Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Before the Descent || Persephone


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IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

On Iridium, the tensions between the Diarchy and the Mandalorian Empire boiled over into violence. Though the planet had long stood as neutral territory, both powers had quietly seeded personnel across its orbit and surface, each seeking to deny the other a foothold. On this day, the Diarchy had constructed a checkpoint station above the world, a barrier designed to prevent Mandalorians from conducting trade or business beneath. It was not an open act of war, but the insult was undeniable. To interfere with the right of Mandalorians to set foot on the surface was to challenge their freedom. Such a challenge could not stand unanswered. In short order, a raiding party struck fast and true, overwhelming the Diarchy’s garrison and cutting the station offline before the hour had turned.

Yet victory was not without its sting. The Diarchy had prepared for the eventuality of failure, and their last act of spite carried consequences far beyond the stars. Remote charges had been rigged to the core structure, leaving the Mandalorians with little chance of countering the detonation once the order was given. With the push of a button, the station erupted into flame, taking those still aboard with it. The wreckage, torn free of orbit, was cast down to the surface like iron rain. Its fall was cruelly precise, slamming into the mountainside and swallowing a village in fire and ruin. Where there might have been opportunity for goodwill with Iridium, there was now only devastation, and the Diarchy would no doubt whisper that it had been the Empire’s hand that brought it.

So it was that the Mand’alor went himself to Iridium. Though he knew in his heart that few could have survived the twin fates of fire and a fall from orbit, he did not extinguish the ember of hope within him. Even the smallest chance of finding survivors warranted his presence. Aether could not turn a blind eye to the village that had suffered for their war, for to do so would grant the Diarchy a victory of its own. If survivors remained, they would see that the Empire did not abandon them. And if none remained, the dead would still be honored, their memory bound to the resolve of those who bore the iron crown.

When he arrived with his warriors, the scene was as grim as expected. The village lay in ruins, its homes shattered beneath burning timbers, its streets choked with smoke and ash. The villagers themselves fought desperately against the flames, their frantic efforts aided by hastily raised tents that served as makeshift hospitals. Without hesitation, Aether gave the order for his men to join in the effort, to douse the flames and move the rubble alongside the people of Iridium. Yet before he joined them, he made for the tents. He had to know if his hope had proven true. He reached for the curtain of the first, his hand steady though his chest grew tight. He pulled it aside, his gaze searching within for the gleam of beskar’gam, hoping that Mandalorians had endured where so many had not.​

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

The acrid sting of smoke still clung to Persephone’s tongue as she pulled back her hood, stepping past a column of Mandalorians who were breaking their backs clearing the wreckage. Her pale features were touched with ash, streaks smudging across her cheeks, but her blue eyes were clear and focused. She didn’t look upon the ruin with despair as so many did, but with the appraisal of one who had long ago accepted grief as part of life.

“Be sure to take breaks…Hydrate. You won’t be good to anyone if you pass out from exhaustion!”

It was her job to watch the rescue efforts as much as it was to ensure that those who had a chance could be saved. She had a large medical bag slung over her shoulder that was thrice the size of her slender body. It was remarkable to her that for a people accused of being warring heathens, they came not only with weapons in hand, but with buckets and bandages. “Take care of each other!”

The sky looked like rain.

They had to get everyone out of harm's way before the clouds rolled in, or the wounded would drown face down in the mud. She walked the line of cots in the makeshift hospital that was still open to the air, her white cloak trailing against the dirt floor, where every groan, every broken body was taken in, noted, and investigated. Persephone had a lot of helping hands, but the carnage made her feel a modicum of anger, along with a determination to help. The Diarchy played at martyrdom and painted the Mandalorians as the villains of their own destruction. They knew the debris would fall to the surface.

Had they wished for this? The blood? The grief?

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she drew her eyes up from a wounded warrior whom she did not have the equipment to save. He would die slowly, painfully.

Unless she intervened by....Less conventional methods.

“You honor them with presence and toil. Do not give the enemy the satisfaction of turning away. The hand that helps is stronger than the one who hurts.”

She nodded her head at the words of wisdom that were offered, feeling a sense of shame that she was not the one offering them. Persephone had dealt with countless wars in the Core, and it only cemented that she wasn’t fit for the life she had held before. “You’re right…”, she reached up and patted the hand of the battle medic who was overseeing their duties. Knowing that she could do something to help them, but fear kept her from acting…It was eating her up inside.

Persephone set her bag down, took a seat next to the dying warrior, and reached for what was left of their hand. All the beskar had been removed, even the helmet, to try and preserve his life. She looked around for a moment before her eyes closed…And within a few moments, the man began to breathe more easily. No longer did he sound like he was rasping, choking on the blood in his lungs, but perhaps finding some sort of restful sleep. Then…She moved to change his bandages.

They would attribute the recovery to a miracle.

Not to her.

When she finished, she moved on to the next patient, doing the same, while trying not to be noticed. It sapped her energy pretty quickly, so she reserved it for those who really, truly needed a little more help than modern medicine and bacta could provide. Thunder rolled in the distance.

Oh…Oh no.

She could smell petrichor—Ozone. Oh, no.
 

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IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

The warriors of the Empire did not hesitate. At the command of their king they moved like iron unleashed, scattering through the ruins to lift the wounded, smother the flames, and clear the way for any who yet clung to life. Buckets were filled and overturned, rubble shifted by hands calloused from war, and words of encouragement carried between strangers who had no banner in common save the one raised by calamity.

Aether lingered in the tent. For a moment he found his chest unburdened, the tightness in his lungs easing as his eyes settled on the impossible. There before him was one of his own, stripped of armor and shorn of strength, yet still alive. The man’s breath rattled as if each exhalation would be his last, but by his side was a woman draped in white and ash, a medical satchel slung across her frame that seemed almost comically large upon her shoulders. Her hands moved with purpose, steady and gentle, and the warrior’s pain eased in her presence. Aether could feel it. The pulse of the Manda, subtle but undeniable, threaded through her touch. The life that had been slipping away began to hold fast.

The Mand’alor stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee beside them. At once the wounded man stirred, eyes widening as he sought to rise and honor the figure at his side. But Aether’s gauntleted hand lifted, firm yet calm, halting his effort. “Rest.” he said, voice low, the command softened by the quiet relief in his tone. “It is enough that you are here. It is good to see you endured.” His visor shifted then, turning to the woman who had held death at bay. The angle of his helm dipped in a nod both solemn and sincere. “You have done more than mend flesh. You have returned a brother to us. For that, I thank you.”

He parted his lips to continue, to speak of the wreckage and the efforts beyond these walls, but the sky itself intervened. Thunder split the air, deep and rolling, and his teeth clenched at the sound. The heavens were about to break, and when the rains came the fires would drown and the wounded would be swept away with the mire. Hope would be swallowed whole. His voice sharpened through the helm, carrying over the ruin. “Report. How long until the storm is upon us?”

