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[The Council of Five]

✠ Kaelith ✠
Voice of the Hollow Star – Arakhan

The air shimmered faintly around him—heat rising from stone, or perhaps from him alone. Kaelith's approach was not heralded by drums or banners, but by the parting of the crowd in reverent unease. The Voice of the Hollow Star walked with controlled steps, as befit his station and sacrament.

His ceremonial armor bore lacquered bloodsteel, dark and volcanic, shaped with jagged etchings like veins carved by fire. Crimson runes glowed softly at his throat and down each forearm—no artifice, but living ink, drawn and sealed in rites too old to explain quickly.

He stopped precisely one pace from the Sky-Sent woman.

A scientist. A healer. Perhaps a dissector. Perhaps more.

Kaelith regarded her with stillness. And then, gently, he looked to the vial in her hand—the one that shimmered faintly gold with Solarborn blood.

His voice, when it came, was smooth obsidian.

“Does it sing to you, Sky-Sent?”

A pause.

He stepped forward, a careful, respectful half-step. His voice remained steady yet crowd around them fell silent there was tension among the golden folk of Doriah and this representative of Arakhan - Kaelith of Vulkhaar's Ash, spokesman for the Cholerkin.

“Do you know the name of the blood you’ve taken?”

There was no accusation in his voice, even so the Solarborn near the Chiss medic watched him closely.

Kaelith paid them no heed. Old grudges were slow to heal, memories of blood linger. The ashen-skinned, raven haired noble offered insight from his people, even if the Dorians were mistrusting.

“It glows because it remembers. You have placed a memory in a bottle. That blood you draw without name was born in the crucible of our wars. It is not only life. It is judgment. Record. A ritual made flesh, passed from father and mother to son and daughter in times of peace - and returned to the land from the fallen in times of war.”

He gestured subtly to his own arm, where a line of scarred marks ran like a ledger—each wound deliberate, ritualistic, purposeful.

“Among my people, blood is not taken lightly. It is offered, or taken with consequence.”

His eyes flicked toward her tools. Then back to hers.

“But I know your hands do not mean desecration. You seek understanding. As do we.”

He withdrew something from a pouch at his hip—a folded cloth of black and bronze, which he opened slowly to reveal a small, chiseled orange crystal with a sharp edge. Upon it he slit his hand, cutting single line which sizzled upon contact with the orange crystal implement. The blood of Kaelith collected at the top of the ritual knife like salt crystals in oversaturated water, pulled from his palm in scarlet rivulets. A gemstone - an amalgamation of the glowing powdered crystals formed where the his blood gathered on the blade. Mineral from his own bloodstream, amassed to small shimmering crystal, orange-red in color.

“This is my offering. Not to your tools. To you.”

Kaelith extended it with both hands, a rare gesture of honor from a Cholerkin priest.

“Let this speak between us. My blood carries memory of five trials, two judgments, one absolution. You will find it… reactive.”

Only now did he soften, just slightly.

“I do not ask that you cease. Just that you see. That you come to know what power hums beneath the surface here. If your science is your faith—then let it be tempered by reverence.”

His eyes narrowed faintly.

“And if it is not faith, then let it at least be caution.”

Then, more gently:

“We—I—would see your knowledge shared. But not at the cost of awakening what sleeps beneath old rites.”

He did not expect her to understand all at once. That was the point.

He was not here to win her favor.

He was here to earn her respect—and perhaps, in return, offer his.

Pinacia Stark​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: The Council of Five

Matthew walked alongside him, his pace unhurried, wings shifting subtly with each step, adjusting like a great bird folding them for comfort rather than flight. The sunlight caught faint rainbows along their prismatic sheen.

"You mentioned that your people see the world in patterns," Matthew said, his voice calm. "War is one of the oldest patterns there is—repeated, reshaped, but rarely unlearned. This isn't new, not really. What changes is the scale."

He glanced toward the tower's inner arches.

"There are powers out there that stretch across sectors, governments, coalitions, and entities that see the galaxy like a board. Planets become pieces. Some go unnoticed simply because there's nothing valuable to exploit… no resource, no strategic position. In those cases, obscurity can be a kind of shield."

He paused just long enough for the thought to settle.

"I'd keep that in mind."


Then, with a softer tone, he added, "If you have any questions for me, about Centerra, the Order, the galaxy, I'll answer as best I can."

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

"Please. Please. Stand. This...This isn't anything amazing. I'm not even the best healer my Order has."

There was a small sense of...embarrasment radiating from Shan at the way the Wyrdkin were reacting to his healing. The younger version of him might have beamed with pride at it, but he just felt like it was too much. It wasn't anything special in his eyes, and he could teach it to most Force Sensitives who had been willing to learn.

"I'm not the sun, no. I don't see myself as some great figure. Heh, that's caused me issues with people in the past."

It was one of the arguments him and Colette used to have all the time. Shan saw himself as just a regular person, whereas she had believed they were more than just a regular person because of their Force Sensitivity...He shook his head at that thought however, not wanting to dwell on negative memories like that. It was better for him to focus on the future that was to come. To good memories and to the bad.

He was not going to refuse the gift either, letting it rest in his satchel. Shan was never a huge fan of using things to aid his Force usage. Yes, he had a healing crystal of fire, but he only used that for the most desperate moments. Apart from that, he tried to keep his Force usage as natural as possible. Relying on help in the form of aids would hinder him if he ever found himself without them.

"...I'll be honest, I don't know what this Ferran or Petilla you speak of are, but I appreciate your words all the same. I am honoured to be welcomed here, and I can't wait until I can bring my student here herself, so that she can see you all."

Shan had a feeling that Zaiya would love it here. He could only imagine the colours she would be able to see through the Force. Maybe he could also invite Iris here some day alongside Zaiya. That way they both can experience this new world for all it had to show.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"First impressions, Lady Calis..."

Tag - The Council of Five



Serina stepped across the threshold as though stepping into memory itself.

Her movement was slow, intentional—like a veil being drawn aside to reveal something not new, but long awaited. The air, heavy with incense, coiled around her as if recognizing something in her bones. Darkness did not follow her into the chamber; it preceded her, curling along the seams of the room like water finding cracks in stone. She did not speak immediately. She let silence fill the space between Ophelia's revelation and her own reply. Silence was the language of memory, and Serina was fluent in every dialect.

