Private Echoes of Honor

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

The training compound sat at the edge of Roon's southern ridge, where the hills broke off into long flats of ochre and metal. Wind swept through the range with a low, mechanical hum. Aether really turned the place into something efficient, clean, ordered, alive with the sound of sparring.

Ace had been here long enough for the rhythm to fade into the background. Jetpack bursts, rifle reports, the metallic thud of armor locking into place. It all blurred into a pulse he could almost forget himself inside. Noise was easier than silence these days.

He leaned against a railing overlooking the field, right hand resting loosely over his prosthetic, its matte plating dull in the sunlight. The haptics translated the wind against the metal, the rail's grit under his palm, even the faint tremor of the drills below. All perfect. All hollow. He missed the imperfection of flesh, the pulse, the ache, the proof that he was still human.

Tic chirped somewhere behind him, hopping between crates to chase the glint of a dropped vibroknife. The little droid's movements clinked softly, out of sync with the drills outside. Ace didn't look back, he let the droid play. At least one of them was happy.

He'd been told the visitor was from Naboo, a general, a noble, someone Aether thought would benefit from a talk about "the Mando'a way." The phrase still made him want to laugh. He had the blood, sure, but not the knowledge. Not all of it. His brother kept thinking that was enough, though.

Still, Ace hadn't refused. Doing something felt better than sitting alone with what he'd said to Sibylla, what he couldn't take back. Footsteps approached... measured, deliberate. A silhouette cut across the field, sunlight flashing on polished gear. Not a Mandalorian. Too careful for that.

Ace flexed his left hand, the servos in the prosthetic forearm giving a soft, mechanical whisper as the metal plates adjusted. He didn't bother to straighten all the way.

Guess this was the one he was supposed to be meeting. He nodded in the soldier's direction, a silent greeting.

"Name's Acier Moonbound. Aether said you wanted to talk Mandalorian culture." He said, voice even, scraped a little thin around the edges.

Instinct made him extend his left hand for a shake before he caught the sight of dull metal under sunlight. His fingers stalled mid-motion, hesitation flickering across his face for a heartbeat, then he shifted, offering his right instead.

A faint half-smile touched his mouth, there and gone. "Can't promise I'm much of an expert. I was born with the blood, not the manual."

He nodded once, leaving the silence open between them - an invitation, or a warning - depending on what the man from Naboo decided to make of it.

Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

The wind off the ridge carried dust and metal, dry enough that it tasted faintly like old circuitry on the tongue. Cassian slowed as the compound came into view, the sun slipping over the durasteel struts and angular training domes that glinted like blades along the horizon. The place breathed precision a kind of disciplined chaos that mirrored the Mandalorian way more than any text or holovid ever could.

He'd read the reports, of course. He'd spoken to cultural envoys, scholars, even a few veterans who'd once fought beside Mandalorians. But none of that was knowing. None of it captured the pulse he could feel now that rhythmic thunder of boots and blasters, the measured shouts, the roar of a jetpack as it cut the wind. This was lived.

The man waiting at the railing looked as though he belonged to it. The scars of war and reconstruction weren't hidden. Yet Cassian noted the quiet composure in his stance, the stillness of someone who had learned to measure more than he revealed.

"Acier Moonbound." Cassian repeated, inclining his head as he approached. His tone carried the calm precision of Naboo's diplomatic breed, but there was a warmth beneath it a trace of humanity untouched by politics.

"Cassian Abrantes." he introduced in turn, taking the offered right hand without a flicker of hesitation. His grip was firm, respectful not testing, not compensating. The faint hum of servos near Ace's other arm didn't so much as draw his eyes.

"I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me. I've spent years hearing about the Mandalorian code, their philosophies through translators, historians, secondhand narratives. But that's not the same as hearing from someone who lives it, even if it's in their own way."

He paused, letting the ambient rhythm of the drills fill the space between them before he added, more quietly, "The culture fascinates me not for its battles, but for its endurance. A people scattered and reforged more times than the Republic itself, and yet… still here. Still fighting for meaning, even when the wars fade."

