naboo's sun in long, gleaming streaks. Elara Veyran stood before them, hands folded behind her back, her reflection suspended over the sprawling lake-dappled city of Theed. She let her gaze sweep across the marble spires and emerald hills, the artistry of the planet's capital hiding the quiet, ceaseless hum of its political machinery. It was her first time here, and already she understood that beauty in this place was just another tool — a distraction from the sharpness beneath. In the chamber behind her, aides and staff bustled about preparing for the day's debates. She had no interest in their chatter. Her eyes remained fixed outward, but her mind was already several moves ahead.

She had won her seat by precision and pressure — not by chance. A year ago, Vandelhelm's political stage had been left without her voice. A year ago, she had been declared missing. Now she was back, alive, healthy, and infinitely more dangerous than before. The election had been a test of her ability to reassert control, and she had passed it without hesitation. Her rivals had underestimated her, clinging to rumors and whispers of her disappearance, and she had used that doubt to gut them politically. Now she stood as Vandelhelm's Senator to the High Republic, with her planet's economic clout and industrial might at her back.

Beyond Naboo's serene horizon, the galaxy was a storm. The rebellion that had once been dismissed as a nuisance now called itself the Galactic Empire, its banners rising over Coruscant after a decisive blow against the Galactic Alliance. The Alliance was crippled, licking its wounds in scattered systems, but not yet dead. In another quadrant, the Imperial Confederation had decided to provoke the one power most had the sense to leave alone — the Sith Order. The Stygian Caldera burned under an ongoing invasion, and while the Order's silence thus far had been strategic, every observer knew what would happen when the Sith decided to move.

Closer to home, the Diarchy and the Mandalorian Empire were openly at conflict over the Vexis Station incident, their assets striking and withdrawing in a widening arc of destruction. The High Republic itself, for all its talk of diplomacy and mutual prosperity, was now clashing with the Black Sun Syndicate along poorly defined borders — a conflict that was escalating. Elara cataloged each of these crises with cold detachment, noting the fractures they created and the opportunities they offered. The galaxy was not in balance. It was breaking.

She recognized the game for what it was: a galactic chessboard, every faction a piece to be moved, sacrificed, or reshaped. She was no idealist. Idealists were the first to be taken off the board. She was here to win. The path to victory would not be taken in a single sweeping move; it would be a campaign of precision — careful positioning, feints, and alliances forged for the moment they were needed and discarded when they were not. The High Assembly was merely one of many stages, but it was the one where she could lay the foundation for everything to come.

Her reflection in the glass was steady, but her mind was calculating. The Galactic Empire's ascendance in the Core would force the Alliance into desperate bargains. The Confederation's war with the Sith was a ticking time bomb. The Mandalorian-Diarchy war would drain both of their economies, leaving them ripe for influence. The High Republic's border conflict with Black Sun could be leveraged to secure military contracts for Vandelhelm's shipyards and munitions plants. If she moved correctly, she could make herself indispensable to allies and unavoidable to enemies.

Vandelhelm was a world of industry — its forges and factories producing the steel, starship hulls, and precision components that other worlds depended on. That dependence was power, and Elara knew how to wield it. A blockade of raw materials, a quiet shift in export priority, or an exclusive contract could change the balance of a regional conflict without firing a single shot. The High Republic might speak in terms of diplomacy, but in the end, the galaxy's wars were won and lost on supply lines, not speeches.

She thought briefly of her rivals back home, the ones who had tried to keep her out of this building. They had played politics like a social game, worrying over appearances and pleasantries. She had played to win, and now they were footnotes in her record. The same ruthlessness would serve her here. She would charm where charm was needed, threaten where threats were required, and cut down anyone who thought to challenge her position without the strength to hold it.

The sound of approaching footsteps in the marble corridor behind her drew her attention, though she did not turn. She let them come closer, keeping her stance composed, her gaze still fixed on the city below. Whoever it was would see her exactly as she wished to be seen — calm, in control, and utterly unshaken. This was her first day in the High Assembly, but she already intended to own it. Let them speak first.

