Jasper Blackwood arrived precisely when he intended to.
Not early, there was no need to signal eagerness. Not late, lateness implied disorder. He emerged from the waiting speeder as the hour settled comfortably into its place, the winter air catching briefly at the dark line of his uniform before the garden’s stillness swallowed the sound again.
He paused at the threshold of the Natasi Fortan Memorial Gardens, boots aligned with the marble seam as if the stone itself had been measured for him. For a moment, he simply observed.
Perfection, as promised.
The Galidraani trees stood like honor guards, evergreen boughs framing the procession aisle with practiced symmetry. White and navy pennants moved with disciplined grace in the breeze, their motion restrained, never frantic. Gold-trimmed chairs caught the sun in neat ranks, every line straight, every angle deliberate. Even the scattered petals, navy against pale stone, felt intentional, as if chaos itself had been issued strict instructions and complied.
Above it all loomed the bronzium likeness of the Grand Moff, her shadow stretched long across the garden paths. Jasper inclined his head the barest fraction as he passed beneath her gaze. Respect was owed, whether the metal eyes could see him or not.
The Imperial Commonwealth of Dosuun did not do excess. It did not do sentimentality. It did, however, understand symbolism.
And today’s symbolism was unmistakable.
A Grand Vizier and an industrial magnate. Statecraft bound to production. Authority bound to capability. Jasper allowed himself a thin, private breath through his nose, something close to approval. It was the sort of union strategists wrote memos about and admirals quietly prayed for. Stability dressed as romance. Continuity framed as hope.
He moved down the aisle with unhurried precision, cloak falling cleanly behind him, rank plaques immaculate, gloves tucked beneath one arm. Conversations softened as he passed, not silenced, but acknowledged. A few heads turned. Some with recognition. Some with calculation.
Captain Jasper Blackwood, Imperial Navy.
He had earned his reputation in corridors narrower than these paths and under stars far colder than Avalonia’s forgiving sky. He had commanded destroyers through contested lanes, watched officers crack under pressure and others harden into something useful. Weddings were not his natural environment, but command had taught him adaptability, and diplomacy was merely another theater of operations.
He found his assigned seat without difficulty. Of course he did.
Settling into it, he folded his hands loosely, posture straight but not rigid. His gaze swept the gathering with the same quiet assessment he would give a bridge crew before battle. Heads of state whispered behind carefully neutral smiles. Executives from Aurora Industries stood out in tailored finery that suggested efficiency beneath elegance. Military officers, Commonwealth and otherwise, sat with varying degrees of comfort, some at ease, others clearly resisting the urge to stand at attention.
The altar drew his eye next.
Frost-kissed blooms from Needan climbed the trellis in disciplined arcs, pale against gold-threaded silk imported from Seoul. It was lavish without being indulgent. Expensive without being wasteful. Someone, several someones, likely had overseen this with a meticulous hand.
As they would have had to.
Because Grand Vizier Ivalyn Yvarro did not accept almost.
The hour chimed in the distance, three clear notes cutting gently through the ambient murmur. Jasper’s fingers tightened once, then relaxed. Cameras shifted. Musicians straightened. The garden itself seemed to inhale.
This was not merely a wedding. It was a statement.
That order could endure tragedy.
That strength could coexist with affection.
That the Commonwealth did not merely survive, it built.
Jasper leaned back a fraction, eyes forward now, expression composed into its familiar, unreadable calm. He was here as a guest, yes, but also as a witness, and witnesses had responsibilities. To remember. To understand what was being promised. To carry the meaning of this moment back into the cold reaches of space, where such promises were tested.
Whatever spirits watched today, Empress, Grand Moff, or silent gods of stone and steel, would see that the Commonwealth had chosen unity over fracture.
And Captain Jasper Blackwood, for his part, intended to remember exactly who stood at the center of that choice as the ceremony began.
Aurelian Veruna