The reply was terse, a crackle over comms. “Five minutes, Mand’alor. No more.”

He rose from the cot in a single motion, resolve stiffening his frame. Time was a blade drawn against their throats, yet he had no intention of letting it strike without resistance. His gaze fell once more upon the woman in white, and his dominant hand extended toward her. The beskar fingers hovered in the space between them, an unspoken bridge between stranger and ally. His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for her, but the fire of command burned within it.

“I can buy them time. But I will need help...Come with me, please.”

The hand waited, steady in the air. And beyond it, so too did the survivors, clinging to whatever chance remained.​

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

Persephone froze when the muted voice of the Mand'alor reached her ears. For an instant, her blood ran cold, her hands halting mid-motion before they carried on again—like a machine forced to restart itself. In that heartbeat of stillness, she feared she had been seen. That the subtle threads of the Force woven through her touch had betrayed her. She kept her head low, her motions deliberate, hoping that routine and silence might shield what she had done. To be revealed as Force-sensitive, to heal with that gift, was dangerous.

The Mandalorians had not forgotten, nor forgiven, what the Sith had wrought upon their homeworld. She was no Sith, not a being of avarice or shadow—but few would make that distinction. It wasn't malice on their part. They simply couldn't understand. If he knew… if he even suspected…

Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard.

But when the beskar-clad warrior spoke again, there was no accusation. No suspicion. Instead—gratitude. Reverence, even. The acknowledgment disarmed her more than anger ever could. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Maybe.

"It's… I… it's my job," she murmured, the words stumbling softly as if she were unsure how to accept the weight of his thanks. Her hands curled into fists for the briefest moment, hiding a faint tremor.

The thunder rolled again, closer now. The tent shivered beneath the rising wind, and with it came his statement—that he could buy them time. Ironically, she'd thought the same. She could buy them time too, though not in the way he meant. The storm pressed its urgency against her, forcing her to choose… Retreat to safety, or step into the place she might be most needed.

Her eyes, clear and sky-blue, lifted to the gauntlet extended toward her. She hesitated—caught between instinct, duty, and the heavy weight of her past pressing like hot iron against her ribs. Slowly, she nodded. At first tentative, then steadier, a quiet strength settling into her bones. How could she live with herself if she stood by when she might make a difference? What good was her secret if others died because of her silence?

Wasn't that why she had left the Core in the first place?

"If I can help you…", she said at last, her voice steadier now. "I will. Whatever it takes."

Her hand—pale, ash-streaked, blood-speckled—reached for his. It looked so small, fragile even, against his armor, but her grip was strong, unflinching. She let him draw her up, pausing only to adjust the strap of her medical kit across her shoulders. Steadfast, she nodded once more, though her teeth momentarily caught her lower lip in thought.

"What did you have in mind?", Persephone asked, her voice lowered—out of respect for the wounded still within earshot.

Her gaze flicked toward the tent flap that opened toward the hills. "We could bolster the levy uphill, slow the water before it drowns the wreck." A pause. Elegant brows knit together, her expression solemn. "But I'm afraid it won't hold for long. The rain will still come. It will find every crack, every broken beam. And for those still trapped beneath…"

Her voice trailed off, but her eyes remained steady on his. Even in doubt, there was determination. She would do all she could—But she didn't want to say it. If they couldn't stop the water, every injured person that couldn't be immediately removed and evacuated would likely drown, or be buried alive.
 

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IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

From where the Mand’alor stood, there was no tremor of fear in the woman’s bearing. Her motions were not those of a soul cowed by his shadow but of one wholly fixed on the delicate act of holding a brother’s spirit fast to the mortal plane. Each measured movement of her hands was a defiance against the grave, deliberate in a way that drew no suspicion to his eye. And for Aether, there was little cause to look for such things here. Those who stood alongside Mandalore, those who bled to shield its sons and daughters, had never once been told they should fear. They had only ever been told they had a place. In the ruin left by calamity, this bright one was as welcome a presence as any blade in his arsenal.

He had spoken his gratitude plainly, acknowledging the life she had drawn back from the edge. Her answer had come softly, uncertain and accented, as if she were unaccustomed to such thanks. Aether’s helm inclined. His voice carried no ceremony, only certainty. “It may be your job,” he said, his tone steady against the ruin, “but it is a job you have done well.”

Above them thunder rolled, and the sound cut deep into his thoughts. His teeth pressed together, and a quiet curse in Mando’a slipped through his helm. The storm would break in moments. He tempered his frustration to a whisper, for he would not wake the warrior at his side to despair. Action would have to come quickly, and in a manner few of his people still found easy to stomach. The family name Verd was carved into their history as both a scar and a banner, cherished and despised in equal measure, for they had never turned their backs upon the blessings of the Manda. That same inheritance now stood as their only hope to stave off ruin long enough to carry the living out of the fire.

Yet this was not something he could summon alone. Not in the magnitude demanded. His hand had stretched to her, and she had answered—first in word, then in the strength of her grasp. Her presence rose at his side as he drew her up, and he gave no sermon nor hesitation, only the firm guidance of one already resolved.

When she asked what he had in mind, his gauntleted hand lifted, one finger cutting the space between them as it pointed to the roiling skies above. “Enough to give them breathing room.” he said. “Enough to finish what they have begun.” His gaze shifted back to her, visor locked upon the pale blue of her eyes. “Tell me if you have an empty space where we may work. It must be steady and undisturbed.”

With that he turned, his armored stride carrying him toward the open air. As he passed the cot, his helm dipped to the warrior still clinging to life, a silent vow that his struggle would not be in vain. Then the tent gave way to the world outside, and the storm answered once more, its thunder cracking loud across the mountainside. Aether’s jaw tightened beneath the helm. Time was no ally here.​

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

Any job worth doing was worth doing well.

It was an old adage, but she found that it applied to her craft. Especially when the situation was dire and it was easy to make mistakes. He was an intimidating figure, clad in beskar, commanding, and in all the turmoil, she had only just begun to suspect who she was speaking to. Thinly arched eyebrows drew together as her thoughts trailed behind his words. Trying to figure out his plan.

Enough to give them breathing room.

Not sandbags. Not levies. Not conventional remedies against flood and fire. Her lips parted to ask, but her mouth closed just as swiftly, uncertain. He gave off the impression of being magnanimous but Persephone had long learned how leaders could change on a dime. She didn't want to overstep. Slowly though…She thought, maybe, that she understood.

Her less-than-mundane intervention had not gone unnoticed at all.

She could feel her pulse quicken with the realization. He didn't quite speak like a commander who relied only on steel, stone, and slugthrowers. He spoke like one who carried a weight she recognized—Though she had spent the last year or so trying to hide it. The flaxen-haired woman shifted her satchel higher on her shoulder once more, eyes drifting over the wounded on the cots. She didn't want to leave them.

