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
​

​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound
​

“She’s doing good, I promise you.” He reassured him with a nod and smile. He felt there was something else there that wasn’t being said. But given he just met Acier, that was something he didn’t want to intrude on.

Cassian’s lips curved faintly not quite a smile, not yet but the kind of quiet expression that lived somewhere between amusement and acknowledgment. The question didn’t startle him. It rarely did anymore. He had spent enough time with soldiers and Jedi to know that death wasn’t a forbidden subject among those who’d met it halfway.

He drew a slow breath, arms folding loosely as his gaze drifted out toward the ridgeline again. “Twice.” he said, the tone wry but lacking boast. “And none of them were on the field of battle.”

The quip hung there just long enough to lighten the air between them before his voice evened out again ,softer, reflective.

“The first time was on Naboo, I was walking the beach after a dinner party and I was attacked by three assassins. They were killed and I was left for dead.” He paused, a faint exhale through his nose. “The most recent time was just a few weeks ago, I was attacked on Kenari, at our base. I almost met my end there as well."

“Either I can’t die, or the galaxy is waiting for the right time for me.” Cassian chuckled lightly as he thought back to those two times, smiling faintly and shook his head.

“Point is…” Cassian’s gaze met Ace’s again, the seriousness returning in quiet layers, “You don’t come back from those things unchanged. You lose something every time. And the trick, the cruel one, is realizing you have to keep giving pieces away to stay alive. To keep leading. To keep others safe.”

He leaned against the railing again, head tilting slightly toward Ace. “You start to measure living not by the years you get, but by the people who’d notice if you stopped showing up.”

There was no lecture in his voice, only the worn truth of someone who’d already done the arithmetic of sacrifice and learned to live with the remainder.

“You asked about the story.” he said after a pause, tone lightening just a fraction. “That’s it. Two near deaths, one stubborn heart.”

He glanced sidelong toward Ace then, one brow lifting. “What about you? How many times have you seen it?”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

Ace stayed quiet through most of it, but his silence wasn't distance, he was listening. Cassian spoke with the familiar ease that only came after you stopped fearing death. The calm, the acceptance. It wasn't arrogance, it was the mark of someone who'd already made peace with loss and learned how to live around it. They were alike in that respect.

When Cassian said none of his near-deaths happened on the battlefield, one corner of Ace's mouth twitched. Not quite amusement. Just recognition. "Figures." He murmured, voice low. "Galaxy never waits for clean timing."

He leaned against the railing again, the hum of the prosthetic faint beneath his sleeve. "You'd think someone like you would get to choose when to fight." His tone wasn't pity, it was observation.

Then Cassian spoke about the cost. You lose something every time. Ace's jaw flexed once, the words had resonated deeply. That truth was one he'd known before Atrisia ever took his arm. He'd been giving parts of himself away long before anyone could see it.

His gaze followed the young Mandalorian below as she disarmed her partner in a sharp flash of motion. "Being measured by the people who'd notice if you stopped showing up…" He exhaled, slow, echoing Cassian's words. "That one's gonna stick with me."

He looked back at Cassian then, something flickering behind his expression, respect? Or maybe the beginning of kinship. Ace's fingers brushed along the railing, metal and flesh catching the same light. As he pondered on Cassian's reversal of his earlier question.

The ashen-haired teen thought back to his mother's journals. How she revealed that her clan had wanted him killed the moment he drew breath, how his mother fled with him and was forced to abandon him, just to keep him safe.

"From the day I was born." He admitted, laughing humorously.

Then he recalled his upbringing, and he used the term loosely, on Bonadan. Every day was a fight for survival. One wrong decision, one wrong move, could have led to death. And even more recently, now that he knew how to wield a lightsaber, the Force, choosing to fight. It only got worse.

"It's been nothing but close calls ever since." He added, dark gaze settling on Cassian "Not all of them looked like near-death. Some just felt like it. The kind where you walk away breathing, but something in you doesn't."

The silence stretched for a few moments, comfortable silence. Ace's eyes cast over to the horizon, the two young Mandalorians had finished their training now. He watched as they showed each other respect before departing together, to who knows where.

A smile tugged on the corner of his lip, his gaze found Cassian once more.

"Cassian." He declared "Been in any wars? How many battles you been in?"

Maybe it was the Mandalorian in him, but trading war stories, combat stories, always seemed to make his blood stir. In the best way.

Cassian Abrantes​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

Cassian’s mouth curved into something small and knowing at the question a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The wind carried the sound of laughter and shouted commands from the field below, but his tone when he spoke stayed measured, grounded in memory.