She circled the altar with measured grace, one gloved hand tracing the perimeter without touching it. The broken holocron radiated a residue that tugged at her senses—not merely power, but intent. It had not simply broken. It had been willed apart. Contained. Gagged like a prisoner with too many truths.

At last, she turned back toward Ophelia, her expression unreadable beneath the sculpted sharpness of her features. Her voice, when it came, was softer than before—yet imbued with a terrible clarity, like light refracted through cut glass.

"And so the Tower tolls for me." A pause. She tilted her head slightly, letting her tone warm—just enough to mimic reverence. "How strange, and how beautiful, that you knew what even I had forgotten."

She moved toward the mural, eyes scanning the glyphs, her voice falling to a hush as though speaking to the dead.

"These marks are Rakatan, but the carving style—this was done by someone else. Later. The spirals, the scar-glyphs, the chains made of light... This is not their prophecy. This is a response to it. An answer, perhaps. Or a warning."

She looked to Ophelia again, and now her expression softened into something approaching admiration. False, but flawless.

"You were right not to defile it with translation. Meaning is delicate, especially in a place like this. To force it too early… is to birth madness." She took a step forward, her hands folding gently at her waist. "But you listened. And you waited. That, Ophelia, is wisdom. Not the kind taught in temples… the kind earned at the edge of unknowing."

She let that sink in. The compliment was precise, carved like a stiletto—enough to endear, enough to bind.

Serina walked slowly around the chamber once more, each step reverberating against the fractured veins of crystal light in the floor. They pulsed faintly at her approach, as if the very room remembered her—though she had never stepped foot in it. Not in this life.

"The condition," she murmured, casting a glance back to the glyphs, "is collapse. The contingency… is rebirth."

She let the words linger with meaning too broad to pin down. Let them grow roots in Ophelia's mind, where they could spread like moss—quiet, patient, invasive.

Then, more clearly: "This place was built to contain what the Rakatans could not understand. And yet, it waited for me. Not for their blood. Not for yours. For mine."

She turned fully now, the crimson glow of her armor casting long shadows across the black mural behind her.

"You were never meant to decipher this," she said, tone rich with feigned awe. "You were meant to witness. To guide. To prepare the world for what walks among it once more."

Another pause. Her voice dropped in pitch, laced with honeyed gravity.

"I will not violate this trust you have kept. Not as an outsider. Not as an invader. But as the one you called in your hour of unknowing."

She approached Ophelia then—close, but not imposing. Her presence was a tide creeping along the shore. Soft. Relentless.

"Let them wonder," she said gently. "Calamity or cure. But you and I… we know the truth doesn't wear masks. It becomes them."

Her hand lifted and hovered—just for a moment—over the broken holocron.

The Force shivered.

"I will read what was left. I will speak the name written in its fractures. And when I do, your world will know what it waited for. Not in fear." She smiled. Too sharp to be kind. "In understanding."

And then, finally, her tone darkened—but just at the edge.

"Let the Tower toll again, if it dares. Let it tell the stars that the forgotten has returned."

She stepped forward, deeper into the heart of the room, and the air seemed to close behind her.

The prophecy had found its vessel.

And Serina Calis would wear it like a crown.

 

[Tel Ahren]

Tel was not entirely certain what to make of the place he found himself.

After years spent cooped up and hidden away from the wider galaxy, when opportunities presented themselves to get out and see something new, he generally jumped at them. Sometimes without much thought behind it, which was not always a great choice to make; most often, though, it worked out alright. With the discovery of a new planet suddenly shifted into the galactic plane, and shuttles departing to visit it, he'd managed to claim a spot aboard one of them. The pageantry that awaited as he exited the craft was not something he had expected.

But, as the others that were there all dispersed, he found himself left blissfully alone for a time to wander around the open plaza. Listening to the strange voices. Catching a ball from a few children that weren't being quite as careful with their throws as they should have been and tossing it back to them. Most recently, he'd come by a stall offering some sort of sweet steamed buns.

His current confusion was in how they just offered them over to him, and wouldn't even give him the chance to pay for them. Now he was left hoping he hadn't given some grievous insult when he tried to pay...but the buns were very good.

By this point, he'd lost track of some of the others he'd seen arriving around the same time. Shan had gone off who-knew-where; the envoy that had greeted them all had gone walking off with one of the other arrivals. He was left well and truly alone, to his own devices, there near the center of the plaza where the landings were happening—

He looked on with a raised eyebrow at one of the larger locals, standing in what he assumed was some sort of ritual circle around the central landing dais, as the man stopped near him. He jabbed the point of a crystal into his own skin and began to carve away, a small amount of blood dripping down his chin as he did so.

"Is that—" He peered closer, curiosity overtaking the caution he probably ought to exercise. It wasn't obvious yet what the tall humanoid was carving, but he had a suspicion... "—Is that Shan's tattoo?"

Hey. Wait. I probably shouldn't have said that out loud. They don't even know who he is.

"I mean, the uh—the Mirialan. The green one that came with us."

The Council of Five

 

[The Council of Five]

⛨ Sasha Vopiscus ⛨
Breaker of Shields – Bodnar

The younger Titan looked ready to answer the Sky-Sent’s question, his hand still smeared with fresh blood where the carving ran down his chest. But before his mouth could open—

“Enough.”

The command was calm, low, and final.

A hush followed it.

From the far side of the circle, Sasha Vopiscus approached, the crowd of Mireborn parting without resistance. She did not rush. The titans never did.

Her height was formidable, her shoulders broad and squared beneath the ceremonial hide and amber chitin. Her cloak, heavy with weighted tassels, slid against the flagstones. But it was not her armor that commanded attention. It was her presence.

Her eyes settled on Tel, scanning him in the way a war-leader might assess a junior shieldbearer—taking note of posture, weapon, age, fear. But what she found caused her jaw to tighten in thought, then softened as something maternal deep within activated.

“You are alone.” It wasn’t a question.

“You ate?”

She turned her head and barked a short phrase in Bodnari dialect to the nearby vendor. He replied, sheepish but proud. She turned back.

“They gave you bread. Good. None should go hungry in the heartlands.”

