Private Form and Discipline

[Deanez]

The metallic rhythm of her blades echoed through the high-ceilinged training bay, a steady cadence that seemed to bend the ambient hum of Aurora Station to its will. Each movement was precise, economical, a dance of efficiency and control honed by years of repetition. Dean's wiry frame coiled and released like a predator aware of every particle of air, every faint vibration beneath her boots.

She sensed another presence and turned, eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of her brow. The male Chiss regarded her with equal stillness. Dean lowered her weapon just enough to acknowledge him without abandoning form, studying his posture, subtle shifts in weight, and the way the light glinted along his features.

"I am Tenge'deanez'zoza," she said deliberately, each word formal, measured, and precise. "Dean—Sable Talon." Her crimson-tinged eyes met his directly, unblinking but not hostile. The faint tilt of her head was neither casual nor deferential; it was acknowledgment, a marker of recognition and intent. "And you are?"

The training bay seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft hum of the station and distant clatter fading beneath the quiet intensity between two operatives who measured as much with silence as with speech. Blades lowered but remained at the ready, Dean's stance balanced for movement or defense. Every slight motion of the male Chiss was catalogued, every pause analyzed, as she waited for a response that would reveal more than words ever could.

Zinayn

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn had barely crossed the threshold into the training room when the female inside turned to observe him. Already, they were analyzing each other, and immediately Zinayn felt at home. He often found that humans and other species tended to fill the silence of a moment with needless conversation. They didn't see the need for quiet. They didn't observe like the Chiss did. Seeing one of his kin here in Aurora Station brought him a sense of comfort that he couldn't explain. But he didn't need to explain verbally.

Zinayn inclined his head slightly towards her at her introduction before responding ceremonially, "An honor. I am Irizi'nay'nuru of the Irizi family. Core name Zinayn." His eyes lowered to her blades and then swept over the rest of the room before he fully entered the training bay, hands folded behind his back. He came to a smooth stop several feet from Dean, taking in the state of the girl's target dummy. Deep cuts ran through the figure, not at random by a child at play, but placed tactically by a skilled assassin with extensive knowledge of anatomy.

He half-turned to her, once again meeting her crimson gaze with his own. "I've read your file, along with the record of your operation that earned you the name Sable Talon," he said, watching her for any reaction. After a pause, he continued, "If your skills were to be further refined...I believe you could become an irreplaceable asset to the Diarchy." He turned to face her fully now, looking down on her, but not with malice. "Is that what you want?" he questioned, eyes narrowing as he aimed to find her motive. She looked to be somewhere in the midager range, but Zinayn had not had access to her specific age. But even Chiss as young as 5 had goals and were already thinking of ways to achieve them. He had no doubt that Dean did not get here without some kind of desire.

Deanez

 

[Deanez]

Dean's crimson eyes met Zinayn's without hesitation, unflinching and calculating. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, returning his formal courtesy, her posture low and ready, each movement measured against an unseen opponent.

"I appreciate the assessment," she said evenly, voice clipped, precise. "Your confidence in my abilities is noted. I am aware of my record — and the expectations that accompany it. I do not perform for praise, nor for reputation. I act according to necessity, not admiration."

Her gaze swept briefly to the training dummy, fingers flexing near her belt as though testing an invisible edge. "Becoming irreplaceable… that is not a goal I pursue lightly. Efficiency and precision are sufficient. If those qualities serve the Diarchy, then I will act accordingly. My motivation lies in what must be done, not in accolades or titles."

She studied him for a moment, noting his stance, his awareness, the rhythm of patience in his movements. "If your purpose is to evaluate, then know this: I measure success by results, not potential. My actions will reflect what is necessary, not what is expected."

"My goal," she added, voice controlled and unwavering, "is to act with full competence in the field. To execute missions effectively, without reliance on others. Survival, adaptability, and the ability to respond to any situation are what matter. I measure myself by my actions, not by what others expect or label me. I seek to define my own limits and capabilities — to ensure that, when the Diarchy requires it, I am ready."

Her gaze swept over him briefly, noting his stance and attention, but she revealed nothing of doubt or hesitation. "Recognition or praise is irrelevant. Precision, results, and self-mastery — that is sufficient."

