Private Black Heart Inertia

[Lucien Dooku]

NIV MYRMIDON // TASK FORCE DOOKU | NIRAUAN SYSTEM
L.E.S. | Thilde Yahl ​

---

Wounded men lined the corridors, bloodied and lying in agony as they awaited treatment or transfer to the NIV Myrmidon's medbay. The battle for New Carannia had been costly for the Imperials, but it was the men of Nirauan who bled the most on that fateful day. Countless men and women died to the Mawite's relentless assault, thousands lost in the initial advance, the streets of New Carannia now littered with the corpses of both defender and attacker alike. Thousands more would fall in the fierce conflict that followed, battling the Mawites tooth and nail to defend their home in spite of the odds they faced.

Brutal fighting ripped the city asunder, tearing down the once-proud beacon of freedom from the pedestal it was sat upon. There were far too many numbers for Lucien to calculate; far too many lives for one man to process in the aftermath of a battle that he participated directly in himself. Administrators and Aides shuffled through the medbay doors, weaving their way across the splayed out wounded until their wounded leader had been reached. They presented datapads to the wounded King, presenting more figures for him to digest, and more orders that needed to be authorized. The worst of the wounded had been brought up to his fleet, after all, but with so many injured still remaining on the ground, it was unsurprising that further requests for aid had been dispatched to his command.

"Send word to the Imperial Fleet." Lucien sighed heavily, forcing the words out through gritted teeth at first. Adrenaline kept him going, despite his body warning him through the constant aches and pains that pinged up and down his frame. "...I'm requesting immediate authorization to transfer as many of the Sector Army's wounded into the care of the Imperial Naval forces in the region. Order our shuttles to begin loading up our boys immediately-- I'll deal with the flack if they've got an issue." He forced out his trademark grin if only to ease the minds of the bureaucrats crowded around him. Reports were still filtering in, but Lucien had reached his limit for the time being. A hand waved at the surrounding officials, dispersing them from the overcrowded medbay along with the stress that they brought.

He readjusted himself in his bed, rising up into a seated position with another visible wince that brought a twitch to his left eye. That same eye focused upon the now-missing hand on his right wrist, removed once more in a twisted sense of irony by Solipsis himself. He almost wanted to laugh, now that it was all said and done. If it were not for the phantom pains that ached his missing hand, or the broken ribs that he felt jabbing into his side, perhaps a bit of catharsis was just about what he needed.

"Fething hell." He clicked his teeth, eyes darting around to the understaffed team of medical personnel and their accompanying droids. "What's the ETA on that medical team?" Luc called out across the room, the Chief Medical Officer briefly scanning his dataslate before offering the wounded King a shrug of the shoulders. A call for further medical aid had been dispatched to their allies on all channels, but so far the promised assistance had yet to arrive.

With his remaining hand pressed against the bed, Lucien lifted himself off the bed, stifling the pain oscillating through his nerves in order to lift himself off the bed, and back onto his feet. It hurt to breathe, let alone move without howling like a Lothwolf to the moon, but it had to be done. He slowly made his way through the medbay, stopping near the least wounded and doing what he could to help. One-handed and injured, he did what he could with what little ability he had in the force-skill known as healing. It wasn't much, but the sight of their Warlord on his feet was enough to raise the collective morale of the room. Not drastically by any means, but the deathly chill in the air had eased up ever so subtly.

But Luc wasn't a fool, and he knew that the situation was growing dire by the minute. Mounting numbers of wounded were being carted into the corridors to await treatment, and without aid from the greater Imperial fleet, many of his men were bound to die an agonizing death in the cold, metal halls of his ship. He gripped at his side once more, his shoulder pressed against the wall as he took a break from his efforts to try and catch his breath, as much as his injuries would allow. The moaning whine of the wounded drew his attention back towards the unfolding chaos, and he shuffled away from the wall with a soft smile forced to his lips, returning back to helping out where he could -- when he could -- before his lungs would finally give in.

Bang.

