Private Between Blades and Banners

[Veyla Krinn]

The wind along the cliffs of Concord Dawn tugged at Veyla's hair, carrying the sharp scent of metal and distant forges. The hum of industry drifted upward from the valleys below, a constant reminder that even in exile, Mandalore's pulse never truly stopped. She leaned against the terrace railing, green eyes tracing the smoke curling from the foundries, letting the heat and movement of the world below settle around her.

Siv stood beside her, shoulders squared but relaxed, unmasked. The sunlight caught the angles of his face, sharp and controlled, but softened in the shadows of the late afternoon. She noted the faint line of tension in his jaw, the way his hands rested lightly at his sides, and for a moment, she allowed herself to observe—the quiet steadiness he carried, the way he moved as if nothing could unbalance him.

"Siv," she said, voice low, the edge of curiosity threaded with something warmer, "in the years I've been gone…what has shifted? The councils, the clans, the Forge itself…how has Mandalore moved while I was away?"

Her gaze flicked to him, noting the slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle lift of one brow. He didn't answer immediately, just let the wind carry the sound of her words between them. She shifted her weight, a soft scrape of her boot against the stone, and the faintest incline of her shoulder brushed against him — unintentional, yet deliberate enough to be noticed.

"And you," she added, softer now, leaning a fraction closer, "the man without the mask…what do you see when the halls are empty, when the forges go quiet? What do you carry for yourself when no one else is watching?"

Her green eyes lingered on his, attentive, patient, and quietly searching. He shifted slightly toward her, just enough that their shoulders nearly touched, and yet the air between them remained charged with a restrained intimacy, a tension folded into silence.

"I need to know," she murmured, the warmth in her tone faint but deliberate, "because what I left behind isn't the same as what I might return to."

The wind lifted again, tangling their hair, tugging at her clothes. In the quiet space between them, she felt the weight of unspoken questions, of restrained curiosity, and the subtle acknowledgment that neither was in a hurry to break the moment.

Siv Kryze

 

[Siv Kryze]

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Siv let his gaze follow the smoke drifting from the forges below, the jagged cliffs of Concord Dawn cutting sharp against the fading light. He didn't answer immediately, letting the wind carry her words across the terrace, letting the quiet settle around them. When he spoke, his voice was calm, deliberate, carrying a weight that wasn't easily shaken.

"Concord Dawn has changed," he said, eyes distant yet rooted in the present. "Clans shift, councils squabble—but what endures is duty. The duty to protect what is ours, to preserve what makes us Mandalorian. That duty isn't just to a place, or to a people—it's to a culture that has survived more than most could imagine."

He shifted slightly, letting the warmth of his shoulder brush hers, subtle, grounding. "There is no greater calling than guiding a people from chains to sovereignty, from exile to empire. To ensure the flame of our heritage burns brighter than any shadow, to shape our world so that our children inherit more than survival… that is what I carry when the terraces are empty and the forges are still."

His gaze met hers, steady and unwavering. "It is not an easy path, and I do not pretend it is. But it is ours, and it is necessary. What you left behind has grown stronger, Veyla, and it waits for those willing to see it through—not for themselves, but for the culture that defines us."

The wind tugged again, scattering strands of hair across his face. His shoulder brushed hers just enough, silent and deliberate. "Duty like this," he murmured, "it is not something you abandon. It is something you live, every moment, until Concord Dawn—and all it represents—stands unbroken."

Veyla Krinn