Cassian turned his gaze toward the training field, watching a sparring pair break apart in a flurry of motion and jetpack recoil. "Naboo prides itself on peace." he continued, voice softening with reflection. "But peace has made us complacent before. We preserve beauty, sometimes at the expense of resilience. You, your people seem to have learned to balance both. Artistry in battle. Identity in struggle."

He looked back to Ace then, the faintest trace of a smile curving at the edge of his mouth. "I didn't come here to study you, my friend. I came to understand. Maybe even to unlearn a few things."

There was no condescension, no curiosity for curiosity's sake just sincerity, steady as the Nabooan lakes he'd left behind. The kind of presence that didn't intrude, but invited conversation.

He nodded toward the prosthetic arm then, just once, not as pity or fascination but acknowledgment. "If you're willing to share, I'd like to hear what you think defines Mandalorian culture. Not the creed. Not the myths. The truth that lives under the armor. If you have the trust of those, than that's more than enough for someone like me to leave her a little more intelligent than I did when I arrived."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

"Cassian Abrantes."

The name hit before the handshake did. It caught somewhere between Ace's ribs, deep enough to make him pause. Abrantes. He didn't need to search for it; it had already been carved into him. The echo of it pulled up the sound of a voice that used to soften his edges, the one he hadn't stopped hearing since Naboo the first time. Sibylla's laughter, quick and bright like breaking glass. Then, the memory of their fight flashed in his mind again.

He kept his expression still. The muscle in his jaw ticked once, a flicker and gone. Whatever moved behind his dark eyes, he buried it beneath the old habit of composure.

"Right." He said quietly, as if confirming something to himself rather than the man in front of him. "Abrantes."

He shook Cassian's hand, firm, steady, the kind of grip that said he'd been holding too tightly to everything else lately. When Cassian began to speak, Ace let him. He was good at listening when the words were real.

As Cassian talked about the contrast between Mandalorian and Nabooan culture - about peace, complacency, and identity - Ace's gaze drifted back toward the training field. Sunlight shimmered off armor plates as two recruits clashed, sparks snapping in the air.

He looked back at Cassian. "You're not wrong about the endurance part." he said, finally, tone low and deliberate. "But it's not just the wars that keep them alive. It's… the choice."

His mind drifted to the first time he'd come to Roon. Almost a year ago, but it felt like a whole other lifetime. It was when he first met Sibylla, but not only that, truly understood that his blood belonged to something much bigger than himself. The words of two figures stood out to him the most that day. Both Talohn Atar and Zlova Rue and what it meant to be Mandalorian.

"Part of being a Mandalorian is figurin' that for yourself. You decide who you're loyal to, who's family to you. Do that, and you're well on your way to figuring things out."

"If you can pick up a weapon, wear the armor, and defend your Clan, they'll accept you. Honor's overrated. Skill and duty, that's what counts."

His right hand came up, gesturing faintly toward the field. "Don't think there's one definition for Mandalorian culture." He confessed "Every Mandalorian I've met has their own definition."

Ace's dark gaze lingered on the training field as he ran prosthetic hand through his locs, the sensation still new to him.

"But... the ones that stuck out to me? I was told Mandalorians figured out for themselves what it means, what family means, what loyalty means. There's no handbook. You decide who's worth fighting for, and you make peace with the cost when you lose them. That's the truth under the armor. You keep choosing."

He exhaled softly through his nose, something caught between weariness and thought.

"People talk about honor and creed, but most of the ones I know would tell you the same thing: you live by what you can stand to remember. Everything else burns away."

Ace's gaze lingered on the prosthetic hand for a heartbeat, then he flexed the fingers once, faint servos murmuring.

"Maybe that's the closest thing to culture I've got." He added, quieter. "Not the code. Just… endurance, like you said. The kind that comes with loss, not in spite of it."

