First Reply Corrections | Ilum

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ilum

Equipment:
Winter Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The storm didn't not greet him, it endured him. Wind tore across the frozen plains in long, violent sweeps, dragging sheets of powdered ice over stone as if trying to scour the surface clean. Ace stood unmoving at the edge of a fractured ridge.

Ilum was quiet in a way that almost felt purposeful. He reached outward through the Force. The surface was thin, but beneath it, deeper than the ice, something vast and old pressed back against his awareness. It wasn't welcoming, but it was aware.

He hadn't come here for ceremony. Remowa 's lightwhip still lived in his memory: three filaments carving arcs through the air, angles multiplying faster than a single blade could answer. He had adjusted. He had survived. But survival was not dominance. Lysander von Ascania 's intervention had tilted the outcome.

That fact sat in his mind like stone. Ace didn't hate Golden Boy for it, he hated inefficiency. Exhaling once, he stepped forward. The Force shifted as he descended into the canyon, and he felt the Dark within him respond in turn, sharpening. He didn't suppress it, nor indulge it. It was a tool, nothing more.

Ice walls rose around him in cathedral arches of pale blue crystal. Wind died the deeper he went, replaced by a hum so faint it could have been imagination. He stopped and closed his eyes. He let the anger settle from the surface down into its controlled place, controlled and focused.

The hum changed, subtly, the ice beneath his boots vibrated once, then stilled. Ace's eyes opened and a hairline fracture split the cavern wall ahead, faint light bleeding through the seam... Calling.

The air tightened, not in welcome. In challenge. The Force coiled around the fissure like a drawn wire, pressure building in the silence. The deeper resonance beneath Ilum stirred; old, watchful, weighing the intent that had stepped onto sacred ground carrying war in its pulse.

Ace didn't move immediately. He simply stared at the fracture in the ice. Then, without breaking eye contact, he began walking toward it.​

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

ILUM
The Crystal Caverns

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The sound of a delicate hammer and chisel nudging upon the cavernous ice would gradually grace the young Acier's ears. As he drew closer, the wind outside would cease drowning it out, revealing the truth: he was not alone.

Yet the source of the noise was blissfully unaware. His focus was upon a crystal embedded within the ice, of purple hue. His tools were quietly at work, shaving ice away from the jewel, careful not to damage or disturb it as he went about its extraction.

The crystal would make for a fine addition to his next project. And thus, it needed to be handled with the utmost care. Thus, Darth Metus toiled, mind focused on the singular task, until the embers of his son's darkness tugged at his mind.

There was no mistaking it.

The rhythm of his tools slowed, then ceased. Frost dusted the black leather of his gloves, and a thin curl of breath rose from his lips as he considered the familiar presence that pressed against his awareness. It was disciplined, sharpened, but it carried unrest beneath the surface, a note he knew as intimately as his own pulse.

Darth Metus turned, sulfuric eyes cutting through the blue-lit cavern until they found the young hero’s silhouette standing beyond the fractured seam. His posture remained relaxed, one hand still resting lightly upon the haft of the chisel, the other lowering the small hammer to his side. The purple crystal remained embedded behind him, half freed from its frozen cradle.

His brow lifted with mild curiosity, as though this were an incidental meeting rather than the echo of blades and fury left unresolved.

“Kyber for your thoughts?”​

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ilum

Equipment:
Winter Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The presence reached him before the sound did, pressing against his awareness like a scar he had long since stopped bleeding from but never stopped feeling. The embers within him stirred in recognition: disciplined, sharpened, yet powerful, answering something equally precise across the cavern.

By the time the delicate rhythm of hammer and chisel reached his ears, he already knew who waited ahead. Of course. Of all the worlds. Of all the caverns carved from ice and memory. Ace stepped through the fractured seam and into the blue-lit chamber.

His eyes found him immediately. Black leather dusted with frost. Tools held with patience. And behind him, half freed from its frozen cradle, a purple kyber crystal humming faintly in the cold.