He hit the floor face first, adding another laceration to an ever-growing list of injuries. ​

 

[Thilde Yahl]

The Moon
Thilde
IMPERIAL KNIGHT

​

The star-stricken seas had parted, a modest path cut through the heavens nurtured a glimmer of hope against its chest, ushering it from the fringes of space-time to the present, the here and now, where it was she was needed. Nirauan had been far, too far for her to reach, and the battle brought to crashing crescendo long before she had arrived. Now came the aftermath, the graven duty requiring courage cut from a different cloth- the sort born from conflict's twin sister, her face unmarked by scar and tumult; grace. Piety. Solidarity. Empathy. The teachings of the twin sister were the guidance of her path, the gentle chorus resonating from her soul, and the very tenderness she had offered to the displaced peoples left in the devastation of battles prior. She had been too late to support her brothers and sisters through the throes of The Maw's conquest, but her untimely arrival would not impede her tending to them in the end. Or what was left of them, at least.

Beyond the entwining docks of the passing ships, Thilde stood, awaiting with her eyes closed for the indicator to pass through the airlock and board the NIV Myrmidon, where she was to join the medical teams in saving who she could and gently ushering those she could not to the other side. It was a duty she had devoted herself to whole-heartedly, never mistaking or stumbling over her purpose or chasing after the reason for it, merely it was her compassion which drove her to act, and her actions which carved the path of marbled alabaster she ventured. Overhead the PA alerted the way was secure, and at once, did she animate to drift through the pass, her delicate steps carrying her with medical retinue onto the mighty vessel.

Her arrival saw her spring to work immediately and beneath the delicate motions of her fingers and the gentle call through The Force, was she able to repair devastation, restoring what was taken, and soothing the turbulent soul of one green-skinned soldier who had nearly lost it all. Brought to her attention next was a man alongside the mirialan, a body broken beyond hopes of a traditional repair. Her miraculous works sent soothing waves coursing from her Presence alone, quieting down the worst of the moaning and crying, until much of the bay designated for the ground troopers had grown quiet and still, those influenced enough by her calming call lulled into a restful, regenerative sleep. It was a taxing gesture, but a necessary one, and the strain she would pay gladly a thousand times over if it meant easing the suffering of the soldiers who risked it all to maintain their way of life.

Thilde drew back from the crowded bedside of a man who had lost his legs, his body too scored by concussive shock to restore, and she could not bring herself to make the call that would condemn him to suffer for the rest of his days. A MOAB, she had been told. Seeing it now, she believed it. This man was not the only one clinging to the very threads of life with his innards bleeding out of him. She could mend him, healing him with the mysticism she possessed, but it would cost him much of his ways, and even with her intervention, he would endure the torment of his wounds until his last natural breath. He was in his death throes, numbed by needle, and left to whatever it was fate was going to provide him. Rather than lay healing hands upon him, the sephi gently rested her fingers against his, conjuring up a smile against the abysmal depths encircling the medbay from all sides, and fixed her moonlit eyes upon his own. "It's okay now, your watch is over brother," she cooed, "you can rest." Against hers, his fingers twitched, an attempt at a response, but confirmation that he understood what it was she was saying to him. Slowly did their locked gaze break, his leaden lids too heavy to lift any longer, and he slipped away.

It was as simple as that, sometimes. Reassurance that it was all alright, that these men did not have to be strong anymore, was all they needed in the end. Beside her, the doctor dialed the date and time into the patient's log, and she left the group there, drawn by intangible strands to heed the silent call of another weary soul. This one felt... different. It fluttered and struggled to stay above the rocks, a sparrow with a fractured wing, fighting for its last to hold onto what little strength it could summon. Like a moth to a flame, the cleric was pulled to it, and it was only after she stepped beyond the veil of curtained rows that she spotted him. The King of Serenno himself. Pale brows knit together, her lips slipping into a delicate frown. Even from this distance, she could see it, she could feel it, he should not have been away from his bed. His energy was spent, his body broken, and though he fought against it valiantly, one could only push himself so far before the inevitable-

Crash.​

Pale strands fluttered over her shoulders as she rushed forward, reaching him before the other attendants did. "Sh sh..." she coaxed across a velvet tongue, the melody of her voice carrying clarity through the burden he bore, "here, please let me help you, Your Majesty." Tender hands reached for his shoulders, the Knight dutifully accepting his weight, "Can you stand up, sir?" She paid him the respect he was due, even given the tumult around his position and claim, and handled him with dignity, allowing him to arise on his own terms. Pale lashes fluttered, her frown shifting into an expression of sincerity when she looked to him, "We got your call, we are here to help. You have done so much for your men already, please, let me do what I can for you now."