He looked back at Cassian then, open, but careful, the faintest wry curve at the corner of his mouth. "Still, that's just one man's version. I doubt my brother or half this planet would put it the same way. You've read enough about them. Maybe you'll see something I can't."

Cassian Abrantes ​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

Cassian listened without interruption the kind of still, attentive quiet that came naturally to someone used to the Senate chambers and the subtle dance of diplomacy, but here, it wasn't performance. It was respect.

The wind shifted again, carrying the smell of scorched alloy and ozone from the sparring pits. It whistled faintly against the ridgeline, filling the silence that followed Ace's words.

"You speak like someone who's had to define meaning more than once." Cassian said finally, tone even but low. "And that… I understand."

He stepped closer to the railing, his gaze tracing the trainees below all in motion, all orbiting around the rhythm of something bigger than themselves. "What you describe that constant act of choosing it isn't so different from what we face on Naboo. We speak of peace and art, but those are just forms of endurance too. We build them to outlast what we lose. We just pretend it doesn't come with a cost."


He rested his hands on the railing, the light catching on the edge of his signet ring the family crest, finely engraved, an echo of the world that was his home. "Maybe that's what fascinates me about your people. Mandalorians don't hide from what the galaxy takes. You carry it, even when it scars you. That kind of truth…" he exhaled softly, "…it's something most governments can't put in a treaty."

Cassian turned his head slightly toward Ace, the expression on his face thoughtful not pity, not curiosity, but something like kinship. "You said you keep choosing. I think that's what binds all of us Jedi, Mandalorian, Republic, civilian. The ones who keep choosing, even when the choice hurts."

He hesitated a moment, eyes flicking briefly toward the prosthetic hand before returning to Ace's face. "You said maybe I'll see something you can't. I doubt that. But maybe that's the point perspective isn't supposed to match. It's supposed to challenge what we think we know."

His voice softened slightly, as if admitting something personal. "I came here because I wanted to understand what makes a people hold together when everything else falls apart. On Naboo, we think unity is peace. Maybe here, unity is survival."

He straightened, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his features. "You said it yourself there's no handbook. Maybe that's the lesson worth taking home."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

For a while, Ace said nothing, he just listened. To Cassian, to the rhythm of the training grounds that filled the space. Even as the general spoke, two words he had said lingered in the rebel's mind.

Your people.

The words lingered longer than they should have. He knew Cassian didn't mean anything by them, but something in the phrasing tugged anyway. It sat oddly in his chest, like a name that didn't quite belong to him. Mandalorian blood ran through him as strong as the Force did, his brother was Mand'alor. He'd fought beside Mandalorians. Yet, he still could not shake the sense that he was a pretender.

His dark gaze returned to the man who stood by him. Cassian's voice carried that same calm precision, that Nabooan polish that could make conviction sound like poetry. It reminded him of her, of the way she used to turn words into something softer than their meaning. The same steadiness. The same restraint that made honesty feel deliberate. Part of him wondered if this was a Noble thing, or... an Abrantes thing

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the brief flicker of Cassian's attention toward his left arm. Not prying, just noticing. Still, it stirred that familiar, quiet heat in his chest. Insecurity. He'd learned to ignore stares from strangers, but Cassian's was different. Too honest to resent. Too human to dismiss.

"Sounds like you know a lot, too." Ace said finally. His tone stayed level, but there was a faint rasp beneath it, the sound of someone testing words before trusting them. "Most people talk about endurance like it's some virtue. Like it's noble to keep standing after you get hit. But endurance isn't noble. It's as necessary as breathing. Eating. If you don't, you die."

He shifted his stance slightly, the servos in his forearm murmuring as he folded his arms. "You said Naboo builds beauty to outlast what it loses. That's a kind of fight too. Mandalorians just use different tools. Maybe that's the only real difference. You build to remember. We fight so we don't forget."

His gaze lingered on the field a moment longer before returning to Cassian. The fatigue in his eyes was steady, but there was something else beneath it now... a sliver of recognition he didn't want to name, and couldn't quite hide.

