Private A Stranger Before the Storm

[Sibylla Abrantes]

"No act of mercy is free from calculation...
Especially when shown to an heir. To save a life at court is to step into the game, willingly or not."
~ Lord Alistair Veldrin Abrantes​

House Abrantes Estate
Dee'ja Peak | Naboo


Rain whispered down the rooftops of the Abrantes Estate, silvering the ancient stone like spilled starlight. Dee'ja Peak stretched beyond the balcony's edge, a cathedral of cliffs and clouds, where waterfalls carved paths older than the Republic itself, the captial's dome glinting in its recently completed reconstruction. But inside the great hall, it wasn't the weather that made the air feel heavy; it was the man standing at the head of the room.

Lord Alistair Veldrin Abrantes was a storm in stillness. He didn't shout. He didn't pace. He just stood there, perfectly composed in his dark ambassador's coat, the crest of House Abrantes gleaming faintly over his heart. His grey eyes were sharp and unblinking, hard like pewter, eyes that had once scanned battlefields. Now they studied Kyric like a puzzle he intended to solve.

"You saved my daughter," he said, the words precise as a datapad report, but colder. "And now you're here. In my home. Under my roof."

A crack of distant thunder rolled across the peaks then Lord Abrantes took a single step forward.

"So," he said, voice lower now, but no less pointed, "tell me plainly. Who are you? And why risk your life for a Junior Representative of the Royal Assembly?"

And just beneath that was the sharp, but unspoken query.

What's your game?

For the Patriarch of House Abrantes was well aware that this had been no ordinary hit on his daughter. Sibylla, with the full backing of House Abrantes, had made her intent for candidacy as the next Sovereign of Naboo --- and there were plenty of individuals and Royal Houses that would not want to see that come to fruition.

He had already sent his connections to gather intelligence, but even he was well aware that odds were the breadcrumbs on who was really at the crux of it might lead them elsewhere.

Not that it was going to stop him or Cassian Abrantes from doing their damndest to find out.

 

[Kyric]

Of all the places Kyric expected to land within his life, Dee'ja Peak couldn't be further from his wildest imaginations.

A noble's estate at the tip-top of the world; bathed in rain like some forlorn celestial found its very existence to be an irrefutable masterpiece interwoven into an already beautiful scene. Ancient winged-creatures unknown to the guest of House Abrantes soared by pristine mosaics depicting scenes of Naboo's past and present, a clear reminder of who these people were and why they served. Every piece of furniture was constructed with the utmost care; woven from fabrics pleasant to both sight and touch. The collection of art found just from the entry hall to this grand loft cost enough to bankrupt some of the most successful crime lords back home on Denon.

None of it held a candle to the man Kyric came to know as Lord Alistair Veldrin Abrantes.

The Lord of House Abrantes carried himself with a strength Kyric reserved not for nobility, but seasoned commanders and practiced killers. Thinking back on the night of the failed assassination, the kiffar recognized much of the man in his daughter; from her confidence, grace, and most important, the incorruptible will that saw her through the threat of creeping and imminent death.

Alistair's voice carried from his position across the loft with little issue; his eyes alight with a keen intellect and hard-earned wisdom. The hearth crackled and popped, spitting tiny embers aloft in the silence following the distant thunderclap.

His questions may have surprised Kyric had he carried a lightsaber or any traditional marking of the noble Jedi Knight. But as Sibylla so astutely noticed in their first meeting, he looked the part of a homeless drifter more than any shining Jedi garbed in the gilded attire of the High Republic's devoted Order.

"Forgive me if I offend in anyway while speakin' with you, m'lord. I was raised between the streets of Denon and the moon of Concord Dawn. I'm not educated on matters of state," Kyric admitted sincerely, an easy smile meant not to challenge, but to placate held firmly in place.

"My name is Kyric Karis. I'm the son of Jedi Master Ryv Karis, founder of the New Jedi Order and the man responsible for puttin' an end to the Maw's leader, Darth Solipsis, nearly a decade back—before Sith sorcery yoinked him back from the Nether, anyway." The kiffar couldn't be sure this information this ever reached the likes of House Abrantes given even the New Jedi Order abandoned his father's memory only a few short years after his passing. But it was the best the young Jedi could offer in answer.

"I may not look like much, but I've spent more than half of my life trainin' in the Jedi tradition in hopes of takin' up the fight against those who threaten life. When yer daughter put in her bid for Queen, well, it attracted all manner of attention. Not all of it good, as I'm sure yer aware." He crossed bandaged arms over his chest, then immediately dropped them back down to his sides in an effort not to insult or threaten the Lord.

"Concerned parties contacted me and tasked me with protectin' her. So I did."

---

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Lord Abrantes watched the young man closely, far more closely than the aging Ambassador's stillness might've suggested. In the silence that followed Kyric 's words, the hearth crackled once more, casting flickering shadows along the chamber's carved stone walls.

"A son of Ryv Karis," Alistair murmured, his tone unreadable. Even he could not deny a familiarity with the name, even here on Naboo. Especially when it dealt with Solipsis.

"That name went down in the annals of history... and stirred fire on the battlefield. He was a warrior who bent no knee, Jedi or not."

He stepped forward with the deliberate grace of a soldier who hadn't forgotten the weight of armor or the cost of missteps.

"You speak plainly. That earns you time. Most who come to this House do so draped in diplomacy or dressed for deception."

His gaze sharpened.

"But mercy and motive often wear the same mask, Master Karis. And I've lived through too many wars to mistake one for the other."

He let that hang. Then, evenly, "These 'concerned parties'....who are they?"

The air grew taut like a vibroblade being drawn in silence.

"Names, Kyric. I want them."

A beat.

"And are you still working for them?" he asked, voice calm but cold as songsteel.