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NIV MYRMIDON // TASK FORCE DOOKU | NIRAUAN SYSTEM
L.E.S. | Thilde Yahl ​

---

An angel.

That's who he was to the people of his worlds. But truthfully he was nothing more than a man with a vision, and the diligence to fight for the right of others to dream. He was a collection of pieces gathered together from multiple puzzles, fitted together in an amalgamation for the galaxy's eyes to see. A Champion of Hope, standing vigilant against the ever-encroaching darkness, presenting himself as the Light within the Darkness itself.

Deriving his strength from not just within, but the people themselves who put their faith within his vision, Lucien sometimes felt the moniker was too much for one man to bear. The weight of worlds, and the hope of people who numbered in the millions, had befallen a boy who quickly had to grow into a man. Embracing this version of himself proved the most logical path forwards, despite the insecurities he kept tucked deep within his mind.

For a time this persona proved effective, even convincing himself that the stoic guardian of the people was truly who he was. But in the aftermath of Coruscant, and the desolation of Nirauan, that vision had been shattered to pieces, no longer a form which he could present to the people in good conscious. His wings had been clipped, leaving the angel within to watch helplessly as the sky no longer seemed like home.

Lucien tried to remind himself to be steadfast in the face of adversity, and so he did just that. Rising to his feet despite the pain, visiting the wounded and applying what healing he could to their wounds. But no amount of resolve could prop up a body that'd been broken to pieces.

Even angels had their limits, and this one was broken, or so it seemed to be.

Lucidity escaped him as his frame collapsed to the floor. The barrier between the force and the material overlapped through the entropy of his thoughts, bringing him to the edge of oblivion where his conscious remained shackled. He felt lost, but despair no longer overcame his thoughts. Cold as it was within the frigid confines of his mental prison, a light appeared through the dark, signaling him in the same vein that he once truly believed he did upon others.

Brilliant incandescence washed over his mind, appearing from a source that seemed all too familiar, yet unrecognizable all the same. It burrowed through the darkness, warmth spreading through the cracks in his fragile shell, breaking the shackles that confined him deep within the recesses of his mind. Reaching through the darkness as if a hand outstretched to grasp his own, Lucien was no longer alone in the purgatory that he created for himself. Latching onto the presence, he found a way out through the twilight of his own perdition. His senses slowly returned to normal, the thin veil between reality and the immaterial being rendered anew.

A voice awaited him on his return from the beyond, sanguine notes pitched with underlying tones of melody filling his ears. The ambiance of the wounded seemed to disperse in the presence of this individual, who coaxed him to his feet with a tender embrace. The discomfort of his injuries lessened as he became more cognizant of the world around him, growing sure-footed enough to stand on his own two feet. Entwined together as they stood, it took him longer than necessary to break the enfolding of her helpful embrace. Amber eyes shifted upon his savior, beholden to the sight of the woman who brought him out of the bleak existence of his nihility.

Her words had almost failed to register, the injured King being far too bemused by the sight of an Angel to do anything but peer through to the woman's soul.

A long silence followed before anything was said in return for the kindness she offered. Enchanted by the spirit this woman possessed, the ivory features of his savior were second-fiddle to what she possessed within.

"Thank you." He spoke up, peering down upon the angel before his eyes with a mixture of awe and curiosity. "I'd-" He paused, remembering the missing hand below his right wrist. "I'd offer to shake your hand, but-" Lucien presented the mess of synthskin and wire that was once his prosthesis. He lowered the husk of a destroyed prothesis back down towards his side, extending his remaining hand towards the woman.

"Lucien is fine, please." He continued, lips curling into a faint smirk. "..But my friends call me Luc."

​

 

[Thilde Yahl]

The Moon
Thilde
IMPERIAL KNIGHT
Lucien Dooku

​

Beneath the snowy exterior, the sephi felt the torqued vice around her gut ease, the worst of her worries abated by the fact he managed to stand without relying too heavily on her, and that he understood what she had said to him at all. Pools of crystalline blue shimmered up at his, the woman naturally tip-toeing on the edge, concerned he may just collapse once again. His gratitude earned a tender smile and a brief nod of her head, the music of her voice put to rest while he continued to speak, introducing himself personally, much to her relief. Formal titles and stations often made her line of work messier and she was far from the type to woefully elbow her way through his attendants and handlers to tend to him. His establishment showed his permission outright, and by extension, seemed to lax the air around the Knight, and the stances of those who had all but chased after her when they realized it was he who struck the floor.