But…How would they feel waking up in the morning with even more missing friends, family members, and fellow soldiers? She thought of the villagers and men still trapped in the wreckage. The rain would not wait, nor would mercy, if they didn't act now.

"An empty space…", she repeated, thinking, with light tones seeming to fall like soft snowfall. The girl didn't have the voice or mannerisms of a warrior. Persephone was soft, feminine, but determined all the same. Her eyes searched his visor before he turned away…As if that might help. Every empty space they had was packed like sardines with the wounded. She swallowed hard again, then drew in a steadying breath. They didn't even have a cargo container to spare—"There's a stone outcrop just beyond the tents. The ground holds firm there—It won't wash out with the first wave."

Persephone reached down to hush the near-death warrior that wanted to follow his Mand'alor into battle and tucked the rough linen blanket around his shoulders. "Stay...I'll go. You need to rest or you won't be any good to anyone.", she gave a smile that was meant to reassure, but he still seemed concerned with anxious eyes. She…Wished that she could do more. Explain.

"We'll be back."

The Mand'alor was waiting. She hurried after him, knowing that 5 minutes really meant…5 minutes. The slender woman pressed ahead while the tail end of her white cloak flickered about in the muck, shoes kicking soot, ash, and very likely hazardous chemicals from the station crash. Persephone wasn't sure if he knew what she was referring to, but with orders, a guiding hand, she was more than capable of leading the way. She knew this camp like the back of her hand.

Once they arrived, they would find themselves more or less cut off from everyone else. The cave was dark but tall enough to stand comfortably in, while the sheets of rock provided cover from being seen. Greenery that spilled over the rocks formed a curtain. It was about all the privacy they would get.

Quiet eyes watched his silhouette before she pulled a glow-light out of her bag, cracked it, and threw it on the stone floor. It wasn't much, but at least they wouldn't walk into walls.

"I…", she paused again, shifting, while she searched for the words. The thunder cracked again, closer, and it prompted her to spit it out. "I can feel the storm."

"Can you?"
 

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IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

When he had spoken of what needed to be done, the bright one before him shifted as if words were on the cusp of spilling from her lips. Yet she caught them, swallowing them back with the quiet grace of one who knew that timing could matter as much as truth. Aether’s visor lingered on her for a moment, reading the subtle tension in her movements, the thoughts turning behind her eyes. Whatever storm circled in her mind, she set it aside with resolve, straightening her frame and preparing herself for what was to come.

When she finally answered his request for a space apart from the chaos, her voice sounded like a chime against the iron of his armor. There was something fitting in the contrast, for if the wounded needed anything at all, it was not another hard edge but the presence of gentleness and care. He inclined his helm once in acknowledgment. “Good. Lead the way.”

She named the stone outcrop, and he turned at once, his stride carrying him toward the tent’s threshold. His pace slowed only when her words floated back to reassure the warrior who had stirred upon the cot. For that, Aether tarried. The wounded deserved to hear that their lives were still worth fighting for, and she had given him that without being asked. When she caught up to him, he resumed his pace, his steps pressed with urgency as they cut through ash and ruin.

The outcrop revealed itself soon after, a shallow cave carved from the mountainside, veiled in greenery that spilled over the rock. It was isolated enough, quiet enough, and the Mand’alor’s gaze swept its interior with the same judgment he gave any battlefield. His companion cracked a glow-light and sent it tumbling across the stone floor. Aether lowered himself into a crouch, one knee meeting the ground while his visor tilted upward toward her. The thunder above was heavy now, threatening to drown all else, but her voice pierced through. She confessed she could feel the storm and asked if he could as well.

The helm dipped once. “I can.” His voice was low, threaded with the edge of strain. Then, after a heartbeat, he added, “And I can feel you.” He let the words settle, not wrapped in accusation but in certainty. “I felt how you pulled my warrior back from the jaws of death. That same power can help me stall the storm, long enough for them to finish what must be done.”

His gauntleted hand extended once more, the gesture steady, the fingers of his dominant hand reaching toward her as if to draw her into his resolve. “I will not lie to you. I am not at my best this day. If I were, I would not have needed to pull you from your place among the wounded. But the conflict has been long, and strength, even mine, is not endless.” The words came plain, edged with honesty rather than pride. “I will rest when my people are safe. For now, I can direct the power to calm the storm, but I cannot hold it alone. I need you.

His helm dipped briefly, and when he spoke again his voice carried a different cadence, one not meant for her alone. “Ancestors, guide me. Lend me your strength and your wisdom.” The glow-light cast its dim reflection across beskar, but it was not the light that seemed to stir. She would feel it ripple from him, thunder not born of the heavens above but from the marrow of the warrior kneeling before her. The effort had begun, raw and unyielding, but on his own it would not endure. Together, perhaps, they could force the storm to wait.

The visor lifted, settling on her again. “Tell me your name,” he said, the sharpness of command softened by necessity. “If I am to call on you in this, I would do so properly.”

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

It wasn't an accident.

The Mand'alor was what she was; in essence, he hadn't just happened to notice her work was more effective. He had felt her do the impossible. Air sat in her lungs, caught, even while he explained himself candidly to a complete and total stranger. Obviously, it wasn't common knowledge or he wouldn't have requested such privacy…Wasn't that a risk? How did he know she would keep his secrets?

Mutually assured destruction, perhaps. After all, she'd just done the same. The difference was that she could disappear to some far-flung nebula and never be heard from again. He would never have that privilege. Not if the galaxy knew his name. Her eyes showed little when he demanded her name, clear, transparent blue—Like a summer sky—But her posture was still on edge with the sharpness in which it was demanded. It did not let her forget who he was, who she was.

"Persephone…", she offered without her family name or current clan association, without explanation, because there wasn't time for it. The beskar-clad warrior reached for her again, and though the familiarity threw her off, she didn't complain, given the circumstances. Carefully, she let her bag slide to the stone floor before slender fingers slid into his grasp. At first…She felt nothing.

It was by design.

The only way to hide was to cut herself off from the Force as much as possible without truly severing the connection. It had been difficult to adjust, at first. But it grew easier with time to rely on the same natural sense that everyone else had. She didn't read minds; she asked questions. She didn't float books from across the room; she went and got them by hand. Delving into her secret strength to save lives was one of the outlets she allowed—and only when absolutely necessary.

He did not know what he asked of her.

Slowly, the self-imposed veil began to lift. It started by being able to feel the steady thrum of the man standing before her. It steadied her and for a moment, though she waited, breathing with him, matching cadence, until they reached equilibrium. He believed it was the Manda that blessed him…But he needed a battery to do what needed to be done.

A power source, separate from what he alone could offer.

"I apologize."

For her deception…Though it might not make sense until the change began. It was quiet at first…Not a shout, but a shifting of axis. The air nearest to her began to take on a faint sheen, as if the world had been dusted with oil and light. There was pressure behind her eyes, a sensation that wasn't pain, but the blue of her irises seemed to take on depth that shouldn't be there. It would be like looking through cerulean-tinted glass into a room that was filled with small stars. He would feel the arrival of her strength in the same way that a drowning man might experience breaking the surface of water to take a breath of fresh air.