Zinayn

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn remained still for a few moments after Dean finished speaking, preparing his response without hurry. Finally, he responded. "You say you do what needs to be done. As you should. You do not seek fame and glory like others." He crossed his arms and paused in consideration before continuing, "But when the mission is over and you sit alone in your bunk with no orders...what drives you then?"

He let the question sit in the air for a moment, the only sound between them being the ambience of Aurora Station. "You seek self-mastery and efficiency in your operations. You desire yourself to be ready when the Diarchy calls. But why? What do you get out of performing covert operations for Bastion? Precision, discipline, and experience, certainly. Those are tools. Yet, tools are meaningless if the user has no intent."

Zinayn's tone softened slightly as he gestured towards the target dummy. "Are you improving your skills for the purpose of further improving your skills? That is a cycle with no forward progression. What goal are you working towards? Something for yourself? Something for the galaxy?" He turned the far viewport, watching a squadron of Lilaste starfighters dart off into the stars. "Something for our people? Or perhaps you want self-mastery simply for the satisfaction of it."

Deanez

 

[Deanez]

Dean's crimson eyes lingered on the target dummy, then returned to Zinayn, voice clipped and precise. "I do not pursue skills for their own sake," she said, hands flexing lightly near the dummy. "Each operation, each refinement, is preparation for circumstances I cannot predict. I seek capability, not to impress, but to ensure that when action is required, I am sufficient."

She gestured toward the dummy. "This is not practice for practice's sake. Each strike, each placement, is an analysis of technique, timing, and efficiency. I measure outcomes, adjust accordingly, and ensure that if I am ever required in the field, I act without hesitation. The dummy is a controlled variable. I control it, learn from it, and refine myself. That is its purpose."

Her crimson eyes held his steadily. "Everything I do here, training, observation, preparation...serves the same end: readiness. Precision. Competence. That is what matters, not the object itself. If it benefits the Diarchy, so be it. If it benefits nothing beyond ensuring I am ready, that is sufficient as well."

A faint, almost imperceptible shift in her posture acknowledged the smallest measure of satisfaction, not pride, not joy, but the quiet knowledge that competence itself carried weight. "There is… a measure of satisfaction in knowing I can act without hesitation when required. That is all. Nothing more."

Her gaze sharpened slightly, appraising him from head to toe, noting posture, bearing, and subtle tension.

"Why are you here?"

Zinayn

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn reacted to her response with a mere nod. If a human had done that, it would have been obvious that they didn't feel like questioning further or felt awkward doing so. But his nod was a true confirmation that he understood everything she said and that she had answered his questions fully. His calculating sight caught Dean's movement, just a fraction of an inch, but enough to know that she did indeed find satisfaction in her work, which was acceptable as long as it did not compromise her efficiency.

He did not flinch as the questioning was flipped on him. "I have two goals here in the Diarchy. My first is to support this group in bringing balance to the galaxy by helping to dismantle both the Jedi and Sith orders," he stated, letting the weighty declaration sit in the air for a moment.

His eyes narrowed as he spoke wistfully, "Secondly...I wish to seek out any of my people that have been scattered across the galaxy and give them a home here in the Diarchy, where we can be united under the ideals of the Ascendancy once again."

Zinayn began pacing calmly towards the training dummy, examining the burn marks more closely before he continued, "Which is why I am particularly inclined towards your success in this program. I have already examined it in you, but tell me, Sable Talon, do you seek the reunification of our people, or do you believe the status quo is more favorable?"

Deanez

 

[Deanez]

Dean was silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm — even — but it carried the weight of something remembered rather than felt.

"I was born the day Csilla died," she said quietly. "My parents called it fate — that I came into the galaxy as our home burned out of it. They were among the exiles who fled to Naporar. A cold world built on structure and silence, where old traditions still pretended to matter."

Her gaze drifted toward the training dummy, the faint light glinting off its scorched edges. "I spent eight years there. My parents believed in discipline above all else. Emotion was weakness, deviation was failure. I learned early how to move quietly, how to speak only when spoken to."

Dean's eyes flicked back to him, calm but unwavering. "Then the Force appeared. Subtle, at first — a glass vibrating when I dreamed, a spark of energy when I lost focus. They saw it as a curse. Proof that I was touched by the same chaos that destroyed Csilla."

Her voice stayed level, but the faintest edge of something more — not sorrow, not anger, just memory. "They disowned me that night. Left me outside the gates of the Naporar docks with a ration pack and a warning not to return. To them, I died there."

