Faction Echo of Manda || Mandalorian Empire

[Aether Verd]

LIVING WATERS
"Listen for the Echo of Manda."​

The air was thick with memory.

Not heat. Not moisture. Memory. It clung to the stone like soot from an ancient forge—weighty, invisible, impossible to wash away. Aether Verd stood at the edge of the Living Waters, silent, his visor reflecting the shimmering pool that had borne centuries of myth and blood alike.

Even here—especially here—he said nothing.

The glow of bioluminescent fungi cast faint shadows across the cavern walls, revealing the faint remnants of what had once been sacred ground. The surface above had long crumbled. The original dome of Sundari shattered in more than one age. But down here, this place endured. No throne. No dais. Just the cold echo of water, the whisper of legend, and the ache of the past.

This was where Mand’alor the Great had wrestled a Mythosaur into silence.

This was where the symbol of the Mandalorian people had been forged—not in politics or pyres, but in combat beneath the earth, unseen by all but the stone.

Aether removed his helmet slowly and knelt.

Not to pray. But to listen.

The tremors of the Planeshift still lingered in his bones, as if the galaxy itself had cried out in warning. The Gravesong War had begun, and with it came the unmaking of all things certain. But before he would let his people rise to meet the void—he would first have them remember what they were made of.

The summons had gone out days ago. Not to the armies. Not to the clans. But to a chosen few. Mandalorian Knights. Warriors bound not just by blood, but by purpose.

They would come. Each by their own path, by his instruction alone. And when they reached the Living Waters—when their boots met the stone where myths once bled—he would speak.

But not yet. For now, Aether waited, watching the pool ripple, as if something unseen stirred beneath.

As if the Manda remembered, too.

Cordelia Malkavian , Incitrix , Adonis Angelis IV , Vytal Noctura , Kirae Orade

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

The fires of battle burned across the stars, and Mandalorians moved like shadow and flame, sometimes to snuff those fires out, sometimes to feed them. Adonis Angelis IV had been one of the latter. His time in The Great Heathen Army was not long by measure, but it had already seared his name into more than one warfront. Adonis charged with the Force like a warhead made flesh, scattering ranks of beasts and soldiers alike. His lightsaber and scattergun flowed together like twin flames of the same fire, devastating in close quarters.

In the chaos of the Gravesong War, Adonis had stood on the front lines of more than one turning point. He fought not for glory, but for the only truth he had left: the Creed. The Planeshift had unmoored reality, and war threatened to dissolve what little remained of order, but the Creed? The Creed endured. He would see this through to the end, guarding his aliit, his family, even if the stars themselves bled.

Then came the summons.

It arrived without ceremony, but with all the weight of prophecy. A call from Mand'alor the Iron, a summons you did not question. Among the Mandalorians, it was more than command. It was scripture. It was Resol'nare. To refuse was to break faith with your soul.

And so, even amidst a war-torn galaxy, the Mandalorian Knight turned his ship toward Mandalore.

They were waiting for him. No fanfare. No questions. Just a quiet nod, and a hand pointing toward the path. He walked it alone.

The deeper he traveled, the more the terrain changed. Stone swallowed metal. Air thickened with the scent of mineral and time. What had once been the domain of civilization gave way to something older- primordial, silent, watching. Roots like veins split the path, and Adonis felt his heartbeat slow, as though the world around him demanded reverence.

This was his first pilgrimage. The first time he'd been summoned directly by the Mand'alor. He remembered Taris, and how they had stood together against a darkness that clawed its way from beneath the soil, but this was different. This was not war. This was myth.

As the cavern opened before him, glowing faintly with bioluminescence, the rippling waters came into view.

And so did he.

Aether Verd. Mand'alor the Iron.

He stood at the edge of the pool, silent, eternal. The air around him hummed with something beyond language. It wasn't just reverence, it was reckoning.

Adonis stepped forward. The glow of the cavern caught the crest on his chestplate: the sigil of House Angelis, a fiery compass star. It burned bronze against the dark metal of his beskar, a symbol both noble and defiant. Where many warriors bore clan sigils shaped by generations of Mandalorian tradition, Adonis's was different. An outsider's heraldry, adopted by Creed, not blood.

