Private I am Listening || Michael Hightower

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

EDGE OF MANDALORIAN SPACE

Aether Verd stood beneath the steel crest of his warship, arms folded, gaze fixed on the stars beyond.

The Resolute Dawn drifted at the edge of Mandalorian space like a blade at rest — unraised, but sharp all the same. Its dark hull was flanked by Kom'rk-class fighters, distant and patient in their escort patterns. This was not a warfleet. This was a message:

We are listening. But we are not blind.

Rumors had reached him. Not from spies or slicers, but from the tired voices that carried through backchannels and battlefield debris. Whispers of an admiral — sharp, seasoned, and sick of watching good men be thrown like ash into the void for the amusement of mad kings in red robes. A man with discipline. With principle. With enough fire left to care what all this meant.

That kind of fire was rare. Aether wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

He nodded to the comms officer. “Send it.”

The channel opened — encrypted, tight, and unmistakably Mandalorian.

“Admiral Hightower. This is Mand’alor the Iron, aboard the Resolute Dawn. If you’re the man I’ve heard about, then you’re not here by accident. I’m offering you a seat across from me — not as enemy, not as spy, but as a commander who knows the weight of lives and the ache of purpose. You want your men to be more than fuel for another fool’s fire. Come aboard. Let's speak plainly.”

There was no flourish. No veiled threat. Just the steel certainty of a man who built nations with blood and armor — and had no patience left for ceremony.

Aether turned from the viewport, the faintest smirk tugging at his face.

Now it was up to Hightower.​

Michael Hightower​

 

[Michael Hightower]

It wasn't the attraction of a moth to a flame that drew Michael across the galaxy, that fatal attraction that you couldn't turn away from despite knowing better. It was more like the was being pushed on a tide of blood that provided that inexorable force that drove you forward. It was the blood of the soldiers who had died under his command.

It was one thing to die when you expected it, ever soldier knew that death was an inevitable companion, stalking your every waking moment. You learned to live with the spectre of not just your death, but also the death of those around you. They chose the life, chose to stand as shield and sword for those who couldn't face the dark by themselves. Chose to die for them if needed

Those that deaths though, they needed to have a reason, needed to have some justification. It was that need that had drawn the man across the galaxy, he'd seen too many soldiers sacrificed by those in power for nothing more than a tantrum. Sacrificed as mere distractions, or fodder in a ritual, cast aside by uncaring masters who saw no value in those without the force, those who had sworn to serve.

Men cast aside while Michael was unable to protect them. For all his years of experience, his leadership, he'd been unable to carry out the most basic duty of a military commander, to shepherd his men and when their lives had to be spent, to make it mean something.

It was that failure that had drawn him halfway across the galaxy, it was the promise that the message received from the new Mand'alor held. A promise of loyalty that cut both ways, of a leader who saw soldiers as more than cogs in a machine, or tools to be used and discarded. It had brought the man here, following a young officer through the halls of a clean ship. It was impressive, but Michael was all too aware how easy it was to look good.

No, the truth would be found in the measure of the man he was here to meet. To see if he was everything that he had promised.

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

EDGE OF MANDALORIAN SPACE

The hangar hissed as pressure normalized, and the ramp of the arriving shuttle touched durasteel.

Two Supercommandos stepped forward — not ornamental guards, but veterans in burnished beskar, their visors locked onto the figure descending the ramp. They spoke no words as they fell in on either side of Admiral Michael Hightower. Their silent escort guided him through the belly of the Resolute Dawn — past hangar crews moving in quiet precision, past warriors training in low gravity chambers, past sigils of iron and flame engraved on the walls.

No pomp. No parade. Just purpose.

The doors to the bridge parted with a hydraulic shhhk, revealing the heart of the ship — and at its center, the Mand’alor.

Aether Verd sat on the raised throne at the rear of the command deck. A predator’s perch. His armor caught the glow of the starfield beyond, black and burnished crimson. As Hightower approached, Aether stood — slow, steady — and stepped down from the dais.

He removed his helmet, tucking it beneath one arm, and extended his right hand.

“Welcome aboard.” he said.

No title. No pretense. Just the greeting of one commander to another.

He let the moment breathe before continuing, his voice calm, deliberate.

“Out here, we do things differently. Bloodline doesn’t buy loyalty. The Force doesn’t grant command. What matters is merit — the will to build something that lasts, and the discipline to see it through.”

