Public Hall of Rememberance

[Laphisto]

As you enter the Hall of Remembrance aboard Aurora Station, a solemn silence greets you, replacing the usual background hum of station activity. This place is a permanent fixture of the station, a sanctuary dedicated to the fallen and the missing—those who gave everything in service to the Lilaste Order. The air here feels different, as though even the station itself respects the sanctity of this space.

Banners hang from the towering walls, muted in color but unmistakable in their meaning, each bearing the emblem of the Order. These banners gently sway in the artificial breeze, their movement the only sign of life in this otherwise still chamber. The room is bathed in soft, ambient lighting, casting a gentle glow over the scene without drawing attention away from the central focus.

At the heart of the hall stands a holo projector, a permanent installation. The projector is a standard piece of technology, simple and unadorned apart from the personal touches added over the years. Ribbons in colors of mourning are tied around its edges, and small emblems representing various battalions and units have been carefully carved into its base. These subtle decorations elevate the projector from a mere tool to a sacred memorial, honoring the soldiers it displays.

The projector hums quietly as it cycles through its endless task, casting a soft blue light upward into the room. Above it, a large holographic display flickers to life. The faces of the fallen, rendered in blue, slowly rotate in midair. Each face is accompanied by a brief, glowing inscription: the name, rank, ID number, and final moments of the soldier it honors. The details are simple but powerful:

• Captain Jara Ven
  • ID: 5624-LO
  • Status: KIA - Battle of Ropagi II
  • Cause of Death: Shipboard explosion while leading evacuation efforts

Her face is solemn, her eyes forward as if she's still in the midst of her final command. As her image fades, another appears:

• Private Valis Kurn
  • ID: 7812-LO
  • Status: MIA - Attack of Mon Cala
  • Last Seen: Defending His position after Crashed LAET/I

His expression is fierce, a testament to the bravery that led him into the thick of battle. His fate remains unknown, but his memory lives on here.

Each name, each face is treated with the same care and respect. The stories of their sacrifice, where they fought, and how they died or disappeared, are displayed in soft, glowing text. Some entries are accompanied by small holographic icons—personal crests, unit insignias, or awards—adding a personal touch to the memory of the individual. The projector never stops, its quiet hum the only sound in the hall, as it eternally cycles through the names of those who can never be forgotten.

The Hall of Remembrance is more than a memorial. It's a place of reflection, a place where members of the Order can come to pay their respects, to remember comrades lost, or to seek inspiration in the bravery of those who came before them. The quiet stillness invites you to linger, to stand among the holograms of the fallen, and reflect on the cost of service to the Order. Here, in this permanent sanctuary, the memories of the lost will endure, forever rotating in the soft glow of the holo projector, a lasting tribute to their sacrifice.

 

[Dravin macovish]

Dravin entered the Hall of Remembrance, his steps slow and deliberate. The soft hum of the holo projector cycling through the names of the fallen greeted him as always, but today felt heavier. Seven of those names were his, faces that belonged to members of his squadron, friends who had trusted him. He had led them, assigned them their roles—and he had lost them. Especially those who had filled the cursed 8th slot.

He made his way to one of the smaller mini projectors, his hand hovering for a moment as he prepared to summon their names. The cursed 8th slot—it had become something of a haunting shadow within his squadron, a position that seemed to doom whoever was assigned to it. Seven lives lost in that position, and no explanation. No one liked to talk about it, but everyone knew.

As the projector flickered to life, the faces of the fallen appeared before him, rendered in soft blue light. Their names, their ranks, all too familiar.

Sergeant Orvin Drex
Private Tor Jamar
Corporal Helys Arn
Lieutenant Risa Balen
Captain Fen Gorran
Private Valea Gorn
Ensign Jero Tala

Seven faces, seven lives. All had taken the 8th slot. All had never returned.

Dravin's eyes lingered on each face, the familiar tightness in his chest returning. He clenched his fists, fighting back the guilt that gnawed at him. He was their squadron leader. It had been his responsibility to protect them, to make the right calls. But no amount of skill or leadership could change what had happened. That cursed 8th spot had claimed them one by one, as if it were marked for death.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. Each face in front of him carried memories—bravery in battle, laughter in quieter moments, and the gut-wrenching loss when they didn't return.

For a moment, he allowed himself to stand there in silence, paying his respects, letting the faces of his fallen squadmates wash over him. It was his burden to bear—the curse of the 8th slot, the weight of leadership, the responsibility of ensuring their sacrifices weren't forgotten.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he looked at their names one last time. They deserved to be remembered, not just as casualties of war, but as individuals who had given everything. "You'll never be forgotten," he vowed, his voice stronger now. "I'll make sure of it."

With a final glance at the projector, he turned and made his way toward the exit. The central projector continued its endless cycle, and in time, their faces would appear there too, part of the greater memory of the Lilaste Order's fallen. But for Dravin, their memory would always live with him—seven lives, taken too soon by the cursed 8th slot, a burden he would carry until his own end.