It made him stand out, and he wore it proudly.

His helmet, forged with a classical T-shaped visor, was more reminiscent of the traditional Madalorian style: ornamental, but not fragile. His was a blend of Mandalorian utility and knightly flair, elegant in profile, brutal in function. He was not of their blood. But he was theirs.

When he reached the water, he dropped to one knee, the edge of his kama brushing the cavern floor. His helmet remained bowed.

"Mand'alor," he said, voice low and steady, "you honor me with your call."

And he waited, still, reverent, and silent, until told to rise.

Aether Verd Kirae Orade Vytal Noctura Incitrix Cordelia Malkavian

 

[Vytal Noctura]

​

Vytal Noctura stood apart from Runi Kuryida. The two womens' gazes had locked minutes ago, and neither had looked away nor spoken a word since. Not all magick uses required the visible manifestation of ichor; certainly not when you were weighing the essence of another person. It wasn't that they were diametrically opposite, but there were fundamental differences to their philosophies. Each sought knowledge, each sought to teach, and both cared for their own, unequivicobly. When it came to how they interacted with the galaxy, however... Runi focused on helping Mandalorians in need, while Vytal sought to understand more of the galaxy.

And when it came to understanding there was nothing more curious than the 'Shaman' that stood before her in that moment.

A signal came in that disrupted them, however, and Vytal reluctantly tore her gaze away to find it was from the Mand'alor. The Shaman had already turned and begun to speak with another, which only caused the Witch's eyes to narrow. Did she know? Was this some attempt to tell the pale woman to answer the summon? Frustrating to think the Shaman would think her, a Nightmother, to need such pretense.

Not about to have the woman think her desperate to probe the mystery she represented, Vytal turned and strode in the direction of the coordinates sent for the meet.

She entered on her own two feet without using magick to cross the distance. If there was one thing Runi and her saw eye-to-eye on it was not abusing their power. It was useful beyond measure, but abuse could have untold ramifications -- as evidence by countless entities that quite clearly did juat that. This 'Harrow' the Mandalorian had met in the Swamp, for instance. Vytal believed it to be the one behind what happened on Taris.

Naturally, the pale woman of Dathomir arrived with no helmet and only her Mandalorian-inspired, red armor. Her emerald eyes regarded those present before they fell to Ather as he stood before the pool. "Ripples can be felt from events on the far side of the galaxy," the Nightmother intoned unbidden. "The Empire should be ready to weather whatever storm. Tis the purpose of this gathering?" It seemed a private collection of a kind. She looked forward to learning the man's thoughts.

Aether Verd | Cordelia Malkavian | Incitrix | Adonis Angelis IV | Kirae Orade​

 

[Cordelia Malkavian]

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Tags: Aether Verd | Adonis Angelis IV | Vytal Noctura | Incitrix | Kirae Orade ​

To receive such a summons was the last thing Cordelia had expected. At one time she may have fret over such a thing, wondered what could possibly be needed of her and why. Being called upon by the Mand'alor was nothing to turn one's nose up at, but Delia felt no lack of confidence as she strode from her point of arrival to the coordinates she had received.​

​

She dawned no helmet, something she had begun doing quite frequently now unless she needed to protect her pretty face, but this did not seem like such an occasion. Especially not as she ventured further in and bright light was replaced with the tender glow of bioluminescence. The sight alone made the redhead's steps slow, and even the thirsty monster within her calmed and was almost purring in reverence of this place. An actual sense of awe took over her expression, from the slight part in her lips to the depths of her gray eyes. Never before had Delia seen such a place, or felt such a place for that matter.​

​

The look remained on her face even as she closed the distance between the entrance and the gathered, a realization that almost immediately sobered her expression. She gave a slow glance around, noting that these were faces she had come across more than once. Her gaze then tracked to the man responsible for the gathering and she gave a respectful nod to Aether, but said nothing to anyone present yet.​

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[Incitrix]

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TAG: Aether Verd / Adonis Angelis IV / Vytal Noctura / Kirae Orade / Cordelia Malkavian

Thankful.