​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

Log Entry – Arcann Pehnataur, Former Sovereign citizen of the Eternal Empire.
Citizen and Senator of Atzerri
High Republic
Entry Date: Galactic Standard 1835

The High Assembly. A place where politicians and diplomats wear their masks, pretending to guide the galaxy toward peace while secretly preparing for war. This planet, this façade, cloaked in marble and serenity, serves as a distraction — an illusion that the galaxy is in balance. From the observation gallery, the view is breathtaking, the city of Theed sprawling out below in its gentle, green embrace. But I have long learned that beauty has a price, and peace a cost. This place, for all its outward grace, is but another stage for those who think the galaxy can be bent to their will with words.

I see it in them. Their speeches are hollow, their decisions soft, born of privilege, never forged in the crucible of battle. I have been to the frontlines. I have seen worlds burn, watched soldiers fall, and understood that there is no true peace — only the cessation of conflict before the next storm. And that storm, I feel, is coming. I’ve seen the signs.

The Empire’s resurgence in the Core is no longer a whisper. After the brutal victory on Coruscant, their banners are flying high over the city-planet that once stood as the heart of the galaxy. The Alliance is fractured, broken, struggling to regroup in the outer systems, but they will not remain passive for long. When they do return, it will not be with the nobility they once prided themselves on — it will be with desperation, and desperation breeds danger.

The Black Sun Syndicate. Their rise, fueled by years of corruption and lawlessness, now directly challenges the Republic’s borders. The recent conflict over Sepan 8, Sarko VI, and Wielu exposed the vulnerability of the High Republic’s forces. I saw firsthand how our intelligence failed — how the chaos on those worlds was compounded by indecision and inaction. Those worlds were not simply battlegrounds for petty gangs; they were strategic points, critical to the galaxy's power balance. They lost. And in their loss, the Empire tightened its grip.

There was one battle, however, that left a mark more profound than any military defeat: the attempt on my brother’s life. He nearly fell at the hands of those we once called allies — those within the very heart of the Eternal Empire. It was a reminder, not only of the treachery that lies within the ranks of even the most powerful, but of how easily a kingdom can collapse when it forgets the price of loyalty. We fought together for too long, and to see such a betrayal—it stirs something old within me, something I thought was gone. It has been a long time since I’ve felt the thrill of battle, the rush of combat. But now, it’s returning. A warrior’s instinct, a sharpened blade, no longer dull from years of strategy and diplomacy.

As for Elara Veyran—she stands at the crossroads of her ambition, much as I once did. She speaks of alliances and calculations, but I know this game. It is not one of pure politics. She may think her position is secured by her cunning, but in the end, it is strength that commands respect. I can see it in her, this cold ambition, this quiet power. She reminds me of myself when I was younger, untested, yet certain. But I was forged in fire, tempered by the deaths of thousands, by the rise and fall of empires. I am a soldier, a legislator, and a conqueror(of sorts). In this galaxy, that is what wins wars. And the time is coming when war will be all that remains.

The galaxy is breaking. The signs are undeniable. The Diarchy and Mandalorian Empire fight, their fleets and forces at each other's throats, while Black Sun’s influence grows unchecked. And in the shadows, the Sith wait, poised for their own reckoning. They are the real threat. The Imperial Confederation’s (The other Empire) war with them is a foolish gambit, a waste of resources. They do not yet realize that they are playing into the hands of those who seek to tear down the galaxy’s fragile peace. Pathetic. Blind. Self-Defeating.

Vandelhelm's industry is valuable, yes. But even industry cannot survive without the might to protect it. I have fought wars for too long not to recognize that a moment of inaction now will lead to disaster. Inaction is a death sentence, and I will not stand idle while others play their little games of diplomacy.

I’ve seen it all before — the power games, the shifting allegiances, the empty speeches. I understand them. But I also understand the value of the sword. The galaxy is shifting, and those who forget their place will find themselves swept aside by the very storms they helped to create. I will not be among them. I wanted a peaceful, meaningful life, but that is not the case anymore. It probably never will be. The game has begun again, and I will fight to win. It is what I do best.

-Until Next time
Arcann Pehnataur
Senator of Atzerri

Senator Veyran, I presume? Senator Arcann Pehnataur of Atzerri. A pleasure.