As he left the hall, the quiet weight of the past followed him, but so did his determination. He would ensure their memory endured, and he would take the 8th slot next. No one else would fall to it again if he could help it.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto marched into the Hall of Remembrance, his personal guard flanking him in solemn formation. The chamber, usually illuminated by the soft glow of the holo projector, stood dim, its central display silent in anticipation. Around him, the gathered officers, pilots, navigators, engineers, and security personnel of the Lilaste Order stood in unified silence. Some were present in person, their uniforms crisp yet weighed by loss, while others flickered in via holo screens, their spectral blue forms a testament to the reach of the Order, even in mourning.

Each step felt heavier than the last as Laphisto approached the podium, his taloned hands tightening against its edges. His usual composure felt brittle beneath the weight pressing on his chest. The faces of the fallen were already burned into his mind long before they would be recorded in the Hall’s eternal archive.

Because it was his order that had sent them into battle. they had trusted in him, followed his command, believed in the fight he had chosen. They had placed their faith in him as their leader, and now… they were gone.

He let the silence stretch, letting it carry the weight of the names that had yet to be spoken. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but beneath it was something heavier—something raw.

"We gather today to honor those who fell over the skies of Bastion, those who fought and perished among the stars. They stood against the Dark Empire and the Empire of the Lost, knowing the cost, yet they never faltered. Though they are no longer among us, their sacrifice will not be forgotten. Their names, their deeds, their courage will live on within the Lilaste Order, recorded here so that they may never fade into the void."

The hush deepened, thick with grief. The banners of the Order hung lifeless in the still air. Laphisto turned slightly, nodding toward Commander Tarian, who stepped forward, carrying a black-lacquered box, the insignia of the Order engraved upon its surface. Within, service tags and ID chips lay in perfect rows, each one a fragment of a life once lived. The weight of their presence pressed against Laphisto's soul as he reached into the box, retrieving the first ID chip with careful precision.

He hesitated. For the briefest moment, his talons froze around the small metal chip, his breath tightening in his chest. He could still remember the battle—the calls over the comms, the frantic reports, the split-second decisions that had meant life or death.

He had led them into battle.And they had died under his command. His thumb ran over the engraved name, as though the action alone could bring it meaning beyond cold metal and etched letters. His voice, though steady, carried the weight of an unbearable loss as he read aloud.

"Lieutenant Jorren Vax. Saal’kesh Squadron. Fighter Pilot. Killed in Action. His starfighter was critically damaged in battle over Bastion. Rather than eject, he remained behind to cover his squadron’s retreat, ensuring they made it home."

A deep breath. A slow, deliberate movement. Laphisto inserted the chip into the podium’s holo interface, and the quiet sound of a data upload echoed in the still chamber. A moment later, a soft hum filled the air as the main holo projector activated, casting a blue glow. The face of Lieutenant Vax flickered into existence, his name, rank, and final action etched into the holographic display. His eyes, frozen in time, still held the fire of a pilot who had fought until the very end. The silence stretched again, but this time, it was heavier. Laphisto swallowed down the tightness in his throat, reaching for the next tag.

"Petty Officer Arin Dell. Weapons Control Specialist. Killed in Action. Served aboard the Drak’varis. His station was struck in the second wave of enemy fire. He remained at his post, relaying firing solutions until the moment the ship was lost."

Another chip was slotted, and a second face joined the first, their names now forever part of the Hall of Remembrance. One by one, the names were spoken, each ID chip recorded, each face projected into the room. And with each name, the weight on Laphisto’s shoulders grew heavier.

"Flight Officer Sila Ren. Pilot, Kazr’thaan Squadron. Killed in Action. Intercepted an enemy bomber wing targeting the fleet. She eliminated three before her fighter was overwhelmed."

"Chief Engineer Davros Kel. Tazrak’s Fang. Missing in Action. Last seen attempting to reroute power to the main guns as the reactor core collapsed. No transmissions followed."

"Captain Velan Threx. Zar'vakahn. Killed in Action. Remained on the bridge to coordinate evacuation efforts. He refused to abandon his crew."

Each name cut deeper, each loss a wound reopened, never quite healed. These were more than warriors—they were voices in the corridors, hands on the controls, steadfast presences on the battlefield. Now, their faces shone in the soft glow of the holo projector, father's, mother's, daughters, sons. Lives that would never get to be fulfilled

Laphisto’s claws tightened against the podium, his breath slow and measured. He had lost warriors before. He had seen ships break apart in the cold abyss of space. He had seen comrades vanish into the void, their voices snuffed out with nothing left but silent wreckage. And it never got easier.

He had commanded countless battles, and with each victory came a price. No matter how much he planned, how carefully he strategized, lives were always lost. And every time, he carried them with him. Every decision, every maneuver, every sacrifice—they were his responsibility.

Had he made the right calls? Had he done enough to save them? Could he have sent reinforcements sooner? Given better orders? Could he have stopped them from dying for him? The answer did not come. It never did.

When the last name was spoken, Laphisto allowed himself a moment of stillness. He looked up at the faces above, at the soldiers who had given everything. Placing his right hand over his heart, he bowed his head.

"We carry their memory."

As one, the assembled officers, pilots, and crew raised their fists to their chests,dipping into a bow and repeating the phrase

"And we carry their duty."