It would be... The sweetest relief.

Persephone let that warmth run outward, careful and patient. It wasn't a raw force to be thrown at the sky to demand that it obey. That would only make things worse. Nature had a way of self-correction, and when they pulled on the weave of weather patterns, without course correcting ripples, the result could be even more devastating than it was in the first place. Her lips parted for a moment, and her eyes showed some measure of surprise. There was pain there, too.

She had forgotten what it could be like to feel so connected.

Her fingers tightened around the metal of his gauntlets while her presence began to swell from the stone outcropping. Where it touched the air, there was some sense of clarity, a thinning of the roaring thunder, enough so that soldiers and medics could hear each other. Stone and root answered her in tiny ways as the mouth of the cave seemed to hold, greenery stilling, while somewhere above that the first sheet of downpour was blunted away from the wreckage…As if it had struck some sort of unseen shield.

Persephone breathed in before exhaling slowly.

It was a start. Fathomless blue eyes lingered on his visor…There and not there. Filled with that which she had shunned since leaving the Core. Her tone was soft and full of air, gentle but firm.

"Take what you need."
 

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IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

In a perfect world, there would have been no need for restraint. The Mand’alor would not have needed to keep the better part of himself buried beneath iron and silence, nor would the blessing of his bloodline remain little more than rumor among his people. Yet such was the path he had chosen. The peace of his Empire rested on the faith of the Clans, and so Aether kept his heritage quiet. The Manda was a gift, but for the common warrior it was a gift that inspired suspicion. That discretion had become his ally.

So when she offered only her first name, there was no suspicion in him. No clan and no family bound to it, only Persephone, and that was enough. His helm dipped. “Aether.” he said simply, giving her what she had given him, nothing more and nothing less. Then her hand slipped into his own, pale against iron, and he let his breath match hers until the rhythm of two became one. He stilled himself. He was the vessel. She was the wine.

Her apology came without warning, and for the space of a heartbeat his brow arched behind the mask. Then he understood. Where once there had been silence, now there was a sudden brilliance. Her presence burst into the current of the Manda like a star tearing through the dark, so bright that it forced even him to draw in sharply. His jaw slackened for an instant, his surprise tempered only when she steadied him with words meant to ground. He inclined his head slightly and let instinct take hold.

His lips parted, and what spilled forth was old. Ancient words of Dathomir’s magick curled through the cavern, each syllable carrying a subtle edge that no scholar of the light would have dared to touch. They cut into the fabric of the storm above, forcing the Manda to twist and coil at his command. Darkness lingered in each phrase, and though he cloaked it in purpose, the taste of it remained sharp upon the tongue. It was a delicate balance, for to demand nature’s obedience was to offend it, and offending nature required shadow.

He wielded it for his people. For those already buried beneath wreckage. For Mandalore. His fist lifted, power flaring in tandem with the words, and the air around them shivered. An emerald sheen bled into the cavern, spilling from their clasped hands and painting the stone in ghostly light. Thunder roared once more overhead…and then, silence. The winds calmed. The rain struck against a barrier unseen, diverted just enough to give his people breath.

From there, he took. The well she had revealed did not resist him, but it did not yield gently either. His magick drank greedily, tearing through his reserves and then plunging through their shared contact like a viper sinking its fangs into living flesh. It consumed, devouring the strength she had offered, yet it did not strip her bare. The well filled as it was emptied, sustaining the spell, feeding the storm’s stall.

When it was done, he released her hand. Aether staggered slightly, his chest heaving as a gasp tore free, followed by ragged breaths that tasted of iron and ash. He leaned back on one arm, his free hand unlatching the helm that encased him. It set against the stone with a heavy clatter, and sable eyes looked up at her unguarded for the first time. They met hers, bright blue and fathomless, and his lips curved into something rare.

“Thank you,” he said, voice weary but plain. The faintest of smiles cut across his features, rough around the edges but sincere. “The spell is fed for now. It will hold, but only for a time. A few minutes, maybe longer. We will need to keep at it until the camp has done its work.”

He motioned with a tilt of his chin toward the helm at his side. “They’ll reach me when it’s finished. Until then, I am content to sit here and make sure the sky does not drown us.” His eyes found her once more, lingering in a way that was neither command nor scrutiny. “My people are fortunate. They are in your hands. You’ve proven yourself more than a healer. To them…to me…you are an angel.”

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

For a moment, she only registered the taking—the sensation was like cool water being siphoned from a cup. Swift and hungry. It surprised her that it surprised her, really, considering she'd felt the Force a hundred ways. She'd felt its comforts and its bargains. This was different. It felt like iron and winter flooding her veins, a thread pulled tight beneath the skin, rather than a gentle tide. Where his grip held, dark lines blossomed through her palms, along her wrists, with bruises that seemed to spread momentarily up her arms. It looked like living ink. Real.

She did not flinch but steadied herself against the ache, holding on to the warmth she sent out, keeping it from recoiling while it was reshaped for his spell work. The light in her eyes moved back and forth for a moment like a lantern swaying in the wind. Her presence shifted from merely offering to warding as well. Softer than a shield, more exact. As Aether fed, as his ancient tongue gnawed at the storm, she let the remainder of her strength pool toward the invisible shield she had drawn over the wreckage.

The evening might hide it…But someone would eventually notice that water curved away from them rather than falling on their heads. Persephone was not unaware that Aether was using strength that was forbidden…But she hadn't surrendered to it. It was a trade that she chose for the sake of others.

Even though her spirit wilted from it.

When his breathing shuddered and he let her go, she swallowed and tested the marks left on her skin with a hesitant poke of her finger. The bruises were already paling at the edges, as if the light beneath her skin pumped the darker coloring out, slowly, but surely. The wounds held no stain upon her soul. His power had taken from her, because that was what the Darkside did—But she wasn't damaged.

It was simply the price to be paid.

The Mand'alor staggered, and she moved forward on instinct. She was a healer first and foremost…But he seemed to be all right. Infact—He had the presence of mind to remove his helmet. It was nice to place a face to the voice that had been distorted by his helmet. Blue eyes were quiet for a moment before they closed of their own accord. A wave of exhaustion hit her. They would need to keep the spell going, and that would simply keep taking from them…

Again and again.

"I am no angel."
, she returned after a moment, letting the statement fall between them, before folding it away. He would note the faint smile that touched her ash-smudged face, even while she slowly folded down to the ground to take a seat. Persephone would need her strength and intended to rest while they could. "I'm just a healer who keeps her hands clean enough to be useful."

She paused, brow furrowing for a moment, while her knees drew up so that her chin could rest on them. It made her small despite the aura that surrounded her. It was bright, large, and far more than what should have been hidden in such a small woman.