That was the emotion Incitrix currently held tightly to. With everything that had happened in her past, the Mandalorian Empire helped her find a place. A role in which she didn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder every second of the day. Thanks to Jonah , she was introduced to this new way of living. It was currently the best thing she had ever experienced in her life of constant longing. Becoming a Mandalorian was something she couldn’t have foreseen in her lifetime. A change that overall improved her quality of existence.

The call of Mand’alor was answered swiftly. Even if she didn’t have days in advance to respond to the call, she would have dropped everything to meet the demand.

Incitrix made her to the Living Waters to find she wasn’t the first to arrive. There were others here as well. She would bow toward The Iron prior to finding a spot on the ground and kneel down. Her helmet would remain on. Her eyes would look toward the Nightmother briefly. It was unexpected to see her in such a place. Besides for Aether, she was definitely someone that she could learn a lot from. Dathomir’s culture had always intrigued her, even as a child.

An inquiry that arose from the woman was one that she also shared. What was the purpose for them being there?

Whatever the cause for their presence, she would wait patiently for things to play out.
​

 

[Kirae Orade]

Tags: Vytal Noctura Aether Verd Adonis Angelis IV Cordelia Malkavian Incitrix


There was no hesitation in Kirae answering the call of Mand'alor. In the past, there would have bene plenty. In the past, she'd never answer and continue to do her own Path. But it was different now. Aether was a Mand'alor Kirae could believe in. He held a burden that Kirae believed in. And so she arrived to answer that Call, her own burden strapped to her back in the form of The Shield...She really needed to find a good name for it some day.

Her eyes scanned over the arrivals, the familiar and the not so familiar. Those who bowed and those who stood. Kirae wondered what connected them all, apart from being Mandalorian. Was it the Force? It was a possible theory. Theorizing wasn't a strength of hers however as she dismissed the thought from her head. It would be better to learn why they were here from Aether's own mouth instead of coming up with some reasoning in her own mind.

She did not bow herself, however she took the Shield from her back and set it down in the ground ahead of her, standing herself at attention and holding her head up high. Bowing went against her virtues. Kirae was someone who did not want to bow, break or bend. She was someone who wanted to stand strong and unbreaking, like a living shield...Of course that didn't stop her from lowering her head. It was the closest to a bow that she'd willing do of her own choice.​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

THE LIVING WATERS

The silence broke not with words, but with footsteps.

Heavy thuds of beskar upon stone echoed through the sacred cavern—measured, resolute, unmistakably Mandalorian. Aether rose from where he knelt, the cool air brushing against his face as he turned to face those he had summoned.

The first to emerge was Adonis Angelis.

Aether’s eyes found the young warrior immediately. The man bore no arrogance—only determination, carved into his walk, stitched into the fiber of his being. When Adonis dropped to one knee, the Mand’alor stepped forward without hesitation.

A gauntlet-clad hand settled on the warrior’s shoulder.

“You honor me with your answer,” Aether said, voice low and steady. “Rise.”

He paused a beat, his next words laced with quiet recognition.

“I know your name, brother. Welcome.”

A nod to the bond forged by Jonah’s hand—and now affirmed in the Living Waters themselves.

The next presence was no stranger to the strange. Vytal Noctura, Nightmother, stepped into the light of the glowing fungi. Her emerald gaze met his, and despite the weight of her words, a small, genuine smile found Aether’s lips.

“Yes,” he said, voice echoing faintly off the stone. “You’ve felt it, too. The storm builds. Profaners twist the dead into weapons. Pretenders dance in the dark, thinking Mandalore fragile.” His tone steeled.

“But we are not fragile. We are forged. And to stand against what comes, we must remember what made us.”

He turned slightly, as another presence joined the circle.

Cordelia Malkavian.

He knew her by name—and more than name. By rumor, by reputation, by the unmistakable power that seemed to hum in the very air around her. His gaze softened.