The Hall of Remembrance now held their names, their stories, their sacrifices. The holo projector continued its quiet vigil, its newly recorded faces now forever a part of the Lilaste Order’s eternal memory, never to be forgotten.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto approached the pedestal once again. His steps were measured less a march, more a deliberate offering of presence. The weight of his armor did not slow him, nor did it clatter as he moved. It simply existed with him, as silent as the hall itself. He came to a halt before the console. Hands at his sides. Shoulders squared. Head held high.

And then he rested both hands upon the edge of the pedestal. A moment passed before he looked up, his heterochromatic eyes sweeping across the gathered. Soldiers stood beside technicians. Engineers beside medics. Pilots flanked by ground crews. All of them still. All of them watching. All of them carrying their own ghosts. Laphisto's throat tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was clear low, steady, ceremonial.
"We are gathered here, in this somber hall, to pay our respects once more. To speak the names of those lost over Serenno. So that they may never vanish into silence."

He turned, slowly, to his right toward Commander Tarain. Without a word, Tarain stepped forward and opened the black-lacquered box in his arms. A soft metallic click echoed through the chamber as the lid rose. Within, the gleaming tags of the dead caught the ambient light. Dozens of them. Some burnished. Some scorched. All of them final.

Laphisto stared down at the contents for a long moment. His jaw tightened. Not out of anger, but restraint. He knew many of the names. Too many. His talons moved with reverence as he selected the first tag, holding it between finger and thumb like something fragile. The silence deepened. He slotted it into the pedestal's socket. A quiet chime resonated through the hall. The soft blue light of the central projector bloomed upward, resolving into the first face.

"Lieutenant Alra Kess," Laphisto said. he hesitated for a moment clearing his throat before he spoke again "Forward Recon, Ash Dogs. Killed in Action."

He paused, reading the display.

"Struck by anti-personnel mine while leading a flanking maneuver through the frontal trench lines. Her last transmission reported three enemy positions, allowing her squad to survive the ambush. She bled out before extraction."

Her face lingered in the light for a long moment. The eyes were sharp. The corners of her mouth hinted at the smirk of someone who cracked jokes under fire. Then the image faded replaced by the next as another tag was inserted.

"Petty Officer Drel Kin. Shipboard Mechanic. KIA. Caught in a decompression surge after impact from Sith heavy guns. Refused to abandon his maintenance crew until the last man was sealed in the escape pod."

Tag. Insert. Glow.

"Sergeant Vonn Talrix. Status: MIA. Last seen holding a forward listening post against Sith shock troops. Position recovered three days later. Bodies of fourteen hostiles found surrounding his shattered repeater. No remains confirmed."

On and on the names came.

"Flight Lieutenant Mara Dren. Shot down during air escort. Collided mid-dogfight with enemy craft to prevent it from striking a fleeing gunship."

"Ensign Jorin Vest. Mortally wounded in trench fighting. Pulled three soldiers to safety under fire before succumbing to his wounds."

"Lieutenant Hars Vell. Infantry Officer. KIA. Killed by sustained blaster fire while rallying a broken line near the western breach. His final act was dragging a wounded recruit behind cover before being shot through the neck."

"Corporal Mira Dasen. Combat Engineer. KIA. Crushed beneath collapsed bunker plating after refusing to leave her position. She stayed behind to hold the door while others evacuated."

"Ensign Ralo Tem. Communications Officer. MIA. Last confirmed transmitting enemy flank positions from an overrun command outpost. His signal cut mid-sentence. Body unrecovered."

"Private Elen Vos. Field Medic. KIA. Died shielding two injured troopers from a grenade blast in the northern trench line. Her body was found with a tourniquet still clutched in one hand."

"Chief Technician Veir Sond. Naval Systems Specialist. KIA. Burned alive in a power junction bay explosion. Refused to vent the compartment, knowing others were trapped with him."

"Sergeant Tyen Varrik. Heavy Weapons Specialist. KIA. Held a breach point alone for six minutes with a broken autocannon before being overrun. Recovered with five expended thermal detonators on his belt."

"Pilot Officer Jaska Thenn. Starfighter Pilot. KIA. Collided head-on with a Sith gunship to prevent it from firing on a dropship full of wounded. No remains recovered."

"Private First Class Lena Carro. Infantry Scout. KIA. Shot by sniper fire while relaying coordinates to incoming artillery. She transmitted the final strike pattern mid-fall."

Each face bloomed in turn. Each name spoken with care. Some glowed longer than others personal tributes sent through the Order's databanks, rendering images of insignias, crests, or battlefield footage. By the time the last tag had been entered, the central projection no longer cycled. It shone steady now, a constellation of faces held in quiet orbit, rotating slowly like stars suspended in grief.

Laphisto let his hands drop from the pedestal. He looked up at the gathered crowd. Some soldiers bowed their heads. A few wept silently. No one moved to leave. "These were not numbers," he said at last. "Not statistics. Not lost resources." He glanced toward the faces still suspended in light. "These were voices. Laughter in the barracks. Comrades in the dropship. Warnings on the comms. They were ours. They are ours." A breath."We honor them by carrying forward what they protected. And we remember them not for how they died… but for what they gave." He stepped back from the pedestal. His hand rose to his chest, just above the heart. He did not bow. He stood firm.