She drew a quiet breath. "The Diarchy found me instead. They didn't offer comfort — but they gave me purpose—a reason to survive. Structure became belonging. The mission became identity. They are my people now."

Dean's crimson gaze softened as she looked back at Zinayn. "But what you're building — unity, without fear — that's worth something. If you can give our kind a home that doesn't destroy its own, I'll help you do it."

A pause, faint but sincere. "No one should have to earn the right to exist."

Zinayn

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn absorbed the revelation of Dean's past, leaving a moment of silence after she finished, as it felt right to do so. He didn't offer any condolences, nor did he express sorrow. Not because he believed what Dean's parents had done was right, but because he saw how it affected her and how it made her into the efficient and skillful operative that she was today. Her parents' abandonment of her reminded Zinayn of the rapid degradation of Chiss society towards the fall of the Ascendancy. The intensified infighting among the Aristocra pitting family against family was one of their major weaknesses leading to the loss of Csilla.

He nodded slowly in acknowledgment of her decision to assist his building of a new society. "You are correct about what I aim to create. I don't wish to make a repeat of the old Ascendancy. Family infighting and internal suspicion and strife were the Ascendancy's greatest weakness that led to our downfall, despite our powerful military capabilities. In this new society, the whole of our people will be prioritized rather than individual families trying to gain prestige and leverage over others." The barest hint of a smile appeared on his face. "Your support in this endeavor will prove useful."

He looked at her for a moment in the quiet, seeing what she had said about the mission being her identity. Despite his apathetic exterior and below average emotional intellect, he was discerning enough to be mildly concerned about her social life. "Do operatives in this program ever meet others outside, such as those in the normal ranks? Or do you ever connect with those within this program to promote synergy between you during missions?"

His expression was still stoic, but the fact that he inquired at all conveyed his slight concern.
Deanez

 

[Deanez]

Dean stood with her usual poise as Zinayn finished, her posture straight and disciplined. She let a moment of silence stretch between them; she preferred to choose her words with precision, and silence, for her, had always been a useful blade. Even now, she felt no discomfort in the quiet—only purpose.

When she finally spoke, her voice flowed steady and controlled, her speech in the crisp present tense that she always used with superiors.
"My interactions are limited," she said, each word smooth and deliberate. "Both by the structure of my training… and by my own choice."

Inwardly, she remembered the reality of it: long corridors passed without conversation, meals taken alone without a second thought, rooms filled with humans she never needed to understand. It had never bothered her. It simply was.

"My time in this program does not include friends," she continued, tone even. "Nor do I keep any outside it. I do not seek that level of personal connection, and I do not require it." Her hands clasped behind her back—controlled, poised, a gesture born from years of discipline rather than any attempt at formality.

She allowed her gaze to settle on him with that cool, analytical clarity inherited from her people. "The rest of the Order is human. Their instincts differ from ours. Their emotions are inconsistent. Their methods lack the efficiency and precision that our people value. I do not see the necessity in mirroring their social behavior." There was the faintest edge of Chiss superiority in her cadence—not sharp, but undeniable.

In her thoughts, she felt the truth of it settle again as it always had in her chest: she had never once felt the absence of companionship. She had been shaped for action, for purpose, not for camaraderie or warmth. And as a child exiled for being different, she had learned early that solitude was not a punishment—it was normal.

"If synergy is required in the field," she said, continuing in the present tense, "I adapt. Adaptation is part of my skill set." Her crimson eyes did not waver. "But I do not need personal bonds to perform. The mission is, and has always been, enough."

For a heartbeat, a flicker of something old moved through her expression—heritage, exile, distant memory. But it was gone as quickly as it came, swallowed by her calm discipline.

"And if a new Ascendancy rises," Dean said, standing fully in her own identity now, "one built on unity rather than internal sabotage, I take my place within it. Structure, order, purpose—these are the pillars that matter. Not sentiment." Her chin lifted slightly, not in defiance but in certainty. "You ask about connection, Aristocra, but I do not miss what I do not value."

Inside, she knew this was true. Even now, she felt no ache for what others considered essential. No longing for friendship. No hollow space where bonds should be. Only purpose.

She let that truth steady her as she finished.

"I assure you," she said, voice calm and confident, "you will not find me lacking."

Zinayn