A pause, then she dropped to one knee to meet Tel at eye level.

“We mark what matters.” She raised her left arm then, bare from shoulder to wrist. The skin was not smooth; the skin was textured, like armored bark shaped by years of callouses caused by organized, ceremonial, meaningful pain. Old wounds had hardened into ridges, forming faint whorls and glinting fossil-like swirls of crystal-blooded dermal armor.

She knelt, letting the light hit her scars. One near her collarbone bore a seven-pointed star—another a name rendered in harsh vertical strokes.

“These are my griefs. My victories. My dead. Each time I returned from war, I add another. When I lost my brother, I carved twice. When I became general, I carved blindly.”

She looked at him fully now, her voice softening:

“But not all carvings are sorrow.”

She abruptily snapped her fingers twice at the Concordian vendor who was quick to bring a plate. Upon it, steaming gently, were another pair of buns—cracked open to show orange root paste and meat thick with seasoning.

She placed it down between them without a word.

Then sat cross-legged.

“You came far to stand alone at our edge. That is not unworthy.”

“Tell me your name, Skyborn. And I will remember it.”

Tel Ahren​

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

The Grove listened.
That was the nature of it. The Wyrdkin glade—lush and quiet, with its soft luminous rootpaths and the breath of elder boughs—listened to everything. To the laughter of the grateful. To the rustle of moss-mantled limbs. To the trembling voice of a healer who called himself ‘just a man.’

Hisaki had not moved since he spoke.

But when the silence deepened, it was felt—like the hush before a summer storm.

She stood, tall and slow, her living robe trailing root-fibers across the glade’s floor. The spirit-beast beside her—antlered and lichen-wreathed—raised its head, blinking with translucent eyes, then stepped aside.

“There is power in names, Star-Touched,” she said at last, voice like old wind through reeds. "You say you are Just a Man", she continued reverently, "I say you are a Man who is Just".

She stepped forward. The crowd parted without sound, though many still knelt with lowered heads or touched their foreheads to bark.

She stepped past him now, brushing her hand across the sick creature's fur, which had begun to shine again in dappled relief. The child who had brought it was still watching Shan with awe, but now with something gentler in their expression—almost reverence subdued.

“The names you do not yet know,” Hisaki continued, her voice softening, “Ferran. Petilla. Vulkhaar. These are not just places and people, They are lessons we bleed into our children, so they will not forget the burn of star-blooded tyrants.”

She turned again to face him.

“But you...” A pause. “You brought no flame. Only balm.”

At last, the faintest smile touched her lips—quiet, almost sad.

“That is worth a prophecy broken.”

A breath. A shift. Her fingers brushed a low-hanging vine and it bloomed pale teal in her wake.

“If you bring your student, we will receive her.” Her voice dipped again into something older. “Ferran - the Wild - remembers the kind. And the cruel. Ferran never forgets.”

Then she stepped back into the gathering hush, where the Wyrdkin were beginning to rise, murmuring to each other.A moment after Hisaki had returned to the gathered ring, a gentle voice barely rose above the mosswind.

“Vheraei, Matron…”

It was a younger Wyrdkin woman—barefoot, hair braided with rivergrass charms, her cheeks glowing faintly in bioluminescent swirls. She leaned close to Hisaki, speaking in the old dialect, her voice hushed with deference.

Her eyes flicked shyly toward Shan, then quickly away again. The Matriarch's lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but the ghost of amusement passing through someone who rarely showed such things openly. The young Wyrdkin woman had already ducked away into the glade shadows, her glowing patterns dimming with embarrassment.

Turning slightly toward Shan, Hisaki tilted her head and spoke with a voice like warm leaves rustling in late summer:

“One of my kin wonders…” she said slowly, the glint in her eye unmistakable, “if you walk the seasons alone, or if some nest-keeper already shares your shade.”

She paused just long enough to let the meaning settle in.

“A Brood-partner?” she added dryly, evidently using a more crass term.

There was laughter and giggling now—soft and rippling through the gathered Wyrdkin. The matriarch folded her hands in front of her, her smile hidden behind long fingers.

“You’ve made an impression, healer. Be gentle with their hopes.”

Shan​

 

[The Council of Five]

☼ Ophelia Englehardt ☼
Speaker of Starlight – Doriah

Ophelia stood beside the mural, the flicker of light from crystal veins painting her cheeks with soft gleam and shadow. She did not press, nor did she retreat. She simply waited—like a figure carved from starlight and patience. The Solarborn guardians lining the chamber's far wall remained motionless, their gazes downcast, but their presence was not ornamental. They were quiet stars in orbit—burning with unseen gravity.

“I will not urge you to go,” Ophelia said gently, the words soft as snowfall on stone. “Nor will I chain you to this chamber. But I would not be worthy of the Tower’s trust if I failed to say this…”

Her gaze drifted to the broken holocron, then to the mural’s spiraling script, etched in sorrow and warning.

“You are not the first to be descend from the stars that sought meaning in this chamber. There were others—bright as falling stars, adorned in flame, in steel, in shadow. They named themselves gods. Claimed dominion over our skies. Over us.”

Her violet eyes turned fully to Serina.

“They built wonders. Monoliths. Empires of glass and steel.”

She stepped closer, one hand nearing the Holocron.

"The Heart of the World beat through the Tower, it remembered what wicked things Z'haglion's reign had planted.”

There was no menace in her tone—only certainty.

“It sent the children of its memory—the Demi-Beasts, we call them now. Creatures of old law and forgotten hunger. They tore down what the false gods had built… not out of malice, but blind obedience. They were not made to love or to hate, regret or ruminate. They were made to end.”

She let the silence settle again.
Ophelia’s expression softened, yet her gaze remained unblinking.

“I do not say this to dissuade you. The Tower chose you, or something within it did. I am not here to undo that choice. But I am not here to bless it, either.”

She inclined her head, respectfully—perhaps even sincerely.

“I watch. I remember. That is what I was raised for. And if things end as it did before, let the next who bears witness learn from the voice I leave behind.”

She stepped once more to the side, as if affirming Serina’s freedom once again.

“You are free to go, Serina Calis. Or to stay and reflect. The message has been delivered. Whether you are the answer or the question… that title not mine to give.”

