Mission Embers of Taris | High Republic | Great Houses

[Duncan Avaron]

Ryloth
Avaron Estate
0800
Seris Travin-Avaron
​

The first thing that Duncan always noticed was the dust. Everytime he woke up and looked across the landscape. It clung to everything on Ryloth, skin, silk, stone, memory. It coated the landing pad in a dull red haze and crept into the folds of his cloak. But most of all, Duncan welcomed it. Dust was honest. It told you where you were, and whose world you stood upon.

He paused at the foot of the ramp as the ship powered down behind him, amber eyes lifting to the distant mesas silhouetted against the twin suns. Somewhere beyond them, weapons were changing hands in shadows, blasters and explosives meant not for defense, but for prolonging suffering. Somewhere, the Great House, House Valcaryn believed itself clever enough to bleed Ryloth quietly and profit from the chaos.

They were mistaken.

Duncan adjusted the signet at his collar, the mark of House Avaron catching the light. Most knew who he was, he was not a stranger here among the City of Nabat, he was here as a negotiator, a concerned noble responding to unrest among his people. That much was true. What he did not announce, what could not be announced, was his intent to follow the trade routes no one spoke of aloud, to listen where others dismissed anger as savagery, and to find the proof that would turn whispers into accusation.

War would be easy. Ryloth had known too much of it already.

They would be meeting with the heads of House Valcaryn, to negotiate the events happening. But more so to try and catch them in a lie.

He thought of the insurgents, fighters born of broken promises and occupied streets, taught to see the Republic as another distant master with clean hands and bloody outcomes. Most did not trust him, as they believed his acts of goodwill, patience and care were a front for something far more sinister. when one was used to dealing with betrayal at every turn. It was very difficult to trust, even a well respected noble such as him. To win their trust back, it would take patience and careful words.

Duncan exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

This mission was not about crushing rebellion. It was about removing the poison that fed it. Expose the intermediary. Sever the supply. Give Ryloth room to breathe again without igniting a war that would scorch every House involved. He stepped onto the soil of his homeworld, boots sinking slightly into the red earth.

"Carefully," he murmured, as he looked over to Seris.. "We do this carefully."

Because if peace was still possible, Duncan Avaron intended to find it, before the galaxy decided for them.

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris had already stepped down the ramp by the time he spoke, boots settling into the red dust with practiced ease. The wind caught the hem of her cloak, tugging it once before letting it fall, as if Ryloth itself were testing her balance. She did not brush the dust away. She never did.

Her green eyes followed the distant mesas for a moment longer than Duncan's had, reading the land the way some Jedi read currents in the Force. Tension lingered there—not loud, not immediate, but threaded through the ground like a fault line waiting for the wrong pressure.

When she turned to him, her expression was calm, but not gentle. "Carefully," she echoed, not as agreement but as commitment.

She moved to his side, close enough that their shoulders nearly aligned, presenting a united front without a word needing to be spoken. To anyone watching, she was simply Lady Avaron—composed, attentive, unthreatening. Those with sharper instincts might notice the stillness beneath her posture, the readiness held in reserve.

"House Valcaryn believes subtlety makes them untouchable," Seris continued quietly, eyes still on the horizon. "But subtlety leaves patterns. Supply routes. Intermediaries. Fear that has learned where to look for relief."

She finally looked at him then, really looked—not at the signet or the title, but at the man who carried both with restraint.

"They are counting on anger to speak first," she said. "On desperation to make mistakes. If we deny them that…" a brief pause, thoughtful, "…they will talk."

The Force around her was steady, muted—not pushing, not probing—simply aware—a quiet bulwark against escalation.

"The insurgents don't need another enemy," Seris added. "They need proof that someone is willing to listen long enough to remove what's hurting them."

She reached out then, not to take his hand, but to rest her fingers briefly against his forearm—grounding, deliberate, a reminder that he was not carrying this alone.

"You speak for Ryloth," she said softly. "I will watch the spaces between the words."

Her gaze lifted toward the city ahead, toward the negotiations waiting in shadowed halls.

"If peace is still possible," Seris finished, voice quiet but unyielding, "we will give it every chance to survive."

She stepped forward beside him, dust rising around their boots as they moved—two figures advancing not toward war, but toward the dangerous, deliberate work of preventing it.

Duncan Avaron