He uncrossed his arms, the faint hum of servos marking the movement as his left hand came into view. Sunlight caught the metal, dull and honest.

"I've seen the glances. You can ask."

Cassian Abrantes ​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

Cassian's eyes met his, steady, unflinching not in defiance, but in the way one meets a truth that deserves to stand unhidden. For a heartbeat, the wind was the only sound between them; it whistled low across the ridge, stirring dust into faint spirals that caught the sun like smoke.

"I wasn't going to." he said at last, his voice even but threaded with sincerity. "But not because I'm afraid to. Because it feels like one of those things a man offers when he's ready not something that's owed, that doesn't mean I'm not curious though."

He shifted his weight against the railing, the movement unhurried. "You're right, endurance isn't noble. It's survival with a name dressed around it so others don't have to look too closely. Naboo has its ways of hiding the cost — painting over the cracks until they look like marble. But you—" his gaze flicked briefly to the prosthetic again, then back up, "—you don't hide the cost. You carry it where everyone can see it."

He drew a slow breath. "That's not weakness. That's honesty. And that's rarer than honor these days."

The training field below filled the pause bursts of blaster fire punctuating the silence. Cassian followed the sound absently, then spoke again, quieter now.

"I don't see the metal when I look at it." he admitted. "I see the part that refused to stop. The part that decided to live when dying might've been easier. On Naboo, they write poems about that sort of strength. But I think you'd call it something simpler."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, dry but genuine. "Necessary."

He turned to face Ace more fully then, folding his hands before him. "You said it yourself, you fight so you don't forget. Maybe that's why I'm here. To understand what that kind of remembrance costs. Because peace… peace makes it too easy to forget."

For a moment, Cassian let his gaze drift back toward the horizon where the ochre plains stretched endlessly beyond the ridge. The light caught against his features, softening them, and when he spoke again, his tone had that familiar introspective cadence.

"Maybe what defines culture isn't the tools or the language or the armor. Maybe it's the way people choose to face loss, and what they decide to carry after."

He looked back to Ace, his expression open. "So tell me, when you look at it. What do you see?"

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

Ace listened as Cassian spoke, his words settling in his chest, like all quiet truths did. Not sharp, not heavy. Just steady enough to stay. More and more did he see the similarities between the brother and sister.

The way she used to speak when she wasn't trying to win an argument. Sibylla had that same kind of wisdom that didn't demand you listen, it just waited until you did. It had a way of settling into his bones, even when he wanted to shake it off. Cassian's voice carried the same gravity, the same frustrating calm that forced him to look at himself instead of the galaxy.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "I've asked myself that a few times."

He turned his gaze to the prosthetic, the sunlight crawling over its surface in thin reflections. For a breath, he watched the light shift across the metal like it was answering for him.

"Depends on the day." He said quietly. "Some days I see what's gone. Some days… what's left."

His thumb brushed the ridge where metal met skin. "Most days I resent it. Or, resent that it reminds me I'm not as invincible as I thought I was. Ego death, I guess."

He looked back at Cassian then, the hint of something unreadable flickering behind his eyes - something between gratitude and exhaustion. But mainly, understanding.

"I know--knew your sister." He started, swallowing as he glanced away. An ache rising in his chest as he recalled their fight again "You remind me of her. Both of you have this thing where what you say... sticks."

He huffed faintly, lips gently quirking as his fingers fidgeted with the railing. He missed her. Ace felt his regret stir its head again, wishing things hadn't ended the way they did. Because, even with all of this distance... she lingered in his thoughts every waking moment. But he knew he needed to be strong. It was for the best he kept telling himself.

Ace's dark eyes rose, finding Cassian's features once more.

"How is she? Sibylla." He asked, tone soft. Softer than it had been in a long time.

Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

Cassian's gaze shifted at the sound of her name subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. A faint exhale through his nose, the kind that carried memory in its breath. The sunlight caught the edges of his profile, softening the lines that command and duty had carved there.