"You used shadow.", It was a quiet statement, not a question. "It works fast…But it asks for more than it gives."

There was no blame or disgust in her tone—Only the plain assessment of someone who had watched both remedies and poisons work their will. Her thumb brushed against one of the cooling bruises on her arms, and the pain eased by a fraction every moment that she wasn't actively engaged in the spell he had woven. "They will need to hurry. But for now…You should find rest. I'll hold the line and we'll take turns…You direct, I'll steady.", her head tilted, and she cuddled into her arms a little more. She could feel a chill in the air now…One that hadn't been there before.

The marks would fade in time, but it would likely get worse before it got better.
 

U28oNJI.png

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

The Mand’alor could feel her presence still moving, threads of power weaving into the cavern air even as his own magick gnawed at her essence. She did not falter. Instead, she pressed on with quiet strength, the construction of a ward clear to one who had known the shape of such defenses before. His chest still rose heavy with ragged breaths, but the sight of it steadied something deep within him.

When at last his helm set against the stone and her hand slipped free, he caught the flicker of her fingers brushing across the faint bruising left behind. An apology formed on the edge of his tongue but died unspoken as she leaned closer, healer’s instinct answering before he could summon words. He drew a slow breath and matched her stillness. For a span, there was only quiet and the taste of ash.

Her denial came soft, cast against the cavern floor as she took her seat beside him. No angel, she claimed, only a healer who kept her hands clean. Yet there was a smile in her voice, and when he turned his gaze toward her, he saw it bloom faintly on her face. Aether shook his head, the smallest motion, before unfastening a pouch at his belt. He drew out two ration bars, pressed one into her palm, and broke open the other. His voice was plain as he answered.

“Those who mend are saints to those who only know how to break.”

He chewed without complaint, though the taste was the same bland bitterness he had known for years. His eyes lingered as she rested her chin upon her knee, her aura monumental despite the modest frame that held it. For a moment, curiosity touched him. If she could see his, what would she find? Something bright, steady, perhaps even worthy...or something far less?

Her words returned him, quiet yet certain, naming what she had sensed. Shadow. He inclined his head in agreement, swallowing before he spoke again.

“My grandmother’s way calls on both. To offend nature, you need the dark. To mend it, you need the light. It takes both. But you’re right. Shadow always hungers. It takes more than it ever gives. That’s why I lean on the Manda, when I can. It doesn’t ask to be saint or sinner. It just is. Same as me.”

The last of the bar vanished and he brushed the stray crumbs from his gauntlet. His tone softened as his eyes found her once more. “Thank you, for standing with me in this. I’ll need a minute to gather my strength, but I’ll be ready.”

The silence stretched again, but this time he broke it with a question, lips curved with a faint smile that did not reach for command. “Tell me, bright one…where do you hail from? What clan do I have to thank for you?”​

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

Persephone accepted the ration that was offered with a delicate nod of her head, expressing thanks, while remaining tucked in on herself. The scent of something so dry, bitter, and real allowed ordinary comfort to settle over her like a bandage. Doing small things always made her feel grounded, and something so simple as breaking bread was a welcome distraction.

Her body felt like it was everywhere.

Flickering in and out, her spirit shining, the air filled with that same iridescent quality that made it feel like the cave was slowly melting in the wake of her Light. The bruises along her arms kept softening while the dark bled back toward the pale. Her fingers kept tracing the marks with habit, and she passed him a faint smile at the unspoken apology. It was unnecessary, and though he hadn't said anything, she could feel it. Persephone hadn't anticipated his alignment… That was on her.

"It'll be fine…Nothing a little sleep and meditation can't cure."

Not like she would be getting to see the inside of her eyelids for any length of time for the foreseeable future. She was quiet when he spoke of saints and tucked her face away behind her arms each time she either spoke or took a bite of the dry ration bar. It was strange to hear him talk about the Manda that way—It wasn't something she quite understood. But, she supposed her connection to the Force would boggle him just as much. When Ather asked where she was from, the cave suddenly felt ten times too small. She could have said a dozen things. A village name, star port, a lie that would have fit neatly into the pattern of clan and kin…But she didn't want to lie to him.

It was exhausting.

"I was born…Nowhere you'd find on a star map."

Persephone didn't have any memories before being shuttled to a Jedi Temple, and she had never known her family. She was an oddity, even for the Jedi, so they did their best to ensure that she was made uniform. "I was raised in the Core…I left because…"

"There were things I could no longer bear."
, she let the admission settle between them, not a confession, but as close to the truth as she could get. No one here would react kindly if she described the Galactic Alliance as a warring militant state where the Jedi were more akin to death squads versus the guardians they were raised to be. Her perspective did not match the experience that everyone had…But she had seen them fight on domestic and foreign soil time and time again.

They called for blood.

They called for death—Just as much as any Sith.

"Clan Mir'laar took me in when I arrived…They were short-handed. I had training, skills, that they could utilize. Few pay attention to the old ways and it makes battle-medics hard to find. We have to learn to do a lot with…very little.", she quieted after that, thinking more about how he had explained his usage of the Force…Or the Manda…He spoke of balance. Light and shadow. It was a curious thing to find such comprehension in any Mandalorian let alone their leader. "You used what you had to save your people…We both used what we've been taught. The cost is not for me to judge—I only mention it because it is something to watch for. Don't let the taking become the first habit."

It would be so easy for the shadow to twist something, even good-natured, into something so much worse. From a flash storm to a tropical storm or a hurricane. Her eyes closed for a moment while she focused on both the barrier she had created and the spell he had chosen to weave. Persephone looped her energy through it, stitching it tight, guiding it to hold against Mother Nature. She did not force it to obey her but rather asked, and added her presence as a stabilizing element.

She would be the anchor until the winds calmed and the storm died down, or she ran out of energy to give. It was in the nature of a Jedi to protect no matter where they were…It was frightening, but it also felt like a relief to be able to do everything she could without fear of reprisal.

"I don't say what I am because I think your people will be afraid…", she murmured after a long moment, her head turning, so that she could look at him again. Their auras were very different. There was a shade that was almost golden coming from him. Not light or dark…Just, something.

"But I'm not ashamed."
 

U28oNJI.png

MOUNTAINSIDE, IRIDIUM

Aether watched the dark bloom along her forearms recede as if light were being poured back beneath the skin. The sight drew his gaze to her face where that small, stubborn smile returned, and he let the unspoken apology rest between them. When she promised that sleep and quiet would mend what this work had taken, he huffed a quiet laugh that held no real mirth. “Sleep and I have an understanding,” he said, voice low. “It visits when the galaxy forgets my name.” He did not press the joke further, for they both knew how rarely true rest came to their kind. One day, if his work bore fruit, his people would claim more than moments. Until then, the bright one before him was part of that future he meant to win.