Behind her, the mural loomed, telling of history long past and future yet to come.

Darth Virelia​

 

[Tel Ahren]

He was almost surprised the ground didn't shake as the titanic woman cut through the circle and walked his way. Standing next to her, he imagined he'd only come up to her waist—and that only with the best posture he could manage. It was difficult to accept that these scarified beings were related to the others that called their planet home...except maybe the ones he'd seen setting their fires off to the north, covered in tattoos and scars of their own that bore what was growing increasingly evident was only a superficial resemblance.

Maybe. Maybe it did run deeper than that after all, he had no way of knowing yet.

He stood in silence as she knelt down before him, though given that she had an entire meter of height beyond his, she was still taller than he was down on her knee. A brief moment of worry passed as he noticed the vendor that had offered him the buns earlier had come up behind him—possibly to warn him off from interrupting these titans in their rituals—before she made sure he had eaten.

And just as quickly called over a plate with two more buns, these sized for the scarred warriors...large as an entire loaf of bread or a pie, for his size. He sank down in turn, sitting opposite her across the plate. He almost had to wonder if they'd all carve his name on their bodies after he gave it to them. Hopefully not.

Or at least, hopefully not while he was watching.

"Tel Ahren." At the very least, he could recognize that it was wisest to answer before daring to ask or say anything else. As much as he might have been worried about insulting the one that gave him the sweet buns he'd already eaten, he had a feeling that giving any offense to these Condorians might prove catastrophic. He glanced around, in the directions that he'd noticed each of the others head off so far. "It seems like you'll all have many names to remember from today. Likely more in the coming months."

The Council of Five

 

[The Council of Five]

⛨ Sasha Vopiscus ⛨
Breaker of Shields – Bodnar

The titan woman gave a rumbling hum—low, deep in her chest—as if tasting his name in the air like smoke from a distant fire.

"Tel Ahren."

She echoed it, her voice a heavy drumbeat beside his softer tones. Her eyes—stone-brown with amber flecks—watched him like one would a stray kit than had stumbled close to the more.

"We do not carve names lightly, child. Not even those who fall in battle are etched without their kin's blessing."

Her scarred hand reached slowly to the side of her neck and turned, exposing a hardened plate of darkened dermal armor where script-like symbols glimmered faintly in the Plaza's golden light. Each mark was a record—some deep, some shallow, all meaningful.

"This one," she said, touching a curve that ran just beneath her collarbone, "was my brother’s. Pietro, the Unifier. I took it when he earned peace fighting alongside Isidoro Vulkhaar and Hisaki Godo against the patriarch of the Cholerkin. It was peace at the cost of his own life."

She spared a glance towards the volcanic Cholerkin present. Her gaze harbored no resentment.

"I lost a brother that day. Isidoro lost a father. It was a patricide, even if it was necessary for the peace we all share now."

Then, her expression softened—not with pity, but with interest. She studied him not just as a visitor, but as someone young, alone, and yet unafraid.

"But you, little Tel," she said, voice dipping just enough to be teasing, "you wander without others. No war-kin. No shadow-guard. No shield-sibling or hearthkeeper watching over you."

She leaned back slightly, resting her hands across her powerful knees as she sat.

"Tell me… who are your people, that they sent a boy to greet a land of Titans?"
A pause. Then, with quiet seriousness,
"And do you need anything, truly? Not just bread, but protection? A guide? A name spoken for you?"

"I am Sasha Vopiscus—War-Sister of Bodnar, elder of the Mireborn Titans, sibling to Pietro the Unifier, and a voice upon the Council of Five."

Then, with a grin, she reached behind her:

"And despite what some of the Solarborn may think, I am not just made of scars and silence."

She opened one palm, revealing a bead of polished Blackstone etched with red engravings, strung on an elastic cord to a sanded driftwood paddle.

"Keep this if you like... We anticipated more hearthlings among the Sky-Sent."

Tel Ahren​

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto stood motionless at the fore of The Tracyn's bridge, hands behind his back, green-blue eyes fixed on the world below. It looked peaceful from this height—cloud-swept and whole, cradled in the curve of the system's light. But the Force told a different story. There had been a pulse. Not of natural origin. Not of peace. It had rippled outward like a wounded scream buried in static dense, ancient, and familiar in all the ways that mattered. Something old had stirred. Something that reeked of extinction and conquest. And now… people were gathering. He looked down at his Aprentice Iandre Athlea . He spoke low, not needing volume to command attention.

"You feel that, don't you?" Laphisto asked, eyes never leaving the viewport. "It's dulled now… shielded, perhaps. But that echo in the Force—what we followed here it wasn't subtle. Or accidental." He let the silence stretch between them, trusting her senses to answer in place of words. "I don't recognize this world," he admitted. "No records from the wars. No stories from the archives. But the pattern is always the same."

His expression didn't shift, but his voice grew quieter. "Obscured systems. Ritualistic cultures. And something buried deep enough to survive forgetting." The bridge remained disciplined around them no chatter, only quiet confirmations and calm coordination. The crew had been with him long enough to understand his silences meant more than speeches. A soft chime broke the quiet. "Commander Tarain reports ready at the hangar," came the comm-officer's voice. Laphisto turned from the stars. "Good. I will not bring war to this place but I will not let it be caught unguarded."

He made his way down the polished deck, flanked by humming consoles and murmuring officers. His boots struck the metal with a measured rhythm. When he entered the hangar bay, he found Commander Julian Tarain already waiting helmet under one arm, his stance sharp, unreadable. "one platoon, as agreed," Tarain said without prompting. "Squads One through Four of Impact Maw. Loaded for peace, not posturing." Laphisto nodded. "And if we must posture?"

"Then I suggest we posture first, speak second," Tarain replied dryly. A line of LO-58A -armored soldiers stood ready beyond them, each squad marked by subtle orange unit stripes, visors already darkened. The gunship roared to life, its wings extended, repulsors lifting slightly as the boarding ramp lowered. Inside, troopers waited in formation, seats lining the bay like teeth in a closed jaw.