Ace's gaze lingered on it for half a breath longer than necessary. Purple. What was he building now? The question flickered and died just as quickly. Whatever project required a crystal of that hue, he didn't care.

The Force truly had a sense of humor. First Kenji Verd and now Metus again? A faint smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, utter disbelief. He should have expected it.

His father turned. Sulfuric eyes cut through the cavern's glow and found him without effort. Relaxed. Unhurried. As if this were incidental. As if it were not the echo of everything left unresolved between them.

Ace didn't reach for his hilt or widen his stance. He simply continued forward, the air tightening as he passed the older man's line of sight, but he did not divert his path. He was not here for him. He was here for the crystal that called beneath the ice.

"I don't have time for this."

Irritation edged his voice, low and steady. A statement of inconvenience more than challenge. His gaze drifted past Darth Metus, deeper into the cavern, feeling for the fracture in the Force that had answered him earlier.

Whatever the Force intended by placing his father here, Ace had no intention of indulging it.

He took another step forward.

Isley Verd​

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

ILUM
The Crystal Caverns

The Sith watched as his son responded, all but brushing him off. This was what he was used to, sadly. At best, his children wanted nothing to do with him and gave him a wide berth, just as Acier was doing now. At worst, they made it a point to try and kill him. It was a rarity that his children wanted anything to do with him, no matter how hard he tried.

As the young hero walked by, the Sith turned his attention back to the ice, attempting to focus once more upon his work, upon the careful chiseling that had almost liberated the purple crystal from the cold. The hammer met the chisel with quiet precision, the sound measured and restrained, yet his focus did not settle as easily as before. It bothered him, more than he would ever allow to show. A slow breath left his lungs, visible in the frigid air, and the rhythm faltered. He lowered the tool. He turned.

“I’m sorry.”​

The words carried without adornment, striking the cavern walls and returning in softened echoes. He did not raise his voice, nor did he temper it with pride. He simply let it stand.

“When you last stood before me...” he continued, sulfuric eyes steady upon his son’s back, “I was out for blood. I was out to avenge your sister. I saw only the grave that had been carved for her, and I wanted the galaxy to answer for it.”

His jaw tightened briefly, then eased.

“And when I saw you, I assumed it would be as it has always been. Another of my own who would want nothing to do with me, or worse. So I did what I know how to do. In the thirty minutes I had with you, I tried to give you what would keep you alive.”

His gaze sharpened, not with menace, but with conviction remembered.

“To never break, even when facing a god. You did not break.”

A faint exhale slipped from him. He folded his arms across his chest, posture neither defensive nor imposing, simply grounded. With a subtle motion of his hand, he indicated the path ahead, the deeper pull within the ice that had called to Acier first.

“I will not interrupt your path further.” he said evenly. “But I would not let silence speak for me again.”

With that, he turned back to the frozen wall, lifting hammer and chisel once more, intent on plinking away at the ice as though nothing else in the galaxy demanded his attention.​

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ilum

Equipment:
Winter Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The apology crossed the cavern like a hairline fracture spreading through ice. It didn't shatter anything. It didn't demand reaction. It just settled there... impossible to ignore and forcing Ace to stop.

He didn't turn, gaze remaining fixed ahead, on the deeper pull beneath the cavern, but his attention shifted entirely. Metus's words replayed once in his mind, testing for tone. For deception or strategy, but he found none, that unsettled him more than anger would have.

Each sentence that followed landed with measured weight. There was no self-righteousness, no justification masquerading as virtue. Just... a raw vulnerability he'd never expect to see in his father.

"You did not break.”

That was when he turned, just enough to look over his shoulder. Brown eyes met sulfuric ones through the cold haze of the cavern, surprise flickered there before he could bury it. Endurance had always been framed as stubbornness. As recklessness. As defiance. His survival was usually treated like a liability waiting to collapse. No one had ever named it like that.