He noted the way she tucked her face away in the spaces between words and ration bites, not with shame but with a carefulness that belonged to surgeons and saints. It was a habit he had not often seen, and it drew a faint curve to his mouth that lingered as she spoke of the Core. When her truth finally came, he inclined his head. “The Core calls itself cradle and beacon,” he said, tone even. “Yet every light that dazzling casts a long shadow. You do not owe me the details. I understand enough.” There was no judgment in the words, only a tempered acceptance born of long memory and the way empires, old and new, liked to polish their myths.

At the mention of Clan Mir’laar he nodded, something like recognition sharpening his eyes. “Onderon,” he said, the single name carrying the memory of streets drowned in smoke and grief. “Your kin were there when the storms faded and the crying began. I remember white hands hauling the living from rubble and stitching hope together with whatever thread was left. They suit you. They make a habit of putting broken things back upright, even when the only tools left are grit and prayer.” His visor had been set aside, and the admiration was plain in his face. “Every child dreams of painting stars with glory. Too few dream of being the hands that bind those stars together. Battle medics are rare. Good ones rarer still. I am glad you and Clan Mir’laar chose this fight. Mandalore owes you a debt of gratitude.”

Her counsel about shadow drew an initial nod, then a small tilt of his mouth that almost qualified as a smile. “I will not let taking be my first habit,” he said, the iron in his voice softened by a thread of humor. “If only because you asked so nicely.” The chuckle that escaped him was brief, but real, and it faded as he felt her presence move again. She anchored what they had built with a touch that was patient rather than proud, guiding instead of bending, and he let his own strength gather along the edges of that calm. Power crept back into his limbs the way warmth returns to a hand numbed by winter. He flexed his fingers once and breathed with the rhythm she set.

Her warning about cost brushed close to the quiet door he kept closed in his soul. The abyss pressed there like a tide behind a dam, a legacy that had a mother’s hunger and a father’s will. He could hear the old call as clearly as the storm above. If he chose to open it, the sky would stiffen like a tamed beast and Iridium would know calm for a generation. He swallowed that thought and let it sink. “You are not wrong,” he said at last. “There are parts of me my people would not accept. Even if every drop was spent in their name, they would see a monster where I see duty. So I keep certain doors shut. I let the Manda be the story they hold, and I keep the rest between myself and the ancestors.”

His eyes found hers again, steady and sure. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Not here. Not with me. Whatever name the Core gave you, whatever oaths they wrapped around your throat, they do not own you. Around me, you do not need to hide.” He let that sit, then added, quieter, “When this storm is finished and the camp is safe, I would hear more of you. Not as a your liege, but as a man who would like to know the ally who stood with him when the sky came falling down.”

Comms crackled faintly at his belt, a distant report of fires smothered and stretchers moving. He drew a long breath, let it out slow, and rolled his shoulders as the familiar burn of focus settled back into his muscles. “Your turn to direct,” he said, palms opening as if to present the current to her hands. “I will carry the load when you tell me to pull. We'll trade until the tents are clear and the last is lifted out of the mud.”

He closed his eyes and reached for the same steady cadence they had found together, letting her anchor define the shape while he fed the spell with measured strength rather than hunger. Outside, the rain broke around the unseen curve, running like a river along the barrier’s skin and spilling harmlessly aside. Inside the cave the air held that clean, bright pressure of a storm held at arm’s length. After a moment he spoke again, the edge of command returning with a warmth that did not waver.

“Hold fast, Persephone. Guide me. I am with you.”

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

"…You have a very strange way of asking to meet up for a cup of tea."

There was a certain level of amusement in her tone, but as he requested, she held the line.

The invisible shield that Persephone had created seemed to bow with the weight of the sky. From beneath it, she listened to shouts that sharpened into orders while trying not to think of the patients she had left behind. She could taste ash, rain, and copper in the back of her throat, but each time the shield trembled, her right hand twisted, palm turning skyward, and it became steady.

Delicate…But steady.

"Now…", she breathed out, waiting for Aether to release the edges of his spell work so that she could take the brunt and direct once more. The same ghoulish bruises crawled across her arms once more, payment for indulging forces that were incompatible with the light that filled her heart. She caught what he left behind, and the current surged, catching hold of the tide, while she shaped it once more into a clean bend. The barrier swelled and then settled…Widening just enough for a group below the cave to sprint through the area without being swallowed by the runoff.

She wanted it to be enough…But was it? Persephone didn't dare get up to look.

Instead…She focused on trading the burden, breathing, gathering strength, then taking it back.

They seemed to find a rhythm quickly enough, her guiding, his drawing, and vice versa. Her breathing seemed to refill when his emptied, his voice a low murmur in the back of her mind, even when he said nothing at all. Each pass left a finer tremor through her shoulders, each hand-off a little slower, but the work outside kept answering them. Fewer flames, more figures moving, the wet crack of a collapsed wall becoming softer while the rubble was pushed aside.

A crack, like the largest tree breaking in half, tore through the white noise.

Her back straightened while metaphysical fingers reached through the area, and in a moment, she felt it. The creek banks up the slope of a hill was giving way where the ground had become dried and pitted with the heat. A large sheet of water buckled free, headed straight for the tents that held the worst of the wounded. "Brace…", was the singular word she uttered, before pulling some of her energy from the spell, creating a lattice work to divert the deluge…

It was as if they were beneath a sieve, scrambling to plug the holes.

Her wrist twisted the other way and bled the arc of her shield sideways, catching the new flood, so she could tip the water harmlessly into a stone chute where Mandalorians had been digging a trench. The storm above them bucked, annoyed. It wanted to go where gravity said it could.

She exhaled …"Good…That's good.", speaking to herself, Aether, and the storm. She hadn't necessarily wanted to cut their conversation short, but the work they were doing demanded her focus. It made thinking about anything else a touch difficult. When they had a moment, he would find that she picked up, more or less, where they'd left off. Arms tucking back around her knees.

Making herself small, nonthreatening.

"I've spent so long hiding in plain sight…I forget what it's like. To stand in the open and not be…afraid."

It was a terrible admission for a former Jedi of the Order…To admit fear. The rest of the galaxy assumed that they lived with hope in their hearts, keeping them light, and unburdened—But the truth was cleaner than that. Their gifts made them feel justified. What happened was the will of the Force…Not a direct result of what happened or didn't happen, through action, or inaction. Jedi were just as afraid as anyone else. "Just a little longer I think…"

Certainly, his teams would give the all clear through comms. But…Persephone was willing to do what it took to ensure that no one died with the potential of being saved. This was a tragedy. Exactly the thing that her kind were designed to help and prevent. If she couldn't help now…What use was she? How was she any different than the Order in the Core who did nothing while the rest of the galaxy burned? Who perpetuated violence? Who created, distrust. Hate.

"Things with the Diarchy…Is this the new normal?"
 