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The board is set."

[ Arcann Pehnataur ]
​

Elara turned from the window with a measured grace, her eyes taking in the man before her in a swift, practiced assessment. The cut of his uniform, the stance that spoke of a lifetime of discipline, the weight of presence that came not from words but from the certainty of one's own place in the world — she registered it all in an instant. When she spoke, her voice was warm but even, carrying the subtle deference reserved for those who had earned their place through service rather than political inheritance.

"Senator Pehnataur," she acknowledged, inclining her head just enough to signal respect without deference. "The pleasure is mine. I've heard Atzerri's name spoken with no small measure of admiration in these halls." The compliment was carefully chosen, personal to his office but broad enough to be beyond refute — an opening move designed to establish mutual standing without tipping too far toward flattery.

Her posture was open, her expression a controlled neutrality softened by the faintest trace of a smile. She didn't rush to fill the space with conversation, letting the silence after her words rest just long enough for him to decide whether to advance or retreat. When she spoke again, it was with the cadence of someone accustomed to choosing each word as if it were a piece on a board. "This is my first day within the Assembly. I can think of no better introduction than to meet one of its seasoned voices."

There was no pretension in her tone, but there was intent. Every gesture, every syllable was a deliberate step toward establishing rapport without surrendering advantage. She held his gaze without challenge, giving the impression of someone who listened closely, measured carefully, and never forgot a detail. In this game, respect was currency, and she knew exactly how to spend it.

​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

Log Entry – Arcann Pehnataur, Former Sovereign citizen of the Eternal Empire.
Citizen and Senator of Atzerri
High Republic
Entry Date: Galactic Standard 1835

Elara Veyran finally turned from the glass. I had been content to let her stand there, measuring the horizon as if she could bend it to her will. When her eyes met mine, I saw the same thing she no doubt saw in me — someone who understood the currency of power, someone who had already survived battles that politics alone could not win.

Her greeting was well-crafted. Not the simpering flattery so many here offer, but something aimed, deliberate, and precise — “admiration” for Atzerri, couched in a way that demanded neither confirmation nor denial. Clever. She knows the game. She opened by acknowledging my history, then quickly reestablished the balance by naming her own — the measured humility of a first-day Senator who still managed to plant herself firmly on even ground.

I did not miss the silences she let hang between her words. Those are weapons, just as much as blasters and blades. She wields them well.

But I’ve learned that no matter how skillfully someone plays this game, there is always a field beyond the board — the one where the blasters do fire, where the ships burn, where lives are measured in minutes and meters. I have stood on that field more times than I care to count, and I have no intention of leaving it to chance ever again.

The Black Sun Vigo who put a price on my life — on my brother’s life — reminded me of a truth I had once lived by and, perhaps, let dull in recent years: the enemy does not wait. Neither should I. The Deep Core has fallen to the Empire. The Alliance bleeds in the shadows. Sepan 8, Sarko VI, Wielu — their names are now etched into my memory as proof of what happens when strength is not projected before it is needed.

I am not bitter. I am not angry. But I am finished with sitting in marble halls waiting for the next move to come to me. The warhawk in me has woken again, the one who understands that the surest path to peace is through the readiness and will to wage war.

Elara plays her part well. She will be useful — perhaps as an ally, perhaps as something else entirely. But as I looked at her, I wondered if she understood what is coming. The galaxy is shifting, not in measured moves, but in lurching collapses and sudden strikes. Those who prepare for a slow game will be crushed when the tempo changes.

I gave her my name, my post, and nothing more. Let her think she is learning me on her terms. The truth is simpler — I am measuring her as surely as she is measuring me. And when the next war ignites, as it surely will, I will know whether she stands beside me, or in my way.


-Until Next time
Arcann Pehnataur
Senator of Atzerri

Atzerri is home to diverse and wonderful people. I consider myself lucky to be counted among them. Vandlehelm is a beautiful planet in and of itself.

I do not consider myself a “veteran”, of these halls, but I can offer advice. Do not lose yourself to the culture.

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The board is set."