“Cordelia,” he said with the weight of certainty. “Your gifts are just what Mandalore needs. Do not hide them. Let the galaxy see that our strength takes many forms.”

And then—

Aether’s gaze found another form at the edge of the waters. Incitrix. Knelt before the pool in quiet reverence. He took a single step forward.

“You are welcome here,” he said, warmth in his voice. “Rise. What has brought us together is about to begin.”

His gaze turned one final time.

Kirae.

Aether smiled. She bore a mighty shield—and the stories of Ketaris had preceded her. The Mand’alor inclined his head, a rare gesture of pride.

“You stood your ground against monsters,” he said. “And you protected ours. That alone makes you a symbol of what we are here to become.” He motioned to the others, his voice rising slightly. “You carry more than a shield—you carry the heart of Mandalore.”

With that, Aether turned back to the Living Waters.

He raised both hands and brought them together with a single, resounding clap.

The pool did not churn—but glowed.

Silvery light rippled across its surface, then lifted. Gossamer tendrils of mist began to rise, curling into the air like breath made visible. A warmth stirred in the cavern—not heat, but presence. Each of those gathered would feel it: hands, unseen yet familiar, brushing across their skin, wrapping around their hearts.

“The Manda has anointed this place,” Aether intoned, stepping back to let the glow engulf the pool. “The ancestors watch. They hear the cries of Mandalore. And when the faithful call…”

He looked to them, gaze catching the mist’s gleam.

“They answer.”

Slowly, the rising mist began to divide—tendrils forming into swirling, denser pillars of fog. Each one positioned before a warrior, as if called to them and them alone. The light pulsed within each like a heartbeat. The air thickened.

“I will teach you to hear it,” Aether said. “The Echo of Manda. How to petition its aid in our darkest hours.”

His voice lowered.

“You all carry the Force. That makes this easier. But still… you must listen. Not just with ears. With your whole self.”

The pillars of mist began to shift—stretching, flickering, taking form. What stood within was still unclear, not yet shaped—but something waited. Something familiar.

“Focus,” Aether said, his voice now a whisper threading through the cavern. “Let the Manda speak.”

The waters stilled. The mist danced.

And before each warrior, the echo began to answer.​

Kirae Orade , Vytal Noctura , Cordelia Malkavian , Adonis Angelis IV , Incitrix​

Spoiler: Author's Note

The pillars of mist will respond to your character's history. Each one will take the form of someone departed who left a lasting mark—be it a lover, sibling, parent, mentor, or ancestor. The Manda is answering you. Its shape is yours to choose!

 

[Adonis Angelis IV]

Adonis rose when commanded, his movements smooth and reverent, as though standing itself was an oath. The weight of the moment settled in his chest like gravity, anchoring him in place. It wasn't just the presence of Mand'alor, though that alone would command respect, it was who stood beside him. Warriors whispered of in battlesong, names spoken with reverence or caution. He scanned the faces gathering in the glow of the cavern, their armor catching fractured light, their reputations heavier than their beskar. To be included among them felt like stepping into myth. The boy who once escaped Celanon under cover of night, fleeing legacy and failure with Jonah at his side, would never have imagined this. But life had sharpened him since then. War had molded him. And the Creed had carved him into something worthy.

As Aether spoke, his words echoing across the chamber's stone bones, something in the air shifted. It was subtle at first. Not in sound or sight, but scent.

It came like a whisper to the senses: delicate and distinct, cutting through the mineral tang of Mandalorian soil and deep-earth damp. A sweetness, foreign to this place yet impossibly familiar. Meiloorun Blossom. A scent from memory, tucked into the corners of forgotten cloth and old dreams. It used to linger on shawls and in hallways back home, a trace of someone whose presence had been warmth itself. The mist swirled in heavier, denser coils now, winding around his frame, brushing the edges of his armor like an embrace reaching through time. He didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't resist it.

His breath hitched, chest tightening.

