K I N G
CLAN TOSS RESIDENCE, KALEVALA
As the Mandalorian Empire laid its roots, the clans of Mandalore stirred with new life. Some answered the call with immediacy, their vows of loyalty spoken without hesitation, their blades offered in the name of the ancient Resol’nare. To them, the rise of a new Mand’alor was not a moment to question but a mandate to follow, for their ancestors had bound them to this way since the first armor was forged. Yet there were others who chose a slower path, not out of defiance but out of care, seeking not to kneel unseen but to look upon the one they would serve and judge the merit of his vision for themselves. These voices asked for meetings, for the chance to speak plainly of tomorrow before offering their names to the Empire.
Such was the request of Clan Toss. Their name was not one that echoed with the same thunder as others, nor had their banners flown prominently upon the fields of Mandalore’s most storied wars. Instead, they had endured quietly, a presence that never vanished, even if it seldom commanded the spotlight of history. The Nite Owls, whose diligence rarely left stones unturned, reported them as small in number yet steady in purpose, a midst that persisted generation to generation. With the Empire’s ascension, however, they had found the chance to step beyond survival and into prominence, their roots finally nourished by fertile ground. Aether did not know more than this, but it was enough. To break bread with them would be to offer acknowledgment, and acknowledgment was the soil from which loyalty could grow.
The chosen site of their meeting was the verdant world of Kalevala. Unlike the stark ridges of Mandalore proper or the austere reaches of Concordia, Kalevala possessed a gentler touch, its fields and forests weaving together in colors that thrived under the long summer sun. The Toss residence, seated upon high ground overlooking a broad and glassy lake, provided a view that stretched wide into the horizon. It was a place where a clan could breathe freely, unshackled from the pressing demands of war, and Aether regarded it as fitting that this should be the ground upon which first words were shared. For the Empire was not only built by steel and fire, but also by the quiet conviction that families could live, grow, and call something their own.
The descent upon Kalevala was marked by silence within his vessel, the hum of its engines the only constant as the shoreline and lake rose steadily into view. Aether stood at the fore, helm fixed upon the surface below, watching the light of day scatter across the water like countless sparks of beskar in a forge. To see such calm was a reminder of what they sought to preserve, what all their striving and fighting meant. Not every Mandalorian life was destined for the battlefield, nor was every victory won with blood. The peace of this place was not weakness but heritage, one worth defending as surely as the iron crown upon Sundari. When the struts of the craft settled into the earth and the ramp lowered to the appointed pad, he drew a breath that tasted of expectation.
His first command was a simple one. The Supercommandos who had traveled with him would remain at the ship, vigilant as ever but bound to their post. Aether would walk forward without them, for this was not a time for intimidation or parade. Alone he descended, each step steady upon the ramp, the gleam of the estate reflected in the curve of his visor. At its head he came to a halt, not advancing farther until the hosts revealed themselves. He stood as one who came not to demand, but to receive, patient in his bearing. Whatever came next would be shaped not by decree, but by the exchange of words across a table, and that was a foundation he welcomed.
Such was the request of Clan Toss. Their name was not one that echoed with the same thunder as others, nor had their banners flown prominently upon the fields of Mandalore’s most storied wars. Instead, they had endured quietly, a presence that never vanished, even if it seldom commanded the spotlight of history. The Nite Owls, whose diligence rarely left stones unturned, reported them as small in number yet steady in purpose, a midst that persisted generation to generation. With the Empire’s ascension, however, they had found the chance to step beyond survival and into prominence, their roots finally nourished by fertile ground. Aether did not know more than this, but it was enough. To break bread with them would be to offer acknowledgment, and acknowledgment was the soil from which loyalty could grow.
The chosen site of their meeting was the verdant world of Kalevala. Unlike the stark ridges of Mandalore proper or the austere reaches of Concordia, Kalevala possessed a gentler touch, its fields and forests weaving together in colors that thrived under the long summer sun. The Toss residence, seated upon high ground overlooking a broad and glassy lake, provided a view that stretched wide into the horizon. It was a place where a clan could breathe freely, unshackled from the pressing demands of war, and Aether regarded it as fitting that this should be the ground upon which first words were shared. For the Empire was not only built by steel and fire, but also by the quiet conviction that families could live, grow, and call something their own.
The descent upon Kalevala was marked by silence within his vessel, the hum of its engines the only constant as the shoreline and lake rose steadily into view. Aether stood at the fore, helm fixed upon the surface below, watching the light of day scatter across the water like countless sparks of beskar in a forge. To see such calm was a reminder of what they sought to preserve, what all their striving and fighting meant. Not every Mandalorian life was destined for the battlefield, nor was every victory won with blood. The peace of this place was not weakness but heritage, one worth defending as surely as the iron crown upon Sundari. When the struts of the craft settled into the earth and the ramp lowered to the appointed pad, he drew a breath that tasted of expectation.
His first command was a simple one. The Supercommandos who had traveled with him would remain at the ship, vigilant as ever but bound to their post. Aether would walk forward without them, for this was not a time for intimidation or parade. Alone he descended, each step steady upon the ramp, the gleam of the estate reflected in the curve of his visor. At its head he came to a halt, not advancing farther until the hosts revealed themselves. He stood as one who came not to demand, but to receive, patient in his bearing. Whatever came next would be shaped not by decree, but by the exchange of words across a table, and that was a foundation he welcomed.