Laphisto paused at the edge of the ramp, casting one last look at the world below. From here, it looked peaceful. But he knew better. "Be prepared. with all this air traffic flockign to this system, all it takes is for one force user or megolamaniac to declair themselves a god and This will spiral fast." He stepped aboard the ship, metal groaning beneath his weight as the ramp hissed closed behind him. Across from him, Tarain took his place near the forward bulkhead, gaze fixed and waiting.

Laphisto said nothing more as the gunship rose, joining the atmosphere-bound formation that would soon pierce the clouds over Safeld. But within him, the tension coiled like a drawn blade. They were not here as conquerors. But they had come ready to guard a people they did not yet know, from dangers they already understood. And from the galaxy, which had finally found them again.

---

Four gunships broke the cloudline in tight formation, descending toward the ancient square with a steady, deliberate rhythm. No flares. No dramatic banking. Just controlled descent and disciplined precision. Their hulls bore the markings of the Lilaste Order, orange-striped and matte-plated for function over display. They landed one after another measured, even, forming a half-ring just outside the Tower's shadow. The crowd quieted, tension drawn tight in the moments between arrival and action. The hatches opened.

Soldiers disembarked in compact, organized squads Platoon One of the Crater Fangs, the breach veterans of Impact Maw, their movements practiced but not aggressive. No weapons raised. No posturing. Just presence. They moved to the supply bays and began offloading crates in swift lines: ration packs, water containers, emergency shelters, medical units. Each item was marked clearly in multiple languages meant for need, not for show.

Troopers worked without commentary, eyes forward, postures neutral. A few watched the crowd cautiously. Most simply focused on the task. At the center gunship, the ramp lowered slower more deliberate. Laphisto stepped down, flanked by Commander Tarain, who moved immediately to coordinate the distribution line. There was no ceremony in it just routine. Well-drilled calm.

Laphisto's eyes swept across the square not in suspicion, but in assessment. He walked forward, unhurried, past flickering braziers and half-finished murals. He passed a family clutching bundled cloth. A man in ceremonial paint. A child gripping a carved emblem too tightly. He didn't stop. He didn't interrupt. He didn't claim. he instead kept on his approach to the Tower slowly not toward the crowds, but toward the figures already deep in conversation. Laphisto caught the tail end of it as he neared Matthew's voice calm but firm:

" If war has not yet arrived, then perhaps we may still weave understanding before sovereignty becomes an echo"

Laphisto's pace slowed slightly at those words. He waited until he was close enough to be seen, then stopped a few respectful paces away not interrupting, but entering. His voice, when it came, was low and level, but carried across the stone."Wise words." His eyes moved between them first to Matthew of Valendale then to Erian Talgrave,[ The Council of Five ] who now turned fully to assess the new arrival. Laphisto gave a small nod. "I am Laphisto. Commander of the Lilaste Order. This is my apprentice, Iandre." He motioned with a slight turn of the shoulder toward the gunships behind him where Lilaste troopers continued their quiet work. "I heard the end of your discussion. About sovereignty. About the dangers that don't come with ships and guns but with promises."

"Many systems offer protection at the cost of control. They wrap the flag of safety around the chains of expectation." He looked directly at Erian now. "That is not our offer." Laphisto stepped forward one pace still outside their space, but now firmly part of the moment. "If your people wish to remain independant then we offer support, not submission. Defense, not doctrine. Our Order was not built to claim dominion… but to ensure no world faces the stars alone when they come looking with open hands or closed fists." He gestured behind him again, subtle.

"Our soldiers bring aid today. That's all. But if you need more than that… we'll listen. We'll respond. And we will never ask your people to become something they're not." He paused, then finally addressed both men together. "The Lilaste order offers ourselves and in turn the assets of the Diarchy to help ensure your people will be safe. we will also offer training and military supplies to ensure your people have the means to defend themselves properly.." And with that, he waited wings still, hands crossed behind his back, his eyes dancing between the two men gaze steady.

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

As the grove listened, Shan just kept an awkward smile on his face. The younger Shan had always wanted this attention, this respect but now that he was older, he realised just how awkward it was to have people look up to you like this. He had been on the other side of this attention, with people looking down on him and thinking lesser of him. Honestly, he wasn't sure which version he preferred. At least when people thought he was scum of the Galaxy, he didn't have to deal with being embarrassed...But this was nice. To be acknowledged. He just wanted to be acknowledged for who he was though.

"You can believe I am a Just Man, but I'm not infallible. I can still make mistakes, even if some may think I'm above them. If anything, the Force makes it so that I have to be more aware of my mistakes and make more of an effort to avoid them."

His pacifism had sometimes been a mistake. His willingness to stand by and let things occur instead of stepping in. It was one mistake that he was trying to rectify, even if it was going to take its time. That just proved that it was worth his time however as he turned his attention to the Grove, watching the trees for a moment as he let his mind wander, before looking down towards the Wyrdkin who's beast he had healed, crouching down for a moment to ruffle the lad's hair for a moment. He could see it in their eyes that they were looking at him with some kind of reverance...so he just wanted to show that he was a regular person.

With that, he then listened to Hisaki carefully, a frown on his face as she mentioned that those names were a listen taught to the children when they were young. It sounded extreme partly but at the same time, the Jedi did the same. Instilling names of Sith and Dark Jedi alike to make sure that they wouldn't walk the same path. So he couldn't exactly hold it against them.

"I might bring balm, but that doesn't mean all from the skies will. I've just...worked towards being a defense for those who can't defend themselves. I might not be able to bring Fire, but I can bring Earth and Lightning. Well...I can redirect Lightning. I guess that's different from bringing it."

He tilted his head at thought for a moment before he noticed the Wyrdkin moving over towards Hisaki, and Shan gave her a small little wave and a smile to be polite to her, even as he didn't understand a single word that she was saying. Though the smile slowly started to fade as Hisaki asked Shan a series of question. His face slowly dropping as he was starting to put two and two together...and then she said it in a rather crude but plain manner and Shan just...stuttered.

"I-I...Oh. That's...That's...a question I haven't been asked in a while..."

At that, his cheeks started to go a deeper shade of green as he rubbed the back of his neck. If anything, being gentle was the main thing Shan had always done in life, so he was being careful how to answer this question.

"No. I don't...have someone I spend the seasons with. I haven't. For a long time. Wait...Shouldn't I be telling her this?"