[ Arcann Pehnataur ]
​

Elara inclined her head slightly, the faintest smile touching her lips at his remark. "A kindness, Senator. One I will remember." Her tone was measured, the words offered with genuine warmth but no excess, as though she valued the advice enough to preserve it rather than respond with platitudes.

She let her gaze drift briefly toward the chamber beyond, where the movement of aides and officials hinted at the relentless current of the Assembly's daily tide. "Vandelhelm's industry has its own currents," she said quietly, turning her attention back to him. "But I imagine these halls demand a different kind of navigation." The comment acknowledged both his experience and the unspoken understanding that survival here required more than policy and procedure.

"I will admit," she continued after a short pause, "that part of the reason I sought this post was to see whether one can serve without being changed beyond recognition." The admission was light, almost conversational, yet framed as a shared concern rather than a personal vulnerability. It was an opening for camaraderie without presuming upon it.

Her eyes held his for a moment longer, respectful but unwavering. "Your counsel is well-taken, Senator Pehnataur," she said, with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the value of listening before speaking. "I am excited that I'll have the chance to learn more from you as our work here continues."

​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

Log Entry – Arcann Pehnataur, Former Sovereign citizen of the Eternal Empire.
Citizen and Senator of Atzerri
High Republic
Entry Date: Galactic Standard 1835
Elara Veyran listens well. That is rare in these halls. She speaks of currents, of navigating the Assembly, as if it were a game of tides. I told her the truth — survival here is not just knowing the currents. It’s being willing to break them when they turn against you.

I have no patience for those who believe words will keep them safe. Not after Sepan 8. Not after Sarko VI. Not after Wielu. The Black Sun crisis proved what I already knew — the galaxy will devour the unprepared. The resurgent Empire’s sweep through the Deep Core proves it again. And the attempt on my brother’s life made it personal.

My loyalty is to my people and to the strength that shields them. That is the measure by which I judge allies. I will stand against any current that threatens them, whether it comes from pirates, syndicates, or these very marble halls.

I told her service will change her — it always does. The only choice is whether it leaves you stronger or hollow. If she stands with me, she will find I am difficult to move, and impossible to shake.

Peace is earned. And it is kept only by those willing to fight for it.


-Until Next time
Arcann Pehnataur
Senator of Atzerri

You will do quite well, just be yourself, put your people first and don’t worry about “re-election”, let your constituents worry about that. The more you concern yourself over how long you stay “here”, the less chance you have of doing so.

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The board is set."

[ Arcann Pehnataur ]
​

Elara listened intently, her expression softening in acknowledgement of the weight behind his words. "Sage counsel, Senator," she said, her tone quiet but certain. "It's easy to forget that what seems urgent here may not be what matters most at home." There was a note of sincerity in her voice that suggested she valued the reminder, even as her eyes kept their steady, measuring focus on him.

She let a pause settle before speaking again, as if considering her words carefully. "Vandelhelm has never been shy about what it needs from me," she continued, "but I suspect the challenge will be knowing which demands serve the greater good, and which serve only the moment." It was both an acknowledgement of the complexity of leadership and an unspoken indication that she understood the cost of compromise.

Her posture remained relaxed yet precise, a subtle signal of openness without surrendering authority. "You've served here long enough to have seen new Senators come and go," she said, her voice carrying genuine curiosity. "If you could offer only one piece of advice for enduring in these halls without losing one's purpose, what would it be?"

The question was asked without pressure, her tone giving him every opportunity to speak as much or as little as he wished. But there was no mistaking the intent behind it — she was not only listening, she was learning, and every answer would be filed away for use when the time came.

​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

Log Entry – Arcann Pehnataur, Former Sovereign citizen of the Eternal Empire.
Citizen and Senator of Atzerri
High Republic
Entry Date: Galactic Standard 1835
Elara Veyran asked me today what advice I would give to someone new to these halls who wanted to endure without losing their purpose.

I told her the truth, though I measured it. These marble corridors echo with speeches and debates, but the galaxy does not stop for them. Outside, it is burning. Sepan 8, Sarko VI, Wielu — fresh scars. The Deep Core fallen to the Empire. The Black Sun bold enough to threaten me and my brother openly. The Mandalorian-Diarchy war tearing at the edges of order. All of it moving faster than these chambers can respond.