"We carry their memory."

And across the Hall of Remembrance, the Lilaste Order answered one voice, many throats:

"And we carry their duty."

 

[Diarch Rellik]

It might have been fair to say this was the first time a non member of the Lilaste Order spoke in the hall of remembrance but it was worth it to all involved.

There were quiet steps coming from the side of the stand as the Diarch slowly made his way to the pedestal. It was a rare sight to see his face so red. Tears held back behind his eyes. He gathered some pieces of paper in front of himself and than without looking up he began.

"I wish to offer my thanks to Laphisto and the Lilaste Order as a whole for this chance to pay my respects to the fallen. Before I begin, I wish to state that there are many warriors who fell upon Serenno. All of whom were brave and deserve honor. As far as I am concerned, the Lilaste Order and all within it are our family, our brothers and sisters in arms. Never hesitate to come to me, for I would lay my life down for you as so many have for us."

He paused for a moment, looking up in case of recordings and to show respect for what is to come.

"I am here on behalf of my personal friend Varis Oakertain ."

An unexpected moment of his neck tightening at the words paused him for a second.

"I have stood before armies and walked alone into the deadliest of ruins. But this, standing here, to say farewell to my brother; is a wound I cannot heal with the Force or with fire.

I met Varis in the most unlikely of ways. A forgotten soldier, presumed dead on the jungle world of Dxun. Left behind by those he once served. I was there chasing relics of power, hunting ghosts through vine-choked temples. But it was I who was found that day. There upon one of the deadliest planets in this galaxy was a man beaten but not broken. Left to be damned, so I took him with me. Giving him the chance to no longer be alone and in bringing him with me, in giving him a second life, I unknowingly gave myself something greater: a friend. My first, truly, beyond blood and lineage.

Varis was many things. A hunter, grounded and patient, always listening, always watching. His intelligence was only matched by his ability to remind me of the things that made life worth living. We shared more than battlefields. We shared belief. A belief that this galaxy could be better, that duty could have dignity, and that even in a galaxy soaked in blood, there was still beauty, still worth in a sunrise, in the laughter of a woman, in a fire burning at the end of a long night.

Varis died fighting the Sith. Not for vengeance. Not for glory. But because he believed the next generation deserved more than we had. He believed in tomorrow. Noble in spirit, forged by tradition. He reminded me that honor isn't just worn on armor or draped in banners, but lived in quiet choices, in loyalty, in friendship.

And so I say this:

May the stars guide you, old friend and may the galaxy remember that once, a man named Varis stood against the darkness of it all and did not blink.

Thank you."

Rellik put his hand over his heart, lifted it to his lips, gave it a small kiss than opened his palm as he raised it to the air. A symbolic gesture to show loyalty and love. With that - he calmly left the stage the same way he had entered.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto approached the pedestal once again. His stride was not hurried, nor was it slow. It carried the gravity of intent. His armor did not echo against the floor; instead, it seemed to belong to the silence, as though the Hall itself recognized the weight he bore. He came to stand before the console. Hands lowered. Shoulders square. His presence filled the chamber like a tide rolling in.

And then, with solemn reverence, he placed both hands upon the pedestal's edge. He lingered there, gaze lowered, before lifting his eyes to the assembly of Lilaste order personal. most were there on Daro others came to pay there respects infantry and medics, gunners and pilots, survivors and mourners. Every one of them bound by the same scar. His throat caught, but when his voice came, it was steady, low, ceremonial.

"We are gathered here to honor those taken in the collapse of Azlantian Tower. Their fight ended not in open battle, but in ruin and dust. Yet their sacrifice carved a path for others to live. Tonight, we speak their names, so that their memory is never buried beneath stone."

He turned toward Commander Tarain. Without command, Tarain stepped forward, the black-lacquered box in his arms. A faint metallic click echoed as the lid rose, and inside the light caught on a collection of scorched, bent, and broken tags. The room held its breath. Laphisto drew the first, holding it delicately in his talons, as though even metal could break under grief. He set it into the pedestal's slot. A chime resonated, and the face of the fallen flickered to life.

"Private Bran Morric. Rifleman, Graysnout. Killed in Action. Caught beneath a falling beam while holding the stairwell. His last burst covered the withdrawal of his squad."

The image faded, and he set another tag into place.

"Specialist Velra Tarmik. Gunner, Ember Fangs. KIA. Fell through a collapsing deck, weapon still in hand. Her fire kept the enemy pinned until the very end."

Another chime. Another face.

"Corporal Nyra Zellin. Scout, Cinderstep. KIA. Crushed while securing the egress point. Her final report marked the path that saved six lives."

"Private Torrik Xaldren. Rifleman, Torchrun. KIA. Held the breach until medics cleared the last of the wounded. Shot through as the structure gave way."

"Sergeant Davin Krellos. Squad Leader, Firetongue. KIA. First into the smoke, last to stop fighting. Recovered in the heart of the collapse with his squad's tags clasped in his fist."