U28oNJI.png

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

Her quip reached him and, to his quiet surprise, heat crept across his cheeks. The amusement in her voice had a way of cutting through smoke and strain, and for a heartbeat he wondered if his words had strayed where they should not. He cleared his throat, finding the right mixture of honesty and restraint. “I...have never had the pleasure of asking anyone to meet for tea...” he said, the corners of his mouth tilting despite the ruin around them. “If I sounded strange, I ask your pardon.”

Then he felt her hold the line. He matched her breath and took the current in hand again, guiding the working with a care that had been hard won. The shadow that answered him was filtered through patience rather than pride, shaped so that its bite found only him. He was born in darkness and had learned to cradle it until it obeyed, so he set it to his will while keeping its teeth from her skin. What she felt from him was direction without the lash, resolve without the needless hurt.

Together they found a rhythm that felt almost like prayer. She steadied, he drew; he steadied, she drew; and when the hillside tore and a sheet of water came thundering down, they bent as one to meet it. The barrier bowed and did not break, the flood slid where stone and trench invited it to go, and the storm above raged like a beast that had been denied its meal. They did not yield. They persisted until the worst of it fell away into the channels below.

A lull followed, thin and precious. Persephone tucked her arms around her knees again, making herself small in that careful way of hers, and Aether sank back with one forearm resting across his thigh. When she spoke, he shook his head, not in rebuke but in quiet refusal of the truth she had been forced to live. “If it were mine to command, you would never have to hide again.” he said, voice low and even. “Not among my people, not anywhere beneath these stars. A Mand’alor can shape actions with the Resol’nare, but hearts answer to older masters, and I will not pretend I can order them to love what they fear. With me, you are simply Persephone. While I draw breath, you will not hide.”

The comm clipped through the hush from the helm on the stone. Reports rolled in, fires drowned, stretchers moving, headcounts growing steadier with each update. He breathed out, a long exhale that carried a measure of the stress from his shoulders, and looked back to her with the tension eased from his jaw. The question in her eyes was one he had expected, and his answer came with a solemn nod.

“I hoped there would be peace with the Diarchy.” he said. “Our own live within their borders on Echoy’la, and I would rather raise banners for trade and kinship than for another war. We have tried to make space for it, for the sake of those Mandalorians who should not pay with their lives for the pride of nations. Each attempt has found stone where I prayed for good soil. It seems the fates have a different appetite, and the hour draws near when the old ways will be called to the front again.”

His gaze held hers, steady as a vow. “I will keep seeking a door that does not open to blood, because I owe that to our people and to the ones who will inherit what we decide. But unless a miracle chooses to walk our road, the course ahead is set, and I will meet it with every measure of strength I possess.” He tipped his head toward the cave mouth where the storm ran off in harmless sheets. “For now, we finish this, and we make sure no one who can be saved is left in the mud. After that, if the galaxy allows it...I will learn how you take your tea.”

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

Persephone blinked at the sable-skinned man who sat across from her, momentarily, caught between exhaustion and the quiet absurdity of it. Talking about tea when the sky was literally falling on their heads. The rain outside gradually softened to a steady whisper, and the faintest trace of a smile danced across her lips, half hidden by her arms. It was small, but sincere. "I take it with honey."

"And usually, a little quiet, but that might be harder to come by."


Her voice was tired but tinged colored with warmth. She wasn't offended by the ask…Merely taken aback by the formal way it was presented. He spoke unusually, for a Mandalorian. Perhaps that was because his blood was royal. King, for all intents and purposes. Pale blue eyes turned toward the mouth of the cave where stormwater streamed harmlessly down the slope. It carried away ash, debris, and the worst of the day's violence. As if the blood had never been there at all.

The sound of the storm was almost soothing now, like the pulse of something returning life, rather than a beast intent on taking it away. Persephone was aware that the Mand'alor had done something differently this last round because she hadn't felt a freezing darkness crawl through her body seeking payment. Her being was Light…Through and through. Moreso, than most. As if she had been kissed by stars and set free in the galaxy, with no memory, and borrowed time.

While I draw breath, you will not hide.”

Her soft gaze returned to him, lingering, while she considered what he had spoken. It wasn't the type of thing she was used to hearing. For someone who had finally been chased from the Core so many years ago by a Senate gone mad with power, even kindness, could feel like a form of danger. She sat up a little bit and looked at her hands. Filthy, with dirt under her nails. Dried blood filled the cracks of her palms and the faint ghost of bruises still crawled along her wrists.

The proof of what she was never seemed to wash off completely.

"I appreciate you and that's a beautiful sentiment…But you can't promise that. My clan knows me well…And if they knew the truth? I'm certain, I would be exiled. Dar'manda."

Or worse.


Mandalorian people had a very long memory. It didn't matter that she had never harmed Mandalore or its people; all that mattered was that she had innate access to the weapon that did. But, they were good people. Strong. They deserved what succor she could bring them in the wake of Jedi that had done nothing while their friends and family had been enslaved and killed. While their world was strip-mined and even its people turned alchemically into beskar. Tormented by Sith, ignored, by Jedi.

Persephone wasn't sure which was worse.

"I've lived long enough to know that people fear what they don't understand. Even when they owe their lives to it...", she murmured, her tone soft, not unkind—Just honest, the way a wound admitted that it still hurt even after being bound. She drew her knees a little closer and tucked her hands back in again, chin resting atop her arms, as the hush between thunder stretched thin.

The storm was passing.


"If they knew what I'd done, what I am, they wouldn't thank me. They wouldn't look at me. They'd question you for letting me stand beside you…When you should have my head."

She paused and let out a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh. "But…I believe you mean it… Thank you for trying. It means a lot.", but not even he could move such mountains. Perhaps, she should have bit her tongue in this scenario, but they had already come so far. Already, he had shared in her gift to save his people and admitted his own affliction. It was too late for him to kill her now.

The flaxen-haired woman listened to him speak about the Diarchy, and a gentle sigh left her. Maybe…He was different than other leaders she had come across. Maybe he meant what he said. "I'm glad you still believe in peace…Most people stop trying once they realize it can't be won and held with a blade."

Outside, she could hear people talking. Murmuring about miracles.

Her expression grew distant. A little happy, a little sad. Relieved but…Lonely.

"Even now…They would rather believe in miracles. But, maybe real miracles are just…People who keep trying."
 

U28oNJI.png

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE

Aether caught the faint smile that hid behind her arms, and despite the exhaustion dragging at his body, he felt one form of its own. There was something grounding about it, something real in a day that had been anything but. When she said she took her tea with honey, he leaned back slightly, helm resting beside him, and let a quiet hum slip from his throat. “Honey, hm? I very seldom drink tea,” he admitted. “Usually only when I’m fighting off a cold. And when I do, I ruin it with a lozenge, enough sugar to stun a bantha, more honey than the recipe calls for, and lemon juice until it can hardly be called tea anymore.”

