Diarch Rellik
Lord of the Diarchy
The laughter and music of the hall still echoed when Rellik reached out and took her arm, his touch gentle but sure. "Come with me," he said, voice quiet, carrying none of the formality from earlier but a hint of mischief. They slipped out through one of the side corridors, the hum of Aurora Station softening around them. Passing a rack of officer's coats, Rellik tugged the military cap from his head and tossed it onto the corner of a console without a glance back.
The hangar greeted them with low light and the polished hull of his shuttle waiting near the bay doors. He guided her up the ramp, pausing only long enough to open the cockpit door for her. "Up front," he said with a faint smile. "I don't want to ruin any surprises."
Once she settled in, Rellik turned away, boots echoing down the corridor to the back of the ship. When he returned, his jacket was undone, a few buttons loosened at the collar, the rigid lines of uniform fading away to a relaxed demeanor.
In one hand, he held a chilled bottle of wine, condensation glinting against the dim cabin lights. The other two wine glasses paired against each other.
He leaned against the cockpit doorway, the faint hum of the engines filling the silence. "Figured we did not need to stop our celebration on our way down to Bastion. I have a gift for you tonight in my chambers within the spire to celebrate your promotion."
Iandre Athlea