Colette had been the last. Lily had been a potential but he was worried about ruining the friendship they had together. So ultimately, Shan didn't have anyone in that aspect.

 

[The Council of Five]

⚖ Erian Talgrave ⚖
Anchor of the Silent Circle – Heartlands

Laphisto | Matthew of Valendale
The square did not greet the Lilaste Order with suspicion.

Even as the gunships descended with the precision of trained discipline, the people of Safeld surged to meet them with arms full; baskets of golden fruit, woven garlands of shimmering threadgrass, and flatbread still warm from communal hearths. Young Solarborn oracles attempted to press scented flowers into the hands of soldiers, while Concordian scribes offered rites of welcome and Hymns of landfall.

From within the Tower, Erian remained unmoved. Not coldly, but more cautious than those in the plaza as Laphisto and

He stepped forward from the crystalline pylon's dais, his pale robes stirring faintly in the late sun. The silver of his sash caught the light, but his expression remained the tempered granite of one who had known too many fragile truces.

"Commander Laphisto. Apprentice Iandre." He offered a shallow nod and quick salute - left hand to heart and head and offered
Respectful, but exacting. "Your presence is registered and remembered."

He glanced briefly at the armored squads behind them, calmly offloading crates of aid with precision. It was not a threatening scene, not in motion. And yet the formality in it, the familiarity of preparation, and the militant coordination reminded him of days he had once hoped were past them.

"Relief yet still arrives in aid. Not with demands, nor declarations. For that I am thankful."

A Concordian aide leaned in to whisper something in Erian's ear. He gave a subtle nod, then returned his gaze to both Matthew and Laphisto in turn.

"We are a council of five. Until all voices speak, none may promise in Condoriah’s name - but your promises do not go u heard." His tone was soft, but final. "That is not refusal. It is restraint."

He turned his gaze skyward, briefly watching the streaks of flame from smaller vessels entering orbit.

"Many of your kind come cloaked in armor and strange relics. I do not mistake strength for threat, but such displays beg understanding."

Now, his gaze returned, sharpened—not hostile, but bearing the weight of long service. He had once watched entire cities fall from the ambitions of those who once swore protection.

"Tell me, then." His hands clasped at the small of his back.

"What do your wars look like?"

"What weapons do your peoples wield? What monsters do you birth against one another?"

He paused, but did not soften.

"And what becomes of a world like mine… when such wars find their way to our soil?"

A murmur rippled through the Concordians nearby. For Erian’s question was one on many minds now, and the man asking it did not ask out of curiosity.

He asked because defense was not merely his duty - It was his life.

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

Shan

Matriarch Godo watched the ripple pass through the glade. The moment Shan confessed his lack of a mate, the gathered Wyrdkin responded as if the Grove itself had bloomed anew.

Giggles erupted like frogsong from a nearby thicket, where a half-circle of young women had clustered under a canopied root-arch. They were peeking, blushing, murmuring into one another’s braids. One had already begun weaving a new garland from starvine and dusk-lilies, her eyes darting nervously between her handiwork and the Jedi Knight. And the others who had begun attempting to weave faster.

Another whispered, “We should host a Song-Trial. Let him see who sings best with their beast-bond.”
A second retorted, “No, It should be a brew-match! Let him decide by the brandy of our Circle!”

Meanwhile, a stern-eyed circle of Wyrdkin mothers had already convened by a stone shelf, arms crossed and jaws tilted thoughtfully. Their voices were not hushed. They appraised Shan as though he were livestock from Bodnar: strong posture, clear eyes, delicate hands. A few even closed their eyes to see him through the Force, exchanging slow, knowing nods.

“He carries sadness in the joints. But a steady step.”

“There’s patience in his tone. That’s rare in the handsome ones.”

“Mm. Would make a fine son. Needs feeding though, much too thin for this close to hibernation”

On the other side of the grove, the fathers had broken into warm chuckles, exchanging elbow jabs and old stories of when they had been subject to the gaze of the wives. One wiped a tear from his eye and laughed, “Ah, the boy’s got the whole Glade in a flutter," then repeated something in their native tongue that was evidently slightly vulgar but braggardly by the way the others laughed more.

Before the cacaphony could grew out of hand, Hisaki raised her staff and gave it a sharp crack against a mossy root. The sound rippled outward like a branch snapping in still air. Silence fell.

She stepped forward, smiling warmly but with a matron’s firm stare. Her voice was both amusement and admonishment.

"Enough, my kin. Our guest is no game-stag to be circled and marked.” She turned a sharp glance to the giggling maidens, then the mother-circle. “Nor is he a reed to be braided into our customs without consent.”

She pivoted her gaze to Shan, this time with apologetic look. Her tone shifted gentler still.
“Forgive them, knight. You spoke truth, and they answered with dreams. It is in our nature to seek harmony with those who protect and nurture. Desire, however, does not excuse disrespect.”
She said the last part out loud once more, firmly directing it to the maidens, and the fathers.

She bowed her head once again, hand over heart.

“If one among them stirs your spirit, I doubt their interest will wane. But I ask you judge them by their grace, not their haste.”

A pause, then a faint smirk touched the corner of her lips.

“I am... was... wedded to a Mireborn Titan. He did not seek to woo me, nor I him... At first. We fought constantly — the Mireborn are so dense you need a war-pick just to get any hint through their thick heads." The smirk softened into something close to nostalgia. "Eventually, after spending time amongst his people, I started letting him win just enough, that he finally approached me with a matrimonial blade."

Her hand fidgeted idly with the hilt of a dagger at her hip, inlaid with a familial sigil that likely went unrecognized by the star-sent — the very same symbol of Clan Vopiscus that clad the heraldry of the Bodnari delegat. The indigo crystals in the Grove glowed in remembrance.

“Wyrdkin women have a reputation, namely that they are... bold. They are. But they are not unkind. Only… enthusiastic.”

Her gaze returned to the clearing where many averted eyes now sparkled with bashful mirth.

“They will learn humility, though I fear I will never truly teach them patience.”

With that, she gave a gracious incline of her head and gave a motion to Shan to both grant him his leave if he wished, or to sit once more by the grove’s ceremonial stones if he wished to continue his visit.

"The mothers circle is right though, you do seem thin. Have you eaten?"