The boy on Bonadan would have held onto those words like oxygen. The man standing in Ilum did not. He studied his father in silence, Metus folded his arms, indicated the path ahead, and assured he wouldn't "interrupt" his path any further. The cavern fell quiet again and Ace didn't move.

The Force hummed faintly around the half freed purple crystal behind Metus, around the fracture deeper within the ice that still called to him. Silence stretched between them, heavy with years unspoken.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before. Less irritated. More deliberate.

"She loved you, you know." He said, turning fully now. "Orryn."

He let his words stretch between them for a small moment, then continued:

"I read her journal... She never stopped. Why did you leave her?"

There was no accusation, or even rage in his tone. The question wasn't for himself, but for a mother who'd ran through the night carrying her child into exile.

Isley Verd​

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

ILUM
The Crystal Caverns

The crunch of boots upon frozen stone carried through the cavern, sharp and unmistakable. When his son turned, Darth Metus returned his attention to him without hesitation. The hammer and chisel lay motionless at his side, forgotten for the moment, his sulfuric gaze steady and unguarded as it met the young man’s eyes.

He saw the surprise there, the fracture in certainty that had not yet sealed. And then the name was spoken.

Orryn.

A slow sigh left him, quiet but deep, the sound threading through the cold air.

“I came to Dathomir as a refugee.” he said at last, voice low and even, stripped of artifice. “Mandalore was purging its Force wielders. My first attempt at leading the Southern Systems had collapsed in fire. Everywhere I went, I was hunted, by Mandalorians, by bounty hunters, by ghosts of my own making. So I went to my mother’s people and I sought sanctuary.”

His gaze drifted briefly to the purple crystal embedded behind him, then returned to his son.

“I found Orryn there. Or perhaps she found me.”

There was no smile in it, only memory.

“I told her from the beginning that if those hunting me ever closed the distance, I would have to leave. Not only to save myself, but to save her. The ones who wanted my head would not have spared her for being innocent. They would have made an example of her.”

Another breath left him, colder than the air itself.

“I let my guard down. I allowed myself to believe the hunt had finally ended. I allowed myself to love her, and to be loved in return. I believed I had found a home that could not be taken.”

His jaw tightened briefly before he continued.

“They came in the night. Hunters. I fought them. I defended our home. And when it was done, I left before dawn. I left so they would remain fixed upon my trail and never think to circle back toward her.”

His eyes did not waver.

“I had no opportunity to explain. By the time the hunt finally burned itself out, she was already beyond my reach. I returned to Dathomir years later and searched for her. I could not find her. Perhaps she did not wish to be found. Perhaps her family shielded her from me. I do not know.”

He lifted his dominant hand then, gesturing toward Acier with a quiet intensity that did not seek to command, only to confess.

“If I had known she was waiting?” he said, voice lowering further, “If I had known you existed, everything would have been different.”

His hand fell back to his side.

“I cannot unmake the past. I cannot erase the decisions that carved the road that brought me here. But if you give me a chance, Acier.” he said, the name spoken with deliberate care, “I will not make you regret it. Not for a single moment.”​

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ilum

Equipment:
Winter Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace listened, eyes unmoving, locked on to his father's. Mandalore purging its Force wielders, the Southern Systems collapsing in fire, hunters in the night. He reassembled his mother's history in real time... it was all now layered with something he had never considered: pursuit. Political failure. A war he had not known.

How long ago was that? He wondered. How old had Metus been when he'd run? When his father spoke of leaving to keep her safe if the hunt returned, something tightened in Ace's jaw.

He thought of Ukatis. Of Fatine. Of the unspoken contingency he had already built into his life, if the Covenant grew too dangerous, he would sever contact. Clean, brutal, but necessary. Not because he didn't care for her, because he cared too much. The irony did not escape him.

Metus' dominant hand lifted. Ace's eyes tracked it automatically, instinct before thought. What followed, in his eyes, was a wasted sentence. Thinking about what could have been was a luxury children like him didn't get. Hypothetical futures didn't feed you, they didn't change anything. Just bred disappointment.