For a moment, he didn't answer. He simply looked toward the horizon, where the ochre plains blurred into that long, flat light that Roon seemed to wear like a second skin. When he finally spoke, his tone had changed quieter, more human than the soldier's precision that had filled his earlier words.

"That's the thing isn't it. We keep moving forward and somewhere along the line something reminds that we are only human, we can only do so much. I was maybe minutes away from death twice in my life, once in dark of the night, and another time in broad daylight. It's events like those that ground yourself, telling you you can only do so much. No one gets anywhere in this world without some form of help. Whether it be family, or even friends. Things will get better in time, and you will realize that you are stronger than you know. It took me almost dying twice to realize what sort fool I had been in life."

The talk had shifted to Sibylla and he raised his eyebrows and showed a small smile. "Oh really, I didn't know that. I guess I shouldn't be surprised as she was ambassador to the Mandalorians for some time.

"She's…" A small pause, his jaw tightening before the thought found its form. "She's Sibylla."


That earned the faintest ghost of a smile from him, a mixture of pride and exhaustion. "Still sharper than all those in the Royal Assembly, twice as stubborn. She's taken on more responsibility lately, but that's her way. If the world won't yield and she feels Naboo is threatened, she won't rest until that threat goes away."

He glanced toward Ace then, eyes clear but softened by the kind of understanding that only came from shared history the same tone he might use for a comrade who had earned his respect. It almost reminded him of his talk with Mother at Dee'ja Peak. When he brought up Thessaly, and the choices that came after. It was almost similiar in so many ways. It was like he watching the conversation take place, he knew the look he had in his eyes.

Cassian turned back toward the training grounds, watching a young Mandalorian disarm her partner in a whirl of jetpack and blade. The wind caught his coat slightly, tugging at the fabric. "I think people leave marks on each other that don't fade just because they part ways."

He looked back at Ace, steady and open, his tone dipping to something personal not formal, not political. "Is there a message you would like me to pass on, I will."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

Cassian was beginning to seem like a kindred spirit, except he seemed to have things a little more figured out.

He'd heard variations of his kind of story before: from soldiers, from rebels, from ghosts who'd barely made it back. But something in the way Cassian said it, certain and stripped of embellishment, hit different. It was the voice of someone who'd already made peace with the worst parts of himself and survived anyway.

He understood that. The near misses, the scars that weren't just physical. He'd been there, not twice, but more times than he liked to count. There was a familiarity in the way Cassian talked about death, not as a fear, but as a teacher. Maybe that's what tied them together, even if they wore different creeds.

"You're one of the few people who get it." He stated.

On the topic of Sibylla, Ace's jaw tightened at the calm, lived-in familiarity there, the kind of tone reserved for people who were still close. Hearing her spoken of like that; steady, present, untouched by the fracture between them, stirred something under his ribs that hadn't gone quiet since the hospital terrace.

He didn't look away, but his focus drifted somewhere past Cassian's shoulder, to the horizon.

"Yeah..." He murmured after a small stretch of silence. "That sounds like her."

Cassian's words about people leaving their marks on one another tugged at something in Ace's chest. For a moment, his gaze lowered, as if contemplating. Gently, he bit his lower lip as if grimacing at the mark she had left on him herself.

He finally looked back at Cassian, expression neutral but softened by the faintest thread of something human... nostalgia, maybe.

"Yeah, your pension for hard-hitting words definitely runs in the family."

The wind carried through again, catching in the fringe of his ashen locs. For a moment, he seemed to weigh Cassian's question; the one about the message. It lingered between them like a held breath.

"No." He said, finally, "I just wanted to know if she was okay."

His prosthetic fingers flexed once against the railing, quiet servos whirring beneath the sound of distant blaster fire. He doubted she'd want to hear from him anyway, especially with how he acted during their fight.

He straightened slightly, clearing his throat, tone shifting back to something steady but not cold.

"So, you almost dying twice. There a story there?" He left his question open, respecting whether Cassian felt like sharing or not.

Cassian Abrantes
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