He lifted a gloved hand and gestured lightly toward her. “For you, I’ll try to keep it simple. Just honey. And I’ll see what I can do about the quiet.” His brow arched, the faintest hint of play coloring his tone. “Though that might be a little difficult for people like us. Our lives are a touch... stormy.”

As if on cue, thunder rolled faintly above, and Aether’s smile curved into a soft laugh. It was absurd, sitting in a cave trading jokes about tea while the world outside still smoldered, but absurdity had its place. Sometimes it was the only thing that made survival feel human.

When the laughter faded, silence returned easily between them. His gaze lingered on her, on the light that seemed to cling to her even after all she had endured. The toll of darkness had been paid, but she bore no mark this time. Her strength had met his restraint and together they had shaped something that neither could have done alone. Satisfied, he let his shoulders ease as their conversation found its rhythm again.

Then she spoke of what awaited her beyond this cave, of exile and the brand of Dar’manda. Aether’s expression softened, his eyes falling briefly to the floor before rising again with a long, quiet sigh. He wanted to refute her words, but they were true. No decree from the Iron Throne could reach into every home or heart. He could absolve those unjustly branded as soulless, could strike the word from law, but he could not stop clans from judging their own. Some truths ran deeper than any crown’s command.

He leaned forward slightly, determination flickering through his eyes like the last embers of the forge. “You are right,” he said. “I can’t banish fear with a single word. Even I’ve had to disguise what I am to keep the peace. There are times I claim the Manda’s blessing when I know the strength comes from my own hand. It’s easier for the people to believe it that way.” His voice steadied, carrying the same quiet conviction that had built his Empire from ash. “But even so, I try. I’ve built the Mandalorian Knights on that hope. They wield power the old world would have called sorcery, yet they stand beside their brothers on the battlefield and are honored for it. Every campaign, every miracle they perform, moves us a little closer to a day when someone like you can simply exist. Just Persephone.”

Her thanks met him with disarming grace, and he shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “I should be the one thanking you. You’ve done more for my people today than I could have asked for. And beyond that... it’s rare to meet someone I can be honest with.”

When she sighed after his words on the Diarchy, he felt the weight of it in his chest. He smiled faintly at her remark, the lines of his face easing with quiet sincerity. “Our people’s lives are too precious to waste on battles that do not matter,” he said. “If Mandalore is to endure beyond my reign, it must learn to value peace as much as victory. I believe that’s possible, even if it’s a fight all its own.”

Her eyes turned distant then, her voice softening to that fragile place between hope and heartbreak. The murmur of the storm outside became a lullaby of rain, and Aether’s lips curved again at her final words. “You are the miracle, Persephone,” he said simply. “Today, you stood beside me and bent the storm itself. I hope this won’t be the last time we work together. I’d like to see what else we can accomplish.”

He paused, the faintest glimmer of humor tugging at his tone once more. “Though at the rate we’re going, I imagine we’ll need a great deal of tea to keep up.”

 
B A T T L E - A N G E L

IRIDIUM, MOUNTAINSIDE
Aether Verd Aether Verd
___________________________
_______

Persephone's lips parted slightly as he spoke, the faintest flicker of amusement moving across her expression when he described his disastrous approach to tea. The image of the Mand'alor ruining a cup with the bitter echinacea of a lozenge and bantha-stunning sugar was so endearingly human that it disarmed her for a moment. She gave a soft huff through her nose that could have easily been mistaken for offense, for the tea, and a laugh. "That sounds…"

She tried to find a way to say it respectfully, her mouth opening and closing a few times, before her shoulders flattened and she just gave up. "Horrible. Absolutely, horrible.", the softness of her words floated up with a small chuckle, eyes turning back to the mouth of the cave. She kept looking. Watchful—To make sure they weren't discovered, and that the storm didn't decide to worsen on its own. Nature was…Always prone to surprises. "Still…If it keeps the sickness away, I suppose even a King must be allowed his mistakes."

The distant growl of thunder came in answer to his jest about "stormy lives" and the sheer corniness of the well-timed pun caused her smile to reach her eyes. He was a very, very strange man. The absurdity of their banter wasn't lost on her, their clothes damp from the flood, hands trembling with exhaustion—While laughing over nonsense? It had been a while. Persephone, typically kept to herself.

For a moment? She just breathed and let it be. It was a nice feeling.

When the silence returned, it wasn't uncomfortable, but the quiet that followed immense effort. Her eyes felt heavy, and her body felt weighted down. If she wasn't still needed back at the tents, she might have fallen over to take a nap. She just…Needed a moment to get her strength back. It had been a while since she had channeled the Force this much, this often, and she had a feeling she might need more of it before morning.

Admittedly, she was a little surprised that Ather the Iron opened to her so easily. She was a perfect stranger. No one, not important, and certainly not within his inner circle. She hadn't expected him to speak of hiding parts of himself, nor about the Mandalorian Knights with such conviction. Her brow furrowed slightly, a quiet thought forming behind her eyes. There was something tragic about it.

How they had both learned to survive through disguise.

Jedi. Mand'alor. Medic. Ruler. Light. Shadow. All masks worn to soothe the fears of others.

"Then maybe…", she trailed off, light as always, endlessly kind. "Then maybe, there's hope yet. If you've found a way to let power and peace exist at the same time…That's more than most of us ever manage. It's fitting to call them Knights, I think. They'll need courage to hold the space between fear and faith."

Her gaze drifted back toward him when he referred to her as a miracle. Her eyes grew softer still…Finding him to be genuine. And if that was the case, also, a touch naïve toward her position. They were worlds apart and would likely always be in separate universes. He couldn't afford to be seen around her if the truth came out. It would damage his reputation among the Clans, and she didn't want to be responsible for bringing a good man to suffer. "You give me too much credit. I've only done what I'm meant to do. But…thank you, again. It's been a long time since anyone saw anything that was worth gratitude."

Her head quirked then, lightening the mood, harkening back to his unintended compliment. Referring to a woman as a miracle or an angel was either a very bold strategy or a very blind one. "Careful, Mand'alor…That's also the kind of talk that gets people into trouble."

Her eyes softened again, and a small smile curved the kiss of her mouth, arms still wrapped around her knees. She unintentionally yawned, nuzzling her face down into them, feeling a little more at ease than she had hours earlier. The storm was their biggest hurdle. It was the reason they had to move so quickly…But now her Clan could provide proper care and not rush through it. Stemming the flooding was just as important as getting people on a gurney. "But…If it interests you…"

"I wouldn't mind working together again. But…I'll bring the tea."


He was officially forbidden from doing anything but drinking it. Her smile persisted…Slight, tired, but there. The light of the glowstick she'd cracked was starting to fade, but it painted her features in a pale hue, softening her further. She wasn't much of a Mandalorian…But she tried her best. She always did her best, even if it wasn't enough. It wasn't lost on her that for the first time, in a long time, she didn't feel like a ghost in someone else's world. That was a bizarre feeling, indeed.
 

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