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

Why did he feel like he had just said the wrong thing? His cheeks only grew to more and more of a darker green as he heard the giggles. It felt like his head was starting to spin as his eyes were darting around. Women weren't exactly something Shan was accustomed to dealing with. It was different with the Jedi, they all had something in common that he could focus on, and when he was away at University studying for his doctorate, everyone was more focused on their education. Here? It felt like the complete opposite. He just held his hands up into the air defensively, giving a few nervous chuckles.

"You...You don't need to do any singing. I promise you. And I'm not an alcohol fan. Nor am I a fan of tea...I did have someone who gave me tea for my birthday a few years back though...I just gave it to other people."

Because Shan wasn't the kind of person to waste a present. Right now however, he just kept his hands held up, as he could even feel the stare of the mothers at him. It was strange how right they were with some of their words. Could they really just see that by looking at him? He afforded himself a quick moment to look at himself, brushing down his robes as if he wanted to look more presentable. At the very least, Hisaski was able to speak up for him. Shan was far too...inexperienced in these dealings to speak in his own defense as he let out a small sigh.

"Oh, no. no. I know your people don't mean any disrespect. I just get...befuddled with these kind of things. My last relationship whilst helpful perhaps wasn't entirely healthy for me and my ex. She helped me find confidence in myself but at the same time...we were compatiable on the surface, but not on a deeper level."

It was true. Shan did enjoy his relationship with Colette. He still loved in her, as family. But he had thought they had seemed so perfect at first, only for the cracks to form as things went on. Their differences were far more than their similarities at the end of the day, and Shan would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of something similar happening in another relationship. To get close to someone, only to realise that they disagreed on fundamental things.

"But please. Do not worry. I don't plan on judging them whatsoever. If they're hasty, that's to be expected of people my age. And all of your people seem quite graceful so I can't judge them either."

Was he digging a hole for himself? Or finally being able to pull himself out of it? He wasn't sure himself. Instead his eyes darted towards the dagger for a moment, tilting his head at the side. It was an interesting approach at things when it came to romance. Though gifts were always common, it was better for them to have some form of meaning at the end of the day.

"Oh. I haven't eaten today, no. It's fine though, don't worry. I've been used to skipping meals since I was a child. It's hard to get food, or any form of nourishment back where I was born."

With that, Shan just sat himself at the ceremonial stones carefully, crossing his legs beneath himself, similar to how he would sit when he was going to meditate. Of course he wasn't going to meditate yet, it would be rude whilst he was talking but it would come eventually.

 

[The Council of Five]

❖ Hisaki Godo ❖
Whisper of the Verdant Memory – Ferran

Shan

Hisaki Godo stood slowly. Her long fingers spread slightly at her sides, and though her tone held its usual warmth, it rang clear with the weight of matriarchal authority.

“He speaks not of fleeting courtship, but of a branch broken.” Her voice carried, smooth and low, like wind through cedar boughs. “Once, a soul nested in his shade, warmed in his light… but she left with the wind. The moss remembers her steps, and the soil has yet to experience regrowth.”

There were gasps among the maidens. A few clutched each other’s sleeves, their earlier giggles faded into wistful awe. A boy leaned forward, whispering something into the ear of a sister—“Like in the Second Ballad of Minada and Trysius.”

But the stillness shattered at Hisaki’s next words.

“He has not eaten.”

A collective gasp. One of the younger mothers actually dropped the basket she had been absentmindedly weaving.

“He’s fasting?!”
“No—he said he’s used to it!”
“That won’t do at all!”

Before Shan could utter a defense, the clearing erupted in movement. Fathers stood at once, stepping away from the inner circle and calling to one another in a cascade of deep-voiced affirmations. Flint snapped. A series of fire-pits—once nothing more than moss-ringed clearings—blazed to life in minutes, smoke curling skyward through the canopy like lifted prayers.

The maidens scattered, several vying to be the first to offer rootfruit, stew-spice, or folded starch breads glazed in flower nectar.

“Roast the fennel with honeyflame!”

“He’ll need bone broth if he’s lean under that robe—someone fetch from the stores!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’re not courting with blood sausage—save that for your dowry!”

The mothers had reawakened now too. Stern, swift, and tactfully merciless, they called out each competitive attempt with seasoned eyes. One plucked a young girl’s ear. Another redirected a rival to the herb shelf with a curt, “Less sweetroot. He’s already too sweet.”

Through it all, voices rose in song—melodies centuries old, sung in Wyrdkin tongue. It was neither performance nor worship, but an act of deep togetherness. Work set to music, a meal woven into melody. By the coordination of their movements, it was likely a ritualized form of cooking to ensure no moment of the flame's heat is wasted, and nothing is over or undercooked.

Hisaki, meanwhile, returned to Shan’s side.

“You’ll not walk out of this grove on an empty belly,” she said gently, but with the immovable strength of old oak. “A guest, Sky-Sent or not, leaves with warmth in their bones—or not at all.” Her voice didn't sound threatening, but the words implied otherwise. Surely that was an unfortunately translate turn of phrase... Right?

She gestured toward a circle of ancient stones where the elders of each family had begun to settle, their motions practiced, slow, and deliberate. From within their robes and satchels, they produced flasks of fruit-brandy with braided vines around the necks, pipes carved from hollowed blackwood, and cloth pouches of dried and diced root and powdered melanchite.

One of their Beast-Bonds—a stooped, antlered thing with eyes clouded by age and wisdom—lowered itself to sit by the elder bonded with them.

“Sit, boy,” he said (to Shan) with a crooked grin. “And don’t argue with old fools bearing fire and drink.”

Another began packing a pipe, murmuring, “If you can heal with touch, surely you can stomach root-smoke.”

A third elder poured a slow stream of dark brandy into a carved wooden bowl and passed it down.

The circle was complete. The firelight flickered across their luminescent-marked faces as they smoked, sipped, and watched the younger generations whirl around them in preparation. In this moment, Shan was no outsider. He was included.

 

[Shan]

Tag: The Council of Five

"I mean...I guess it was a branch broken? It's not like we ended on bad terms...I think? I did kinda leave the order without telling her though...She was almost like a living storm herself though..."