In here, survival is not about clever words or political currents. It’s about knowing exactly what your purpose is before you step onto the floor, and deciding what you will never compromise. Because this place will ask it of you. It always does. And when that day comes, if you bend too far, you’ll find you’ve kept your seat but lost the reason you sought it in the first place.

Purpose is not a sentiment. It is a line you draw. You defend it, no matter who or what stands against you. That is how you endure. That is how you make sure you are doing more than just watching the galaxy burn from behind polished glass.

The galaxy is in flames. Those who think they can wait it out will find the fire at their own door soon enough. I will not be one of them.


-Until Next time
Arcann Pehnataur
Senator of Atzerri

You are astute in deducing what serves the greater good and the moment. That is indeed a challenge, but what is important is remembering that while politics may ne the art of compromise. Who are you here for, yourself or your people? There are unfortunately some who tend to forget that. I watched, and lost my home once. I won't do it again if I can help it.

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The board is set."

[ Arcann Pehnataur ]
​

Elara allowed the weight of his words to linger in the air before she spoke, her gaze steady and her posture composed. Outwardly, she appeared to be considering his statement in earnest, giving it the gravity it deserved. Inwardly, the truth pulsed beneath her calm exterior like a private current — she knew precisely why she was here.

My people… It was a useful phrase. A shield, a rallying point, an answer that could never be openly challenged. But Vandelhelm's prosperity was not her ultimate aim. She would consider the overall picture. Crucial information like the opinions of the masses are sordidly left out of 'prosperity reports.'

She let her lips curve into a small, respectful smile, the kind that conveyed a genuine appreciation for his candor. "It's a hard lesson, I imagine," she said gently, "to lose one's home. And harder still to carry the memory of it into every decision after. I can see why you would not wish it on another." Her tone was light, but there was just enough weight in her delivery to signal she took his words to heart — or at least, that was what he was meant to believe.

She folded her hands loosely before her, inclining her head slightly toward him. "I'd like to think I can keep my priorities in order, even here," she continued. "Though I expect this place will test me in ways I can't yet predict." It was an honest-sounding admission, crafted to seem humble, but framed to draw him further into the conversation — the more he spoke, the more she could read him.

After a brief pause, her eyes met his with a hint of curiosity. "If I may," she asked, "how did you find your balance? After what you've seen and lost… what kept you from letting this place take you apart?"

​

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

Log Entry – Arcann Pehnataur, Former Sovereign citizen of the Eternal Empire.
Citizen and Senator of Atzerri
High Republic
Entry Date: Galactic Standard 1835
Elara asked me how I found my balance — after what I’ve seen, after what I’ve lost — and what kept this place from taking me apart.

I gave her an answer, though not the full truth. I told her that balance came from remembering why I came here in the first place, and from refusing to let the daily maneuvering of the Assembly distract me from that. I spoke of patience, of trusting that the long view outlasts any single debate or political season. To her, I’m sure it sounded idealistic. Maybe even naive. I let her think that.

Sometimes it serves my people better if others underestimate me. If they believe I am content to quietly endure, they will not look too closely at the preparations I make, or the alliances I forge outside these marble walls. A perceived pacifist can move in places a known hawk cannot. That is a lesson I learned long before I ever set foot in the High Assembly.

The truth? Balance is a constant act of war. Not with blasters or fleets — though I have used both — but with the discipline to decide what you will sacrifice, and what you never will. After Sepan 8, Sarko VI, Wielu, after the fall of the Deep Core, after the attempt on my brother’s life… I do not believe balance means standing still. It means bracing yourself while you move forward.

I made a note of the way she asked the question. There was curiosity there, yes, but also an undercurrent — a test, perhaps, to see how much of myself I would give away. I’ll let her think she has my measure for now. What matters is that I have hers.


-Until Next time
Arcann Pehnataur
Senator of Atzerri

Family. I had the opportunity to, along with my brother Thexann Pehnataur , join a noble house, but chose not to. This is a “job” for me, and nothing more. That is how I keep myself where I need to be and focused on what I need to. Doesn’t work for everyone, and maybe I am as far as I can go, but… I don’t want to be. I don’t need to be.