"Private Javin Corrus. Rifleman, Graysnout. KIA. Shot by hostile fire from a mandalorian by the name of Itzhal Volkihar he had survied the initial collaspe but was shot dead while recovering."

Another chime, another name.

"Private Elra Morn. Medic, Ash Dogs. KIA. Died shielding her patient from falling debris. Her body was found with the bandage still clutched in her hand."

"Lieutenant Koro Dresnal. Platoon Officer. KIA. Last confirmed reporting the tower's detonations from deep within. sealed himself behind blastdoors to save his men from the brunt of the explosion."

The chimes continued, each name rising and falling like the toll of a bell. Faces glowed, then joined the constellation above, a slow orbit of the fallen suspended in grief. When the last tag was set, the projector shone steady dozens of faces locked together, bound in silence, not fading, not vanishing. Laphisto let his claws fall from the console. His head rose to the gathered. Some wept. Others stared forward, stone-still. All stood in the silence of shared loss.

"These were not statistics," Laphisto said. His voice sharpened with conviction. "Not resources. Not expendable numbers. They were comrades. Jokes shared in the barracks. Warnings shouted on the comms. Fire that never wavered in the dark. They were ours. They are ours." He drew a slow breath. His hand rose, pressing against the crest upon his chest. He stood tall, unbowed, unbroken.

"We carry their memory."

The Hall of Remembrance answered, a single voice across many throats, the vow sharp as steel:

"And we carry their duty."

The echo of the vow faded, lingering in the Hall like the ring of steel long after the strike. For a moment, silence reigned not heavy, but reverent, as though the air itself dared not disturb the constellation of faces above. Laphisto's gaze swept across the gathered, his eyes meeting soldiers and medics, gunners and scouts, each one carrying their own private grief. He returned his hands to the pedestal, steady, firm.

"If there are names I have not spoken, faces not yet carved into this Hall, let them be brought forward," he said, his tone deep but unyielding. "This place belongs to all of us. Their memory will not be lost in shadows, nor silenced by stone. Step forth, and let the Hall remember."

He lingered a heartbeat longer, then withdrew his talons from the console. The projection above remained, the fallen still circling in their quiet vigil. With a slow exhale, Laphisto stepped back and to the side of the pedestal, shoulders squared, granting the space to those who would add their own voices to the remembrance.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

When Laphisto finished and asked for any additional names to be added, she stood up stoically. She wore no emotion on her face, but her eyes bore a sorrow she couldn't keep hidden. A failure to keep all of her patients alive. She had no tags for them, but their names were given.

On two plaques, the names were etched. Walking past him as he left the console, she met his eyes for a moment. Looking forward again, she stopped when he had and gave what information she knew about the two people who had died under her care.

"Hanna Cook, civilian from Daro. Caught in the gas we released. Twenty-three."

A woman with brown skin, dark hair, freckles, and bright eyes was displayed until Iandre spoke again.

"Morton Fitz, civilian from Daro. Caught in the crossfire between the Diarchy and Mandalorian troops. He did keep safe his mother and little sister. Eighteen."

The image showed a boy cresting adulthood, with close-cut hair, dark eyes, and a just-starting beard.

Keeping her face neutral, she knew that these losses were a part of war, and she knew that. Even knowing this, she felt the losses personally and was guilty for them.

 

[Xian Xiao]

"Caelan Aereen Valoren, King of Devit."

She let the words hang in the chamber for a moment, letting the weight of their meaning settle in the quiet. The hum of the projector filled the spaces between, the soft light illuminating the solemnity of the room.

Then, in a quieter tone, just for herself, she allowed the grief she had held at bay to surface:

"Caelan…your life, your choices, your courage—they will not be forgotten. I do not know yet how to honor you as I should. I do not know if I can. But I will try. I will remember you. I will carry the lessons you left behind."

She paused, her gaze drifting to the faint shimmer of the holograms as they rotated. Her chest tightened as she whispered the words she hadn't spoken to anyone:

"And for a time, I will go. I must find my own path, even if it leads me away. But I will carry your memory with me, always."

Xian stepped back, letting the silence reclaim the hall, letting the hum of the projector and the soft glow of the banners and holograms hold the king's memory. She gave a final, resolute breath and turned, leaving the chamber with a mixture of sorrow, determination, and the faint spark of hope that she would find her way forward—carrying both loss and love in equal measure.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto approached the pedestal once more. His steps echoed softly in the dim chamber, the weight of armor and silence moving as one. The Hall of Remembrance stood still no whispers, no movement only the low hum of the central projector waiting to awaken. Around him, officers, engineers, medics, and soldiers of every division gathered in quiet formation. Faces drawn, uniforms immaculate. The air hung heavy with the scent of metal, oil, and grief.

He came to a stop before the pedestal. His hands rested on its edge, claws brushing the engraved seal of the Order. He took a single breath, deep and grounding, before lifting his gaze to the assembled.

"We are gathered here, in this hall once again, to honor those who fell on Artisia. Those who stood their ground when the world itself seemed determined to burn beneath them. We speak their names, that they may never fade from memory."

