Private A Glimpse Beyond

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre's smile lingered as she reached for the edge of the table, catching the attention of a nearby attendant with a small, practiced gesture. She inclined her head toward Vulpesen's empty mug.

"Another of whatever he's having," she said easily, tone polite but assured. "On me."

Only once that was settled did she turn back to him, her expression thoughtful rather than playful now, though the warmth never quite left her eyes.

"I think I understand more than you might expect," she continued, resting her forearms lightly on the table. "The Lilaste Order isn't a monastery. We train as soldiers, live together, and deploy together. Meals are rarely quiet, rarely solitary."

A faint smile touched her lips at the memory. "You eat when you can, where you can. Long tables. Armor stacked in corners. People talking over one another, arguing tactics, sharing bad jokes, mourning losses they haven't had time to process yet." She exhaled softly. "Privacy becomes a luxury you forget how to expect."

Her gaze lifted back to him, a spark of amused understanding there. "So yes," she said, a soft laugh threading through her words, "I can imagine your eateries rather well. Loud. Crowded. No such thing as 'just passing through' without someone pulling you into conversation."

The attendant returned then, setting the fresh drink before Vulpesen. Iandre nodded her thanks before continuing.

"In that environment, you learn something important," she added more quietly. "Unity isn't an abstract ideal. It's forged in shared space. Shared meals. Shared mess."

Her smile returned, gentler now, sincere. "So if your people consider eating with one other person a sign of intimacy or mischief…" she glanced briefly at the mug she'd ordered for him, then back to his face, "I suspect I'd fit in better than I might have guessed."

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

Vulpesen took the new pour gratefully and brought it to his lips, a slight swirl of force guided wind cooling the caf as he sipped. "Makes sense that we'd share ideals then. Veradune's culture is naturally militant, an effect of our people's inborn instinct to protect. Militant cultures love their militaries. The court has made suggestions about instituting a mandatory enlistment, but I've been refusing it for the simple reason that people join enough of their own wills." He set the mug down and glanced about to the crowd around them. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives. Most were civilians who were content to live their lives far from the fires of war. On Veradune, war was not just expected. It was anticipated.

"We welcome outsiders, happily. A boon of my efforts in building up our strength. In fact, besides the turning of fate that was the Miracle Initiative, I'd say that opening our ports and deconcealing ourselves from galactic maps was, perhaps, one of my proudest accomplishments." The early days of the Hand had been days of terror and fear. Every sith and foe was a risk. His constant nightmare was the forests of his home being razed to the ground, the beautiful canopies reduced to a wasteland of ashes. Now, with the UPSS in sight as a possibility, he was confident in Veradune's ability to hold back such diabolical threats.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre listened without interrupting, hands resting loosely around her own cup as the warmth seeped into her fingers. Vulpesen's words carried that familiar blend of candor and conviction, and she did not miss the way his eyes tracked the crowd when he spoke of war the way other people spoke of weather. Anticipated. Expected. Normal.

A quiet breath left her, not disapproval, but recognition.

"It does make sense," she said, voice even, thoughtful. "You come from a place where protection is instinct, not ideology. That kind of culture will always feel the pull toward uniformity and structure, because it is the cleanest way to make that instinct scalable."

Her gaze drifted briefly, not away from him, but through the space around them, the ordinary people moving and laughing and living as though the galaxy had never tried to take anything from them.

"I understand why the court would want mandatory enlistment," she continued, and there was no judgment in the admission. "It promises readiness. It promises cohesion. It promises that no one has the luxury of pretending someone else will step forward." A small pause, then her eyes returned to him, steady. "But refusing it, when you do not need it, is restraint. That matters."

She lifted her cup slightly, a subtle acknowledgement of the choice.

"The Lilaste Order eats together the way you described your halls," she added, a faint warmth touching her expression. "Not because we do not value privacy, but because soldiers become one another's edges. You learn who is exhausted by the way they pick at food. You learn who is hiding an injury by the way they stop using a hand. You learn who is starting to fracture because they stop laughing."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup, then eased again.

"So when you say you opened your ports and put Veradune back on the map, I hear more than pride," Iandre said. "I hear an act of trust." Her tone remained calm, but there was weight beneath it. "It is easy to protect your people by sealing the doors. It is much harder to protect them while letting the galaxy see you, know where you are, and still choosing not to live in fear of that."

She glanced toward him again, eyes clear.

"The Miracle Initiative saved lives," she said, measured. "But deconcealing yourselves was you deciding your people deserve more than survival. They deserve to be part of something larger without losing who they are."

A small, genuine curve touched the corner of her mouth.

"If Veradune welcomes outsiders happily," she finished, "then I hope you also teach them your order of virtues the way you live it. Life first. Freedom earned and protected. Unity as guardrail, not chain." She tipped her head slightly. "That is a harder doctrine to uphold than any enlistment policy."

Vulpesen

 

[Vulpesen]

A quiet laugh escaped the Valde as he heard her mention the "lives saved" by the initiative. That day had ben nearly half a century ago... no doubt the galaxy forgot, or many never learned. It was a grand wide place and as important and revolutionary as it was to Veradune's people, it was an effect on a single planet. "After the Gulag plague, my people were scattered and weakened. That allowed them to be hunted and killed. Protecting folks can lead to as many enemies as it does friends. They were pushed to the edge of extinction." Even before Vulpesen's time as Veradune's Valde, the Zorrens had understood the agony that came when good deeds were punished by the wicked.

"Veradune was wiped from most records long before I took over. I found it only by the will of the force. No, the Miracle Initiative did not save lives. It revived them. An exodus from the Netherworld to resurrect generations of Zorren's lost to the clutches of death. Even now, you'll find citizens who celebrate a birth day and mourn a death day." A rueful chuckle before he added, "Perhaps that's why its so easy to keep the code alive on Veradune. My people have experienced the alternative in every sense of every word. Of course, my actions have the added benefit of ensuring that I tend to dominate in the polls. Abolished the monarchy with no risk of going jobless."

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre listened without interrupting, her expression softening as the weight of his words settled. There was no surprise on her face, only recognition. This was not a story told for admiration or justification, but one shaped by survival and consequence. When she finally spoke, her voice carried respect rather than reverence, understanding rather than awe.

"Revived them," she repeated quietly, the distinction clearly important to her.
"You are right. I used the wrong words."

She let out a slow breath, steadying herself before continuing.

"I think that is something many in the wider galaxy struggle to grasp. We speak of saving lives as though death is always final, as though loss is always linear. Your people lived with extinction not as an abstract fear, but as a lived certainty. Of course, that would shape how you understand life, freedom, and unity."

Her gaze met his again, thoughtful.

"Celebrating a birth day and mourning a death day… that is not morbidity. That is honesty. Most societies only acknowledge one half of that truth, and then wonder why their values feel hollow when tested."

There was a faint, wry curve to her mouth at his comment about polls, though it carried more affection than amusement.

"If protecting your people and refusing to let them vanish from history also makes you popular, I would call that a fortunate alignment rather than cynicism."

She tilted her head slightly, earnest now.

"And perhaps that is why your code endures. Not because it is simple, but because it was written in the only ink that lasts—memory. Loss remembered. Life reclaimed. Unity forged because there was once nothing left to unify."

Her tone gentled at the end.

"That is not power born of ambition. It is power born of refusal. Refusal to let extinction have the final word."

She paused, then added with quiet sincerity,

"I do not think the galaxy forgets things like that forever. I think it merely takes time before it is ready to listen."

Vulpesen