When the offer came, about second chances, Ace stepped back. It wasn't conscious. His brow lifted slightly, curious rather than hostile. He searched the Force again for manipulation and found none.

"When did you get soft?" He asked at last.

There was no mockery in it, he just couldn't find a more tactful way to ask.

"You being regretful isn't going to undo nineteen years of absence." His gaze sharpened slightly. "Or Altier."

He broke eye contact then, but only to glance down at his hands. He flexed his fingers once, rolling his shoulders slightly as if the stillness itself irritated him. He had always hated standing in unresolved moments.

"But I understand you a little better now. Maybe that's something."

He lifted his eyes again.

"For now, anyway."

This wasn't forgiveness, acceptance, or rejection, he wasn't closing the door either. Ace stood there, not as a son seeking approval or an enemy seeking blood, but as a man deciding what this meant.

Isley Verd​

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

ILUM
The Crystal Caverns

The Sith saw the thought moving behind his son’s eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the careful restraint that kept sharper words from surfacing. He could not discern the full shape of it, nor would he reach into the young man’s mind to force clarity. He had trespassed upon too many things in his lifetime. This would not be one of them. So he stood, silent and steady, and allowed the moment to unfold without interference.

Then came the question.

A low laugh escaped him, unrestrained and genuine, its sound rolling softly through the cavern. It was not cruel, nor dismissive. It carried a note of surprise, perhaps even admiration.

“When did I get soft?” he repeated, amusement lingering in his tone. “My son, this is who I have always been.” His gaze held firm, ancient and unflinching.

“Living for more than a century also takes its toll. Even the harshest stone becomes smooth over time.”

The faint warmth in his expression faded when Acier spoke of absence, of nineteen years that could not be undone, of Altier. The truth of it landed without resistance. Darth Metus inclined his head once in acknowledgment, offering no argument, no defense. His eyes followed his son’s glance downward, noted the flex of fingers, the restless roll of shoulders, then returned to meet his gaze with deliberate care.

“You are right." he said evenly. “Nothing I do will bridge nineteen years." The admission was calm, but it did not lack depth. “The chasm exists. I will not pretend otherwise. But it need not remain as wide as it stands today.”

He lifted his hand once more, not in command, not in insistence, but in simple offering, palm open between them.

“I will be where and how you permit.” he continued, voice measured and unadorned. “I do not imagine we will be making pancakes together or throwing a ball anytime soon.” A faint, fleeting hint of wryness touched his expression before settling again into seriousness. “But if you have need, or want, it will be done.”

His hand lowered slowly to his side.

“I do not ask for absolution. I ask only for the opportunity to stand where you allow me to stand.”​

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ilum

Equipment:
Winter Gear | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's head tilted slightly at his father's answer. It wasn't confusion, more like... recalibration. This is who he'd always been? That didn't align with the idea he'd had of him. The Sith. The tyrant. The shadow in his mother's journal. But it aligned with something else... the man by the lake. The one who listened.

Ace straightened fully, Metus's next words giving him pause. More than a century?

"…How old are you?"

He studied him differently now. Not just as father. Not just as Sith. But as something that had endured longer than Ace had been alive. Longer than Orryn. Longer than nineteen years of absence.

When Metus acknowledged the chasm, didn't argue it, didn't minimize it, Ace felt something unfamiliar stir. Respect. He hadn't adapted to that yet. Isley Verd. Darth Metus. A man who could level cities. A presence some called god, and yet he was choosing restraint. Choosing boundaries.

Ace's gaze dropped to the open palm when it lifted. He watched the hand, steady, unforced, then watched it lower again when no immediate answer came.

The offer lingered between them. Not quite absolution, not quite reconciliation either. Permission. Ace weighed it, truth be told... he didn't know what he wanted. Not yet.

He knew only this: he was done fighting ghosts. Slowly, he stepped forward and extended his hand. An understanding that whatever this became; ally, adversary, something stranger... it would not be dictated by absence or assumption. The board will be cleared, for now.

Isley Verd​