Aether's voice grew distant, like the slow submersion of sound in water. The cavern blurred around the edges of his vision. Then, through the rising warmth and the silent thunder of the Force, he heard it.

"Adonis…"

A name, not shouted or called- but spoken, breathed. As if it had waited years to be said again.

The voice was faint. Soft as steam rising from a teacup. Smooth like milk and smoke. But undeniably real.

His eyes closed. A slow, shuddering inhale followed. For the first time since the day his father died, the endless static in his mind quieted. The pressure in his chest lessened, and he breathed like a boy again. When he opened his eyes—

She was there.

A vision clothed in memory and mist, her figure wrapped in layers of pale cloth that clung to her form like warmth itself. The fabric fluttered without breeze, soft and timeless. Her hair, dark and rich like burnt ember, spilled past her shoulders in gentle waves. Though her eyes were colorless now, he remembered them in vivid detail, green, warm as a sunlit tide, bright with knowing. Her expression was calm, eternally gentle. One hand reached forward, hovering inches from his chest, directly over his heart.

She smiled, just as he remembered.

Sereia Angelis.

She had been the soul of House Angelis, even if the House never acknowledged it aloud. Born of Vaal's soil, daughter to a humble farmer, she had risen by the strength of her spirit alone. A scholar, a healer, a mother of sharp wit and sharper empathy. It was her mind that caught Adonis Angelis III's eye, but it was her defiant softness that made her unforgettable. She had not let wealth tarnish her grace. She had been a sponge to the family's wetstone—a calming force in a household built for war. An illness had taken her before Adonis could truly understand what loss meant. But he had learned. Oh, he had learned.

And now, impossibly, she stood before him.

A tear gathered beneath his helmet, pressure blooming behind his eyes. His throat tightened, locked in a grip forged by grief long-buried. He didn't know if this was real. If the Manda had conjured her. If the Force had found a way. If his soul had simply needed it enough to make it so.

"Mother…" The word broke from him in a whisper barely held together. Whether it left his lips or only existed in the space between thought and breath, he couldn't tell. It didn't matter.

She leaned closer, her hand lowering slightly until it hovered over his own. No contact. No warmth. But still- he felt her. Or something close enough to believe.

"My sweet boy." Her voice was a balm, aged in kindness and gentler than he deserved. "They've taught you to fight," she said, "to kill…" Her words slowed, trembling with sadness, as if weighed down by what they had seen him become. "But I tried… I tried to teach you to love."

Her hand rose toward his face, instinctive and mothering. It stopped just short of his helmeted cheek. Still, he leaned into the gesture, as though the armor could be pierced by memory alone.

"Your father…" Her voice darkened with sorrow. "He was too blind with loyalty. Too proud. He couldn't see what we could."

A memory surged to the surface.

He was young. His head in her lap. A book opened across them. She had been telling a story of a Mandalorian family: brave, loyal, but tender with one another. He remembered her laughter. His own. He remembered her hand on his hair. Then- his father's boots. The door. Anger. The story closing like a tomb. Her voice silenced not by fear, but by necessity. He remembered how small he felt in that silence.

The mist thickened, flickering around the edges.

He returned to the now.

The tear that had waited finally fell, trailing down his cheek beneath the helmet. And her spectral hand moved with it, as though tracing its path, even through the beskar.

"You are still that same sweet, sweet boy," she whispered, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. "The one I held in my arms the last time I saw the stars."

She lowered her hand, now pressing it flat over the sigil engraved into his chestplate. The eight-point star of House Angelis shimmered faintly beneath her touch, as if warmed from within.

"Your name is a blade, Adonis. Angelis. Your father's legacy. Your family's burden. But don't let it cut you."

The air pulsed.

"Use it," she said, her voice carrying a strength now. "Carve something better."

He didn't respond, not properly. The storm inside him drowned the words he wanted to say. Apologies. Promises. Pleas. They all spun just behind his lips, unspoken.

"Mother…" he said again, a second time, smaller than the first.

She placed her hand over the crest one final time, pressing it, not in weight, but in will. As if claiming it as her own.