"Lucien," Thilde hummed gently, "Though I'm sure I'll adapt in time, pardon my more formal habits until then." Both of her hands reached to take his, clasping around the offered gesture with a grasp as silken as the words she spoke, "My name is Thilde Yahl, though Thilde is what most call me... my friends often prefer Tilly." Her touch ushered the relief of her passive channel, the woman an active conduit for esoteric, and such effects would be made known to him immediately. "Well, Lucien, you split your eyebrow open fiercely when you were attacked by the floor, I suppose that's a good place for me to start, isn't it?" The Knight tested her own humor, mirroring his attitude in her approach, and thereafter reflex beckoned her hand to rise slowly, each fluid motion made was done so with the consideration to avoid startling or surprising those she acted toward. The edge of the woman's pale thumb grazed the bothered skin just beneath his fresh wound to brush away the trickling stain before its sting would reach his eye.

"While I can't help your cybernetic hand unfortunately, I can see to the rest of your injuries before I return to the bay. Though your heart bleeds for them," Thilde turned in partial, gesturing toward the rows of wounded men arranged into the tight space, "theirs bleeds for you, too. They need you strong." Gossamer poured over her robed shoulder, shimmering with pearled incandescence from the lights overhead, and once more, her eyes were upon his, "Leading by example is the best thing you can do right now, if I may say so." Thilde cast a nod over his shoulder, her eyes wandering to peer down the hall in search of the room he was supposed to be resting in, "Starting now, by returning to your room and telling me what happened.. and not attacking the floor on the way back there." She couldn't help but giggle hushedly and lifted a hand to catch the sound before it could disturb those who slumbered nearby.

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NIV MYRMIDON // TASK FORCE DOOKU | NIRAUAN SYSTEM
SXTPE | Thilde Yahl ​

---

A smile forced its way onto his lips the moment she responded with his name. It was a natural reaction, given the circumstances he found himself in at the moment. She had swooped in without notice, bringing with her the aid that had been denied to them earlier, and delivered the injured King from the furthest edge of the darkness, no doubt a remnant of his battle against Solipsis. Just thinking about it the lives that had been lost in their quest to sow destruction across the galaxy drew his ire, amber eyes flaring in introspection of what had been lost.

It was sickening to think the mind, and to the body, to consider the souls that he could not save. Collateral was inevitable, yet even in the battle's aftermath, Lucien found himself unwilling to accept the loss. Deeper into the recesses of his thoughts he went, retreating to a place where the anger and sorrow could not reach. He would've stayed there, were it not for the touch that embraced his hand. Soft as it was, shielding his battle-worn hand between her own, it was electric.

He found himself lost once more within those pallid eyes, coarse fingers involuntarily curling up into her palm. "Thilde Yahl." He repeated it back a few times until the name flowed off his tongue properly. "...Yeah, I've got it. I like it." Lucien couldn't help but smile, the wound above his eye being of no consequence, if that meant he'd have to let loose of her hand. It was unfortunate that the moment would end as quickly as it began, the brief magnetism he felt coursing through their digits beginning to dissipate into the ether.

Seconds passed as their eyes connected and parted, joining together for a moment, then separating once again. Time condensed into a series of moments from the point where their hands entwined, her words coalescing into a concordant melody to his ears. She spoke of his men, the wounded and surviving soldiers of Nirauan, and how they too shared his pain. It was a hard sell, to tell a man who leads that the best course of action was to sit by and wait. Had the words been spoken by anyone else, perhaps Lucien wouldn't have believed them, instead choosing to push himself to the brink once again.

But he did.

He gave a nod when she suggested he return to his room. His medical quarters were more than adequate, far too much for his liking. "It's down the hall, six doors down to the left." Lucien led the way, defiant to the stinging pain that emanated from his ribs. Lucien found himself peering over his shoulder, ensuring the fair soul accompanying him was still there. He didn't know why, nor did he feel the need to question it either. She had come to him in his time of need, dragging the damaged man from teetering too close to the oblivion that sought to consume his fate.

"Thanks, Tilly. Not just for this, but for your team, and saving who you could." He was somber, yet filled with an acceptance that had been missing before. The bleakness of their reality no longer brought fear to the heart of the undaunted, the Warrior-King of Serenno. A brief drift down the hall brought them to their destination in no time at all. The gaudy quarters clearly show the attempts by others to remove some of the more ostentatious fittings, with the most expensive item left in the room being the bottle of bourbon situated on his table.