He turned to his right. Commander Tarain stepped forward, cradling the same black-lacquered box as before its polished surface reflecting the faint blue light of the holo arrays above. He set it down upon the pedestal, unlocking the lid with a soft click. Inside, rows of service tags gleamed. Some warped, some scorched, some cracked by shrapnel. All final.

Laphisto's gaze lingered upon them before he reached in, his talons brushing the metal chips like relics. He lifted the first. A moment's pause. Then the sound of insertion a metallic click, a hum, a bloom of blue light as the first face appeared in holographic shimmer.

"Sergeant Varo Len. Crater Fangs. Killed in Action. Southern Great Wall defense line. Struck by artillery blast while laying down supressive Machinegun fire. He held the firing line until the wall collapsed."

The image lingered a hard face beneath a soot-streaked helmet then faded into the next.

"Corporal Idren Moss. Ash Dogs. KIA. Found in the city's eastern district. Gunned down by sniper fire while guiding civilians from the theater ruins. His final callout marked the shooter's position for counterfire."

"Specialist Deren Kael. Storm Vultures. KIA. trapped inside therre walker when thier gunship was shot down, they turned the guns on the enemy for as long as they could rerouting power to the guns until the enemy boarded and stole there walker."

"Private First Class Saro Ven. Night Claws. KIA. Ambushed in the jungle perimeter during a leadership strike mission. His squad eliminated three enemy officers before being overrun by reinforcements."

"Lieutenant Oren Fal. Crater Fangs. KIA. Shot through the throat while directing heavy repeater fire from the southern parapet. His command kept the line steady during the third wave."

"Private Jharns Daan. Ash Dogs. KIA. Dragged beneath the irrigation channels during the city counteroffensive. Body recovered two days later in the gardens near the aqueduct. Evidence of close-quarter struggle."

"Sergeant Kelis Dorn. Ash Dogs. KIA. Found beside Jharns Daan in the same channel. Both sustained multiple stab wounds. Their comms logs indicate they were attempting to render aid to the civilians trapped in the burning building."

"Flight Lieutenant Arven Trask. Storm Vultures. KIA. Downed over the bridge zone while providing air support. Diverted his burning craft to strike an enemy troop column advancing on the FOB."

"Sergeant Talya Merrin. Night Claws. MIA. Last confirmed operating deep within the jungle outskirts. Her squad succeeded in eliminating enemy command officers before losing contact. No remains recovered."

"Medic Oran Pell. Ash Dogs. KIA. Shot while tending to the wounded in the inner-city square. His medkit was found empty beside seven stabilized soldiers."

"Private Rysa Del. Crater Fangs. KIA. Fell from the wall during the bombardment while attempting to pull another soldier to safety. Both perished in the collapse."

"Corporal Drehn Sol. Night Claws. KIA. Spearheaded the final ambush against enemy officers within the northern jungle. Struck by grenade fragments after detonating a remote charge that ended the advance."

"Corporal Jaris Fen. Crater Fangs. KIA. Blown from the battlements during a strafing run. Found days later at the wall's base, weapon still clutched tight."

"Medic Leira Dorn. Ash Dogs. KIA. Found in the lower plaza beside four stabilized soldiers. Her armor bore multiple blast impacts from covering their retreat."

"Sergeant Orren Vel. Night Claws. KIA. Shot while withdrawing from a completed leadership strike. Ordered his squad to fall back while he covered their escape. Body recovered three days later."

"Sergeant Aven Taro. Ash Dogs. KIA. Manually sealed an Imperial portal in the refinery district after the remote charge failed. The collapse consumed his position. No remains recovered."

By the time the last tag was inserted, the central projector shone with a constellation of faces — blue silhouettes orbiting one another in slow, solemn motion. The light of each merged and refracted through the room, painting the walls in a ghostly glow. The silence that followed was deep, unbroken.

Laphisto looked upon them. These were not numbers, not reports. These were the voices that had filled the comms, the hands that had raised the walls, the courage that had held the bridge when everything else faltered.

"These were not statistics," he said, voice low but resonant. "They were our comrades. Our brothers and sisters. They stood beside us on the wall, in the streets, in the jungles. They fought until the very end, so that others might live. We honor them not for how they died, but for what they gave."

He stepped back from the pedestal, resting one hand over his chest.

"We carry their memory."

And the gathered voices of the Lilaste Order answered as one unified, unwavering.

"And we carry their duty."

 

[Michael Barran]

LAST OF THE WARRING LIONS
SWORD OF DEFIANCE
LORD IMPERATOR OF NIRAUAN

TAGS
Laphisto Diarch Rellik Iandre Athlea Dravin macovish

HALL OF REMEMBRANCE
I

​

The Hall of Remembrance, Aurora Station,
Orbiting Bastion, Braxant Sector Outskirts (903 ABY)

'Daira.... I know he's in this slide some-ah... There you are, lad.'