“I’ve been in enough.” he said quietly. “First one was on Naboo’s border worlds, small conflicts, pirate sieges, and smuggler uprisings. I thought war had rules back then. That if you fought clean, you won clean.”

He glanced toward the flats, where the sunlight hit the ridges in sharp, golden bands. “Then came some outer rim skirmishes. Places that were forgotten about until someone reminded them with a blaster.” His voice deepened slightly, not nostalgic, not proud, just factual. “We were sent to secure colonies, keep supply routes open. But the truth is, half those fights were just people trying to keep what little they had. We weren’t liberators; we were water put to a forest that had long burned.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, his tone softened wry again, but not unkind. “That’s the thing about battles. They don’t end when the fighting does. They just change shape. Some follow you home, put on new faces.”

His gaze turned back toward the younger man, studying him. “Truthfully I’m amazed that I’m still alive, I feel I should’ve died so many times before. Yet, here I am…living again.”

He nodded toward the field, toward the trainees gathering their weapons. “What about you? What are you fighting for?”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Roon

Equipment:
Field Gear | Tic | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's brow furrowed faintly as Cassian spoke about Naboo's border wars. Small conflicts. Pirate sieges. Smuggler uprisings. It all sounded almost clinical until Cassian said that he used to think that war had rules.

He almost laughed. Not maliciously or arrogantly, but the naivete of it. Ace had learned extremely young that fighting was never clean. You just did what you had to to win, survive. No matter what.

"You learn quick there's no such thing as a clean fight. Doesn't matter how noble the cause looks on paper."

He leaned forward slightly against the railing. Cassian's talk of the Outer Rim, of colonies just trying to keep what little they had, stirred uncomfortable memories of his own childhood, or lack thereof. Ace had been on the other side of that before, the one labeled threat for existing.

When Cassian turned the question back on him, Ace didn't answer right away. He let the wind fill the space between them.

"What do I fight for?" He repeated under his breath, like testing the weight of the words.

He thought about Bonadan, Serenno, Kattada, Sevarcos II, Atrisia. All the near-deaths that hadn't looked like dying. About every choice that cost him something and every fight that taught him what survival really meant.

"For a long time, it was survival." He said finally. "Then it was justice mixed with pride, for the people who never got the chance to fight back."

He paused, flexing the fingers of his prosthetic once. "Now? I don't know if it's something I can name. Maybe it's just the habit of it. Fighting's all I've ever been good at. All I've ever known."

He turned his head slightly toward Cassian, the ghost of a half-smile forming, it wasn't self-pitying, just honest. "But I guess... if I had to put it simple, I fight so the people I care about don't have to anymore."

He looked back toward the training field, the sunlight glinting off his prosthetic. "And maybe one day, I'll figure out what comes after that."

The silence stretched between them. Ace's eyes lingered on the field one last time before he gave a quiet, rough laugh, the kind meant to break tension that didn't really need breaking.

"Anyway..." He muttered, straightening and rolling his shoulders, "You came here to learn about Mandalorians. Don't think I even helped much."

The edge of his mouth twitched, half smile, half apology.

Cassian Abrantes ​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Acier Moonbound ​

Cassian's laugh was low, genuine, not loud enough to disturb the rhythm of the drills below, but real in a way that carried warmth through the wind. He shook his head slightly, a faint trace of admiration behind the gesture.

"You've helped more than you think," he said, tone even but threaded with quiet respect. "Most people talk about Mandalorians like they're studying a myth, armor, creed, the words carved on the walls of old keeps. But what you've shown me," he gestured lightly toward the field, then toward Ace himself. "It's the part that actually matters. The way a people endure. The way they find meaning in what's left."

He let that thought breathe a moment before adding, "From what I've learned, you fight with more purpose than most who make it their life's work."

His gaze drifted back to the horizon, that long, unbroken line of ochre stretching into haze. "I think figuring out what comes after fighting is something the whole galaxy's still trying to do."

There was a pause, then Cassian's voice softened again, steady but quieter. "You remind me of some of the best people I've known. Not the loud ones. The ones who kept standing even when no one was watching."

He straightened then, the Nabooan polish returning to his posture, though his expression stayed open. "Aether was right to send me here. I came looking for a lecture on Mandalorian culture, and instead I got something closer to the truth."

Cassian extended his hand again, not formally this time, but in the kind of way soldiers, rebels, and survivors recognized. "For what it's worth, Acier Moonbound," he said, voice low but sincere, "If endurance is the culture, then you've carried it well. And well, you got a friend out of it." The General said with a small smile. "If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."