A cessation of noise created a small void in their interaction, the quiet calm of his room being the first time he'd been segregated from the sounds of the wounded and dying. "I've become a King within a crumbling castle." Lucien spoke up, limping his way across to the table and pouring himself a drink. The grimace on his face was evident as he attempted to swallow the liquid, a slight cough being muffled in order to prevent any further embarrassment on his part.

"My home was destroyed by the Sith, in our efforts to reclaim it. Now the home I built for others to be safe, has been destroyed." He ambled across to the bed, leaning back against the foot of it. "I promised to protect these people-- all of them. Now their homes lie in ruin, their brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers dead. I can't bring them back, and I can't even promise them their homes. I've failed to become the paragon they wished me to be, and now I'm unsure if they'll depend upon my rule in the future."

He sipped at the sweet, fiery liquid once again.

Another wince later, and golden eyes resettled upon the perfect visage that accompanied him.

"...But you have my thanks, and the gratitude of my people. You're a true angel, unbroken, unlike myself."
​

 

[Thilde Yahl]

Procession
Thilde
IMPERIAL KNIGHT
Lucien Dooku

​

The pale knight followed him, her crystal eyes rarely venturing from his form to their surroundings. She was concerned, not just for him, but for The Empire as a whole. Greater stakes were at play, as ever, the destruction of Nirauan had been, perceivably, the beginning. It had all begun some time ago now, the next grave threat had arrived guised as one of their own- a traitor amidst their ranks. The damage had been devastating, the wounds still healing even now, and for the first time since her oath, Thilde had been rattled by the thunder shaking the foundations of the Iron Empire. These were the thoughts she kept to herself, she buried them down, holding them where others could not see, upon the penumbral edge of her psyche untouched by outsiders. They were confined to their quarters, compartmentalized away where her healing faith was unscathed, yet it did little to spare her from their creep regardless.

He was a bastion of his people, he always had been, a man worthy of admiration, one she had heard stories of from times before her enlistment. He was a Hero of Kyber Dark, a champion of his people, and often the solitary voice of compassion around The Grand Assembly table, a position which had seen him on the backfoot now that the only other compassionate Warlord had sprouted scales and slithered off into the dark. Beyond her masque of hopeful consideration, Thilde wrestled with the questions she wanted to ask him, knowing now was not the time for them. She could pry and delve into his mind later when he permitted it; physical wounds were the priority at the moment.

Crystalline lights glistened briefly over the lay of the room, the sephi acquainting herself with what means were available to her, and she watched him move to claim a drink and settle into comfort at the foot of his bed. The silence allowed to linger and blossom between them was welcome in way, it allowed for her to arrange the complexities churning within her mind into some semblance of order. There was no denying what he said, no lie to be found within his words, and no shortage of pain in his lamentation. The recognition of this pursed her pale lips and she merely nodded curtly, a gesture made to show her attention was still upon him, and her understanding was in equal-measured supply. She could not stop the passive reach through the silvered strands tangling the two of them, her heart stretching to share in his burden beyond her control.

His pain, his remorse, and his grief all etched themselves into the lining of her emotions and dared no further. Where he reclined against the foot of the bed, the cleric moved to stand at the foot outright, and finally patted the softened cover with splayed fingers. "Let me take a look at you properly." The woman found it within herself to sigh softly and was drawn by magnetism to position herself in front of him, where her hands soon rested upon his shoulders. The starry light of her twilight eyes grasped after the wounded amber of his, gazing deeper into the throes of his agony to uproot the source of his pain, and nurture stillness where chaos had begun to take shape. The tranquil might she possessed was offered to him, her snowy feathers parting to expose an oasis in the seemingly endless storm. Light resided there, dancing through the dwindling clouds, and with it came otherworldly enlightenment.

"A King is a King for as long as his people allow him to be, I can think of no better King than one who toils alongside them in their affairs. You did everything you could, I know that, and they know that. The only one holding you in contempt is yourself, please, you mustn't fret so. Now is not the time for despair, to let the Darkness bubble up and flood your reasoning, now is the time to recuperate and exercise patience and tenderness with yourself." The melody of her voice rang true, the very belief in what she said was carried by the effortlessness of how she spoke, "Be upset, be angry, it is as productive as you can be with the way things are right now. And giving yourself time to rest is not wasting time, nor is it being idle, it's doing everything you can at the moment, and that is all anyone can ask of you, yourself included."