PFC. DAIRA, M.
[GADF - City-Guard of Jar'Kai "Northern Command"]
[883 - 903 ABY]

Died fighting for the shield-generator, two slugs through the visor.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
​

Giving himself a little cuff, palm-heeling against his own cranium to break out from his own training, out from that report-filing compulsion he was happier without; even if they were only just inward thoughts, the old Woad had experienced enough to know they could just as easily lead to something worse, like the flashbacks and memories he was still trying to forget at the time. Barran had losses and revelations aplenty to consider, over which he would go on to claim full-responsibility, though the Spire's surviving reclaimers would know better than to drag a warrior's name through the mud, actively vouching for the Tattered Regent on that matter specifically.

As the Jedi did their part in fighting their way down to the shield-generator, so too would the rag-tag survivors, advancing to the pinnacle point from below, and onwards to survival. Doubtlessly at a cost too heavy for a contingent that would feel every loss, but they strode onward without complaint, as they were all just relieved that yesteryear's heroes stayed behind to fight, to hold out when morale was mere moments away from shattering forevermore. Yet there were more than GADF and NJO personnel to consider in the previous, upward-attacking advance, and not only the Protectorate troopers who perished in the struggle, but also elements from other factions who answered Atrisia's call for aid, as there were others of noble spirit fighting as Stormtroopers that day.

The Diarchy especially, and with their devotees laying down their lives for Atrisia, and all across the streets of Jar'Kai, Bastion's new scions had given their leaders all the precedent they needed for a fitting tribute. At the time, it was the only reason the Lord Imperator agreed to attend the unveiling event, gracing close proximity to the place where his father fought to the bitter end, strangely allured toward a sudden, warm-hearted surprise. Upon departure from New Carannia, Michael was quiet about the belief he would go on to regret this journey to his father's, and his own former holdings, but things would change for the better on arrival to Aurora station, tenfold as much when he finally entered the station's commemorative chamber.

What would the old man say, hm?
What would my old friends think of my choice to attend?
​

Barran was fully aware he was asking himself these questions at the strangest of times, and in the strangest of places at that, fully aware of all the memories these questions would conjure forth from within; but the old Woad persisted, searching within as he continued searching without for names he recognised, gazing across the chamber's Holoprojections for the faces of those he lost. All slowly but surely beginning to represent the faces of yesteryear, the ones who bled and perished in wars bygone, all who made the ultimate sacrifice in recent-history's struggles, civil and Galactic alike. It was enough to think it was more than the mere imaginings of a mad, old Goidel, already knowing his own madness enough to understand that the Force was imparting an important lesson, thus hallucination was ruled out immediately.

Not that it hurt any less, and all in a setting that would require his maintained composure.

You walk with ghosts, old man.
Everywhere you roam, you leave newly-made spirits in your wake.
​

'Aye, sounds about right.'

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto lowered his gaze as the final name left his lips, the weight of each syllable hanging in the air like ash. For a long moment, silence lingered thick, reverent, and heavy with memory. The datapad's faint hum was the only sound before he exhaled slowly, closing its display and taking the small black box into his hands. Turning toward Commander Tarain, he extended it without a word.

The seasoned officer accepted the box with quiet respect, tucking it beneath his arm. Straightening, Tarain brought his hand up in a crisp, deliberate salute one born of duty and grief alike. Laphisto met his eyes, then returned the gesture with equal solemnity, the movement slow, deliberate, final.

As their hands fell, Laphisto turned to face the assembled ranks. The crowd stretched across the parade ground soldiers, engineers, medics, and officers all bound together by the shared loss that echoed through the silence. His voice carried through the air, calm yet edged with gravity.

"If there are any among you who still have names to be spoken, step forward now. Let no comrade go unremembered. Let their courage be honored properly by the voices of those who knew them, and by the Order that endures in their stead."

He paused, letting the words settle over the formation. The banners stirred in the faint wind, and the murmured prayers of the soldiers began to rise one by one, the fallen would be remembered.

Michael Barran

 

[Michael Barran]

LAST OF THE WARRING LIONS
SWORD OF DEFIANCE
LORD IMPERATOR OF NIRAUAN

TAGS
Laphisto Diarch Rellik Iandre Athlea Dravin macovish

HALL OF REMEMBRANCE
II

​

The Hall of Remembrance, Aurora Station,
Orbiting Bastion, Braxant Sector Outskirts (903 ABY)

'If there are any among you who still have names to be spoken, step forward now. Let no comrade go unremembered. Let their courage be honored properly by the voices of those who knew them, and by the Order that endures in their stead.'
​

As the heroes, sons and daughters of the Galaxy uttered the names of the glorious dead, names representing banners and realms old and new alike, the solemnity, the sincerity could not be ignored, thus the reverence shown could not be interrupted. It affected the Lord Regent in a way that hit him gut-deep, enough that it made him refuse to speak up until the voices began to die down, and only then would Barran ventur to give voice to the names of those he lost, those who perished in the struggle for the Spire. After all, the Galaxy was hurting once more, and the common people trying to survive had earned their right to speak first, and Michael could feel the pain in every scar around him, surface-level and psychological alike.