"You are more than any of them, Adonis. More than what they expect you to be. You are mine, too."

Her voice softened again, dissolving like the edges of a dream.

And though her touch had never broken through the armor, he had never felt more held in all his life.

Aether Verd Kirae Orade Cordelia Malkavian Incitrix Vytal Noctura

 

[Vytal Noctura]

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Aether wouldn't find a Nightsister or a Nightmother thinking little of remembrance and identity. Foundation elements made up the world around them, and afforded defenses against creatures or entities that would twist them to suit their needs. She was quite curious what the man had in mind for those gathered at the pool's edge, in fact. Not the least of reasons being why she'd been conjured to such a gathering. She knew he respected her kin, and thought well of her, but that explained nothing of the aim of such a gathering and her role in it.

She watched as the pool behaved in a familiar pattern. Vytal's brow rose slightly in silent askance of the Mand'alor. The Force (or 'Manda') she understood. Evidently, however, he might have gotten some instruction in the mystic as well.

As for the Manda, Vytal wondered as to its identity. That Shaman went on about their precious Manda as well. It sounded like some sort of ancient entity in the Nether, of which she'd had all too many encounters. There were a few that could be considered acceptable, but far too many merely using the living as pawns for their own satisfaction. Perhaps moments like these might afford a deeper glimpse into the nature of the thing Mandalorian mystics believed in so fervently -- much as Nightsisters held the Fanged God and Winged Goddess in regard, or Ha Cokaya and Apo'a Ile that she had found for the Witches of Ryloth.

Currents were drawn to the mist that appeared before her, and before its features even became clear her gauntlet rose and a sprout of flame appeared within her clawed grasp. A soft hiss accompanied her readied stance as its features solidifed before her burning, emerald eyes. Would the Manda be foolish enough to return the very entity to life once more? Was it merely an illusion? If the threat were not so severe she would have spent the attention and effort to unravel its secrets; but the return of the faux Fanged God of her youth demanded she be ready to engage in spiritual warfare that would at the very least destroy the cavern and everyone in it. Even a duplicate of the fake might be more than they bargained for it if it was given free reign on the Material.

Despite its threat and it having posed as a deity it was not, however, the masculine form was her earliest mentor and backer as she wandered the galaxy. They'd entered into a pact before she'd even left Dathomir. Foolish mistake of a young Witch, and the reason she warned others not to be hasty in making deals with spirits -- no matter how alluring the offer. It was only later that Vytal overcame his hooks and found a more worthy candidate to be considered the Fanged God her people spoke of -- Ha Cokaya -- and even he was far from gentle.

Aether Verd | Kirae Orade | Cordelia Malkavian | Adonis Angelis IV | Incitrix​

 

[Kad'irk'Ra]

The group that had formed of Force Users. These Mandalorian Knights. The newest iteration of such a collection of individuals. People who were given the gift, or curse of the force. Using it as a tool for the betterment of their people. I knew of others who also wielded such powers. Their greatness was akin to any demi-god in written myth. Each individual who showed could also be of the same caliber. However, I was different.

Standing there not in typical Mandalorian Armor. Just simple clothing with bracers, pauldrons and sabatons. The short white hair shifted lightly with each turn of my head. It was a unique feeling. The morphing of my form to be more akin to these such human-like shapes. The spoken words they used were at first unfamiliar to me. Over my time spent with the Priest Clan, I have learned this "Basic" language they speak. Including their Mando'a. A unique facet in which they could communicate. A little more harsh than basic, but still filled with character. Some of these words flew over my head. Words that may mean something that a similar would could fill.

However, I understood what was taking place. These Knights were to be here, at the great felling of the Mythosuar beasts. To come and listen to the echos of our past. While I could surely participate, there was much I still lay confused of. Manda. The name they used of their religious aspects. Maybe tying in with what many called, The Force.

I chose to stay back for now. Let each individual have their turn facing whatever these echoes would be. Turning to Aether, His form seemed rather reticent of someone else. Unsure who it may have been. Like a familiar air that drew from his lungs. Either way, I made a small voice to speak. Much softer than others as I yet was trying to find my voice in this human form.