The cleric withdrew one hand slowly, reaching down to hover it just over his wounded side, where she sensed his pain was perhaps the most severe. "Close your eyes and breathe with me," she murmured, stealing away her sight with the draw of a slow breath inward. Assuming he would accept her counsel, the sephi delved into the font of energy she still bore and allowed it to flow to her fingertips. Ethereal light bloomed from the hand outstretched, and with it came the warmth and soothe of loving touch, ushered through The Force. "You may be wounded Luc, but you are not out of this fight, and we need you now more than ever..." the healer mused softly.

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NIV MYRMIDON // TASK FORCE DOOKU | NIRAUAN SYSTEM
L.E.S. | Thilde Yahl ​

---

Stillness permeated through the air, enveloping the two in its tranquil embrace as each took place where the fates deemed most comfortable. The sorrow that filled his heart struck true to the core, reverberating into the crevices of his mind to bring forth emotion he long tried to suppress. What could Lucien truly say, besides what he'd already set free? He owed thousands of apologies to those who remained, and thrice that number to those who were lost. Nothing he could say would bring back the dead, nor would it make him capable of preventing more death in the future.

Stoicism disappeared once these thoughts crept upwards through their dark chasm, moving centerfold, where hope had once stood strong. "I..." Lucien tried to speak; he wanted to find something to say; he wanted to justify himself, his thoughts, and the decisions he'd made. Something to make the pain subside, and to ward off the nightmares that seemed to only grow in intensity with each passing year. The horrors of warfare had turned a boy into a man, chiseling him from its hard-wrought marble with neither blemish nor stain.

Cracks had long since begun to form, creeping their way from deep within the otherwise angelic aura he exuded. There truly was no was end to the chaos, he'd long since thought a plethora of times. Somehow Lucien had fooled himself into believing he could run away from his reality once more, to escape the future he'd carved with his own two hands. He didn't want to be King, nor an Imperial Warlord anymore. He just wanted to live as he did all those years ago before reality set in, and the fates deemed his path in life would change. It was maddening to his mind, his thoughts a discordant brew of emotions and past mistakes.

Exasperated by it all, he was overwhelmed with the struggles of the living, envious of the dead for their ability to rest. Tears would have flowed, had they not dried out in the years-long past. It was a shame, really, but also a blessing, for he wasn't sure if he could take the release of his sorrow when the demons in his closet were so powerful.

Then once more, he felt it.

Growing with the intensity of a turbulent fire, it rose from deep within as a result of the angel who presented herself to the fallen Paragon of Light. Sorrow diffused itself, retreating away from her ambient light, and freeing his consciousness from its shackling embrace. His gaze moved upwards, moving up the Sephi until amber mixed with alabaster, coalescing within their respective sights. It was electrifying each time they touched, verging on the edge of magnetic, as he found her drawn to him, and him to her. Thilde offered words delivered by the tongue of a siren, yet no falsehoods could be interpreted in what she said. Even more, he believed them or at least found them easier to accept as his mind was afforded a respite from the veil of darkness.

A nod was given, as she finished speaking, and his eyes closed shut in response to her query. His breathing slowed to a quiet pace, growing fastly harmonious with Thilde's own pace. He could feel her presence once more, the metaphysical aspects of it at least. The force reached out to touch him, to heal him, shrouding him in the warm embrace of her Light as it mended his wounds. Already he could feel the pressure in his chest being relieved, which was evidently reflected in being able to breathe easier.

Where her light would surround him, so too would she notice his in return. Imposing itself upon the room, it was powerful, filled with the proud spirit of the man standing before her. It radiated brilliantly, almost as much as the woman before him, presenting the true spirit of Lucien, the Paragon whose flame never burned out. Coalesced with her own, he could feel her through the force, watching the strands of the immaterial weave themselves together, forming a crystalline picture of the beauty before his eyes. He reached out through this web of energy, piecing together the strands until he conceptualized his own self as well, reaching out to grasp onto her through the force.

"Thank you."

She heard, the voice reaching out to her mind clearly originating from Lucien. There was still silence outside the realms of their minds, but for the moment, he couldn't feel more content.


​