Some would turn toward the old Woad in expectation, but it was not until reassuring hands rested on his shoulders when Barran finally felt comfortable enough to utter the names of those who stood by him, looking up toward the tribute podium as he inhaled heavily in thoughts on where and how to begin, though the answer to that had been given by the people around him. The best place to start (as it always had been) was the beginning, treading out from familiar ground to the unlikely friends he made under fire, covering familiar ground before even daring to cover the uncharted; treading on as few toes as possible, and all to best-honour those who died accepting him as their battle-brother in their last, glorious moments, those who put it all aside to stand aside a man their leaders surely distrusted.

'Of those who fell under my command, from the Imperial Military Protectorate-'

Master Sergeant Kells "Bantha" Koron, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
Perished in Medical Care, suffering CQC-wounds sustained in defence of the G1 Defence Sector.

First Sergeant Nella "Firebrandt" Brandt, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
MIA, chain-reaction explosion rendered G1's southern access-line impassible, no bodies recoved.

Corporal Manuel "Manny" Morn, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
MIA, chain-reaction explosion rendered G1's southern access-line impassible.

Corporal Daniel "Flashbang" Allen, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
MIA, chain-reaction explosion rendered G1's southern access-line impassible.

Sabretooth Lysander Holm, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
KIA, Disruptor shot center-mass during OPFOR's attack on the Spire.

Sabretooth Brianna March, 313th Stormtrooper Legion, 1st Brigade (Kyber)
KIA, shrapnel-fragmentation from grenade during OPFOR's attack on the Spire.​

The old Woad might have stated more, if it was not for redaction and secrecy, names of which he knew would need to be kept from the ears of the public, yet names of which he knew would be honoured by their surviving clandestine contemporaries. The Highland Brotherhood had always retained this right, fully-aware of the sacrifices they would be making as the clandestine arm of the Pellaeonist Party, and as much as their Lord Imperator had felt they deserved a full tribute, the Brotherhood's high-command had always protested against such a notion. Giving Barran no other choice but to respect the last wishes of Druid and Gallowglass alike, but for all the great, classified discretion that cut his tribute short, there were still names left in his list to utter, to note the demises of warriors who deserved long, happy lives.

'Of those who fell under my command, from the Galactic Alliance-'

Sergeant Alastair Greene, GADF, 802nd Regiment
KIA, arterial damage incurred during the fight to retake the Spire.

Guardsman First-Class Matsuodo Daira, City Guard of Jar'Kai, NORCOM
KIA, blaster-shot to the visor during the fight to retake the Spire.

Guardsman Tetsu Karuo, City Guard of Jar'Kai, CENTCOM
KIA, shrapnel-fragmentation from grenade during OPFOR's attack on the Spire.​

For the Tattered Regent, every death was fresh enough on the mind that he could still, and quite easily, recall the faces behind every name that passed his lips, lashing at his soul for every completed accounting of demise. In this, none would envy a man they knew had experienced this too often in life already, a mind still haunted by the eyes of those who perished under his command; still able to recall those he lost in the guerilla wars against House Fortan, against the Sith Empire, the Brotherhood of the Maw, and even those who perished before his traumatic head-injury during the realm's downfall. Faces he was forced to recall in his dazed stupor for almost five years after that, faces old and new alike swimming to the fore whilst he floated, fully-submerged in Bacta.

'There was also one from the ranks of the host-realm here, but we are still unable to identify his unit-markings, but rest assured, his remains were brought with us. Encased, with casket wrapped in the Diarchy flag.... He went by the name Pra'lor, marked on his armour as a Sergeant. He took a slug through his flak-plate - whilst watching my back. Please see to it that he receives his due honours, for gallantry, an' self-sacrifice.'

In other circumstances, it would have made no sense for a man to take his father's mantle, not for any other man who had seen too much death and agony in life, but duty, and a renewed love for life itself proved to be the best sources of motivation. Even after being handed every reason to turn rogue, every possible justification to tear civilisation asunder, Barran still refused to relent in his defence of civilisation, wishing more than anything to impart that patient reasoning on his sons and subordinates alike. Alas, that patience was always being tested, and in addition to that age-old grief, a newer, sharper sort was digging into the furface of Michael's soul, a pain that burned dull every time a new face was added to the crowd in his mind.

Fortunate the Galaxy was that such a man chose to cherish life instead, to have such a man, so fervent in his Ashlan faith, stand on their behalf in times of war, but for those who dared to bring Sith'ari darkness before him, woe would always find those who goaded such a heavy suppression of fury. A rage reserved only for the worst of the worst, bottled up over years of training, meditation and consideration of others, never quite cast away from his soul, not while the Galaxy continued to send him a long stream of healthy outlets. Not for as long as purpose guided his life's work, as unlike others at the peak of their fighting power, the Tattered Regent would actively pass his wisdom on to the next generations, and to anyone strong enough to hear the wisdom in his words.

For what use would strength be, if not to teach it to those in the direst need of a true lifeline?

'And here, on this very archival datapad, are the names of those who we successfully identified among the unfortunate civilians of Jar'Kai, those we uncovered in our search for dead personnel. It brings me pride to reveal that the dead civilians in my list were all buried with reverent care, and it brought me pride to learn that mine was not the only contingent to endeavour such a task, just as it brought me pride to learn that other contingents also compiled lists like this one, here.... I ask that all these lists are combined, and sent, as one, to Atrisia.'