Bramoc Karr
Character
Much had changed since the day Bramoc had first taken Talia prisoner.
The path between that moment and this one was littered with memories neither of them would have imagined possible, many of which he preferred to leave buried. What mattered now was the future they had chosen instead of the past that had shaped them. Together they had decided to build something different—a life shared not only with one another, but with a purpose larger than either of them. Before any of that could truly begin, however, there remained unfinished business. Talia's collection of archaeological records still waited on Voss, and recovering it was the first step. It would allow her to continue documenting the galaxy's forgotten history, including the history of Veykar Prime itself.
The second morning on the frozen world began before sunrise.
Bramoc rose quietly, dressed, and slipped from the house without disturbing Talia. The streets of Kerath remained as silent as they had the day before, their frozen inhabitants still standing where death had claimed them decades earlier. He navigated around them almost unconsciously now, refusing to linger among reminders he had spent a lifetime trying not to dwell upon.
His destination was the river.
Snow concealed most of the shoreline, but the old fishing equipment remained exactly where generations of Veykari had left it. Nets, poles, anchors—simple tools built to endure harsh winters. Time had frozen them as effectively as the landscape itself.
A small fire soon crackled beside the bank, fed by fallen black pine gathered from the nearby woods. The warmth it produced was enough to loosen the ice clinging stubbornly to the bundled nets while Bramoc used his lightsaber to carve openings through the frozen river several meters apart.
Ordinarily the work demanded two sets of hands.
The Force proved an acceptable substitute.
Once the net had been secured to a long guide pole, he directed it beneath the ice with invisible precision until it emerged through the opening on the other side. From there the anchors were set, leaving the gill net suspended beneath the frozen surface where fish would eventually wander into it.
Nothing remained to do but wait.
He settled beside the fire, extending gloved hands toward its modest warmth more from habit than necessity. Dawn slowly painted the horizon in pale shades of blue and gold, though the sunlight brought little comfort. Veykar Prime circled its star at the very fringe of habitability. Life existed here only because it had adapted to relentless cold. Forests endured. Rivers flowed beneath thick sheets of ice. Animals flourished despite conditions that would have driven most species elsewhere.
To Bramoc, there had never been anything unusual about it. This was home.
Nearly half an hour later he returned to retrieve the net. The pole slid back beneath the ice before reappearing on the opposite bank, and as the mesh emerged from the dark water, several fish thrashed against its knots. He inspected each one before freeing it. The smallest were tossed back into the river without hesitation. Better to let them mature than waste them before they had fully grown.
Six remained.
Enough.
Drawing the knife from his boot, he cleaned them where he stood. The discarded remains disappeared through the opening in the ice, returning nourishment to the river that had provided breakfast. It was simply how things had always been done. Take what was needed. Leave enough that the river continued giving.
Fish in hand, Bramoc made his way back through Kerath toward the house.
The interior greeted him with faint sounds from the upper floor. Talia was awake. He imagined she had wandered into the storage room again, losing herself among the belongings his parents had left behind. She possessed the curiosity of someone who believed every forgotten object had a story worth preserving. More often than not, she was right.
Downstairs, he coaxed the old stove back to life, igniting its burners with the tip of his lightsaber before setting a cast griddle across the top. The remaining fish were threaded onto wire and hung outside beneath the eaves, where the perpetual cold would preserve them naturally until they were needed.
One fish remained for breakfast.
The flesh hissed softly as it met the heated metal, filling the house with the rich aroma of fresh river fish. Bramoc folded his arms as he watched it cook, turning it at precisely the right moment. It was a simple meal, but simple things still deserved care.
A faint smile crossed his face.
If the smell didn't lure Talia downstairs, nothing would.
Talia Larkin Swift
The path between that moment and this one was littered with memories neither of them would have imagined possible, many of which he preferred to leave buried. What mattered now was the future they had chosen instead of the past that had shaped them. Together they had decided to build something different—a life shared not only with one another, but with a purpose larger than either of them. Before any of that could truly begin, however, there remained unfinished business. Talia's collection of archaeological records still waited on Voss, and recovering it was the first step. It would allow her to continue documenting the galaxy's forgotten history, including the history of Veykar Prime itself.
The second morning on the frozen world began before sunrise.
Bramoc rose quietly, dressed, and slipped from the house without disturbing Talia. The streets of Kerath remained as silent as they had the day before, their frozen inhabitants still standing where death had claimed them decades earlier. He navigated around them almost unconsciously now, refusing to linger among reminders he had spent a lifetime trying not to dwell upon.
His destination was the river.
Snow concealed most of the shoreline, but the old fishing equipment remained exactly where generations of Veykari had left it. Nets, poles, anchors—simple tools built to endure harsh winters. Time had frozen them as effectively as the landscape itself.
A small fire soon crackled beside the bank, fed by fallen black pine gathered from the nearby woods. The warmth it produced was enough to loosen the ice clinging stubbornly to the bundled nets while Bramoc used his lightsaber to carve openings through the frozen river several meters apart.
Ordinarily the work demanded two sets of hands.
The Force proved an acceptable substitute.
Once the net had been secured to a long guide pole, he directed it beneath the ice with invisible precision until it emerged through the opening on the other side. From there the anchors were set, leaving the gill net suspended beneath the frozen surface where fish would eventually wander into it.
Nothing remained to do but wait.
He settled beside the fire, extending gloved hands toward its modest warmth more from habit than necessity. Dawn slowly painted the horizon in pale shades of blue and gold, though the sunlight brought little comfort. Veykar Prime circled its star at the very fringe of habitability. Life existed here only because it had adapted to relentless cold. Forests endured. Rivers flowed beneath thick sheets of ice. Animals flourished despite conditions that would have driven most species elsewhere.
To Bramoc, there had never been anything unusual about it. This was home.
Nearly half an hour later he returned to retrieve the net. The pole slid back beneath the ice before reappearing on the opposite bank, and as the mesh emerged from the dark water, several fish thrashed against its knots. He inspected each one before freeing it. The smallest were tossed back into the river without hesitation. Better to let them mature than waste them before they had fully grown.
Six remained.
Enough.
Drawing the knife from his boot, he cleaned them where he stood. The discarded remains disappeared through the opening in the ice, returning nourishment to the river that had provided breakfast. It was simply how things had always been done. Take what was needed. Leave enough that the river continued giving.
Fish in hand, Bramoc made his way back through Kerath toward the house.
The interior greeted him with faint sounds from the upper floor. Talia was awake. He imagined she had wandered into the storage room again, losing herself among the belongings his parents had left behind. She possessed the curiosity of someone who believed every forgotten object had a story worth preserving. More often than not, she was right.
Downstairs, he coaxed the old stove back to life, igniting its burners with the tip of his lightsaber before setting a cast griddle across the top. The remaining fish were threaded onto wire and hung outside beneath the eaves, where the perpetual cold would preserve them naturally until they were needed.
One fish remained for breakfast.
The flesh hissed softly as it met the heated metal, filling the house with the rich aroma of fresh river fish. Bramoc folded his arms as he watched it cook, turning it at precisely the right moment. It was a simple meal, but simple things still deserved care.
A faint smile crossed his face.
If the smell didn't lure Talia downstairs, nothing would.
Talia Larkin Swift