Now that Shan thought about it, maybe that had been the wrong way to go around things. Did Colette think it was because of her that he had left? Though now that he thought about it, maybe that was the case. He ran a hand through his hair for a moment, letting out a long sigh. He didn't like remembering his time together with Colette. Not because he didn't miss it. No, it's because he missed her. He felt lonely without someone. For him, it was his default feeling but that didn't mean he liked it. It was part of why he threw himself into his training, into his teaching. He surrounded himself with other Jedi and the Padawans so he could focus on passing on what he knew, and less on thinking about he'd possibly have nothing to pass onto family.

Yet before he could react, the grove suddenly erupted into movements, as he watched them all get to work. The fire-pits being lit alight just reminded him of being out camping. It was a strange feeling to watch an entire grove of people focusing on making a meal all because he said he hadn't ate. Honestly the lad couldn't see the point in it. It was fine if he skipped a day or two from eating. He could make up for it the next day but from the sounds of what Hisaski said, it looked like he was going to be fed enough to last a week.

"Well...If you're going through all of this work, I need to be able to do something to pay you back. Do you need any manual labour? I'm pretty good at carrying stuff."

Of course, one could say this was them paying Shan back for his healing but in his eyes, healing wasn't something that should be rewarded. It was a necessity like someone needing food or water. Though he didn't really get much of a choice if he was being honest, as he got sent over towards the table with the elders, giving them all a polite grin as he sat himself down carefully, gently refusing the brandy.

"I don't like to drink. It clouds my mind. I always like to be focused. You never know when someone might need healing in some way. Be it through the Force or physically."

Another part of him that was nearly active. It wasn't exactly that he was on edge or paranoid, but Shan was always worried that someone would get hurt. That they'd need some kind of help and if Shan was the only one around to help, he needed to be at his best. Stay as focused as he could be so that he wouldn't risk making a mistake. Mistakes were a part of life after all, but Shan didn't want his mistakes to be a part of someone's death as he looked around the grove slowly but surely.

"I can do more than just heal though. I used to be able to use the Force to communicate with animals. I don't do that as much anymore though...I also use it to protect though."

At that, he dug his hand gently amidst the ground he was sat on, and Willed it. Willed the ground to shift ever so slightly, as he made a miniature replica of the ancient stones out of fresh mud, before lifting his hand up to show the muddy replica that stood there. Wait. Why was he showing off? Wasn't he trying to make himself seem like he was bad partner material?

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Across time and space, Iandre had travelled. Even if most of it had been in hibernation. When an ancient awoke, she felt it. Her master had felt it. Countless others had as well. It had drawn a great many like a moth to a light. One that might have caused them harm, but they felt the need to investigate what had happened. So Laphisto and she gathered some troops to bring assistance and supplies.

She sat lower than Laphisto but knew exactly when to look up at him, almost like she had been with her Jedi Master. Soon, they would be exactly like that, and Iandre looked forward to that day. Nodding as he spoke, she was silent. She would likely break her silence when needing to express her opinion or answer a legitimate question.

As Laphisto moved about the deck, Iandre fell into step with him. She kept her barrier down while in the company of people she knew and trusted. Nobody here was going to attack or betray her. As she thought about it, the clones had done precisely that. Perhaps she should be on her guard...Pursing her lips, she looked between them as they walked together. No, these people weren't going to betray her.

Climbing aboard the gunship, Iandre took a familiar position in hers. When they landed, her barrier came up out of habit. Her first Master had always trained her to wear one, so the Padawan did that most of the time. Walking with confidence with Laphisto, she was observant and at ease. With his introduction, she nodded at each of them.

Choosing not to speak, she continued observing the activities going on around them. Turning to face Erian as he spoke, she nodded to him as well. Those who approached the woman weren't ignored as much as they were not responded to. If any of them hung a garland around her neck, it was accepted, but she did not reach out to any of them.

Standing up straighter as he asked his questions, she wanted to refuse to answer. They had not come with war on their minds, yet she felt like he was treating them as a threat. Luckily, it wasn't her place to answer, but her eyes showed some defiance.

Laphisto The Council of Five Matthew of Valendale

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Laphisto The Council of Five ​

"Many of your kind come cloaked in armor and strange relics. I do not mistake strength for threat, but such displays beg understanding."

"Do your people often travel to unknown lands with out protection?"

Matthew glanced toward @Laphisto, his expression thoughtful. He knew of the man, at least, on paper. The part he’d played on Lothal under the banner of the Empire of the Lost, and the reports the TAC had filed on him. Matthew had been one of the financial backers for the initiative and had reviewed more than a few debriefings.

He hadn’t fought in those battles himself, but his support had helped turn the wheels of the machine so to speak. He remembered that much as he quietly listened withholding judgment.

Then, finally, he answered.

“Well… some people use things like this.”

He reached into his cloak and withdrew a small device, placing it gently into Erian's hand...a Goo Grappler.

“Only... typically people use far worse nastier versions. Others wield blades of focused plasma and light; weapons that can sever flesh and bone in an instant, or bore straight through starship hulls.”

He tapped the odd hilts hanging at his hip, distinctly ornate things: [X], and [X].

“Others still use worse....tools of horror. Biological agents that spread plague and suffering. Chemical weapons that burn or poison slowly. And some… some have technology that can erase a person entirely. Not fire nor in to ash. Just.... gone.”

His voice lowered slightly in reverence for the reality he described.

“That’s the kind of war that exists beyond your sky. Not every world sees it.... and of those that do... not every one survives it.”

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Tel Ahren | Open

​

Ever since the box incident, Braze had been keeping tabs on Tel Ahren . Today, he found himself curious, curious enough to shadow the young padawan as he embarked on a trip.

After all, it had been Zark San Tekka idea that padawans should be protected and watched, even on field assignments. Tel should have had a chaperone with him.

But from what Braze could tell, he didn't. Nor did he seek to get one before coming out here.

The young Knight had taken the opportunity to practice his shadowing skills by keeping watch and trailing after Tel. He kept a respectful distance and did his best to remain out of sight. His robes were all black, simple in make and design, but recently he had adorned them with red cord wrapped around his arms, legs, and waist.

Green eyes tracked the woman Tel was speaking with.

Braze was curious to see what exactly Tel Ahren got up to when he thought no one was watching.

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