"These... Echoes. Do we know where they are born of?"

Aether Verd Kirae Orade Cordelia Malkavian Adonis Angelis IV Incitrix Vytal Noctura

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

THE LIVING WATERS

Aether did not move. The mist coiled thick around his form, heavier now...denser. Cold crept up his spine, slow as oil, familiar as breath. A lesser warrior might have called it fear. But he knew better. It was memory. It was judgment.

He was not exempt from the Manda’s test. Not even Mand’alor.

He had tread this path before. And yet… it always changed. Always found a new way to unearth what lay buried beneath the beskar.

From the dark, a shape emerged. The chill deepened, not with hatred, but with ache. The air pressed inward, not to crush, but to remind. The Dark Side that greeted him was old. Primordial. Born of stars long dead and stories long silenced. It wrapped around him like a shroud.

And standing within it was her. His mother.

She wore a dress of midnight threads, woven from literal shadow and sorrow, the fabric flowing like smoke. Her skin was porcelain, unblemished, untouched by time. Her eyes saw straight through the armor, straight through the man. They always had.

“Aether.”

Her voice was not soft. It never had been. It cut: elegant, unforgiving, and infinitely mournful.

“You’ve walked his path. The same path. The same war. Why?”

Aether didn’t speak. Not yet. He stood as her words pressed into him like the cold edge of a vibroblade.

“You ignore half of who you are,” she said, stepping forward. “You wear your father’s legacy like a second skin. But mine...you leave in silence.”

Her hand rose. At first, he thought she would strike him. Part of him braced for it. Part of him welcomed it. But her palm settled gently on his shoulder.

Aether exhaled. His own hand lifted...slow, reverent. It passed through her touch, through shadow and memory. He couldn’t feel her.

But he did. He always had.

A wry smile tugged at his lips beneath the helm. A breath of humor in the haze of ghosts.

“Love you too, mother,” he murmured, quiet as dust.

Then...she was gone.

The Darkness remained, but it no longer lingered as a threat. It had spoken. And he had listened. His attention shifted.

The cavern shimmered with new motion. The Manda stirred elsewhere. Adonis.

Aether turned just enough to bear witness, though what the warrior saw was his alone. The mist around him pulsed with purpose, alive with ancestral breath. Aether felt the weight shift, like stone rearranging around a buried truth.

The Manda had spoken to him.

“Remember this,” Aether said aloud, his voice low but firm, carrying through the chamber like the beat of a drum. “The ancestors have called you worthy. Not just to hear their voice, but to stand among them. Carry this. Let it shape you.”

Another current twisted in the air...different. Sharper. Vytal.

The Nightmother stood like a blade, her stance coiled in readiness, fire already in her palm. He could not see what she faced, but he could feel the tension, the gravity of old power and old wounds.

He did not interrupt. But he spoke.

“No Echo appears by accident,” Aether said, voice just loud enough to reach her across the chamber. “Whatever you face, you do not face it alone. The Manda protects. The Manda hears.”

And then...soft. Curious. Sincere.

A voice behind him. Kad’irk’Ra.

“These… Echoes. Do we know where they are born of?”

Aether turned to face him fully now. No mist concealed the candor in his tone.

“They are born of the collective will of our ancestors,” he said, stepping toward dragon. “Drawn through the Manda...through us. Through memory. Through need. Through pain.”

His helm tilted slightly, as if seeing him not as he was now, but for what he might become.

“They are mirrors. Warnings. Lessons. Gifts. Each one called to prepare you for the path ahead. Some reflect what we carry. Others, what we try to bury.”

He extended a hand: not commanding, but inviting.

“Come. Stand with us. The Manda does not speak in vain. If it has called you here… it is because you’re meant to listen.”

The cavern pulsed again. The mist stirred.

And all around them, the Living Waters whispered.​

Kad'irk'Ra , Vytal Noctura , Adonis Angelis IV , Incitrix , Kirae Orade , Cordelia Malkavian