He stepped to the viewport, gazing out at the black. The Kom’rks continued their slow patrol. The stars remained indifferent.

“You and your men could have that. A place where your lives aren’t gambled by cowards in velvet cloaks. A safe harbor. A new standard. But before I make you that offer… I need to know you.”

He turned to face the Admiral again, the steel of his tone now sharpened.

“You’ve seen the worst of men with power. You’ve buried soldiers who deserved better. So tell me, Admiral — in your own words — why should Mandalore place its trust in you? Why should I welcome you among our ranks, knowing the firestorm your old masters might bring in your wake?”

Aether didn’t ask to intimidate.

He asked to understand.​

Michael Hightower

 

[Michael Hightower]

"Because you need me."

There was a hint of the parade ground in the older man's stance as he turn to look out of the window at the dark void of space that he'd spent most of his life learning to tame and understand. He could see the pinpricks of stars arrayed as a background, like a scattering of diamonds twinkling at them as the flashing lights of ships as they traced their paths through the void.

"I've got no doubt that on the ground your warriors are more than a match for anyone else out there in the galaxy. But there's more to war than just being the best fighter on the field."

The man turned back to face the Mandalor, his head nodding at the desk as a wry smile touched the corner of his lips.

"I guess you've discovered an army marches on it's stomach, or at least the paperwork. Running a military, an effective military almost never comes down to who's the better tactician, or who has better ships and soldiers. It's about who has the better logistics network, who can out think their opponent and have more resources available where you need them. Right now you have the advantage of short supply lines and easy access to your industrial production. But, no-one you have has equipped an expeditionary force for long distance supply, has had to manage a war that stretches out over entire star systems. I've got no doubt you've got military commanders who have won fights in a system, an attack on a pirate base, or even a military base if they've been hired as mercenaries. I'm sure there are some members of your court who have lead squadron of ships to victory."

There was nothing wry about the smile that curled up Michael's lips now, it was the smile of a shark, of an apex predator.

"I've managed wars, fights that have been spread across multiple star systems. You want to know why you should risk the firestorm that the Sith might bring on your heads? Because I'm a tool, one that you can use to build yourself a military that can cut through any political firestorm in the galaxy. Because, more than using a navy, I know how to build on, to train and lead one. I am one of the best in the galaxy at what I do, I'm not your equal with blaster or sword, you have many soldiers who can lead a fight and kill the enemy ahead of them, protect their brothers on your citizens. But if I do my job right, then the sword and blaster can stay sheathed, we can stay a step ahead of the game."

The admiral took a few steps forward, staring out of the window for a moment before he turned for face the Mandalor, eyes running over his frame and the desk behind him.

"You said it before yourself, I'm tired of seeing my men thrown away for political advancement, wasted by those who lack the training or understanding to command. So tell me, what is it that you want? What does your standard mean? Tell me why I should follow you,"

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

EDGE OF MANDALORIAN SPACE

Aether regarded the Admiral without interruption, letting the silence stretch into something contemplative rather than confrontational. He studied the lines carved into the older man's face by decades of war, the set of his shoulders shaped by burdens few could carry, the spark in his eyes that remained despite all he had endured.

“You are right about many things.” Aether began, his voice calm, clear, and deliberate. “But allow me to correct you on one.”

He stepped back to the viewport, the stars glinting off the burnished crimson of his armor as he lifted his gaze to the void. Kom’rks continued their silent patrol while the Resolute Dawn held position like a sentinel at the edge of a galaxy that too often mistook Mandalorians for hired blades rather than builders of nations.

“You said I need you. We believe need is weakness. We are Mandalorians. We make war our religion, our lifeblood, our cornerstone. We have waged campaigns across the galaxy, broken sieges, mastered logistics, and bent entire systems to our will when the moment demanded it. This Empire will do so again when the time is right.”

He let the truth settle before turning back to Michael.

“What you meant to say is that I would want you. On that point, I agree. What you bring to the table is worth the attention of any ruler who wishes to build something that endures. It is worth the risk of butting heads with the Sith, worth the weight of considering what comes next.”

Aether’s eyes met the Admiral’s, the weight of his next words anchored by the conviction behind them.

“You asked me what I want. I want a Mandalore that does not have to rebuild itself every generation. I am tired of seeing my people used as the convenient sword arm of Jedi or Sith, picking a side only to watch our homes burned in the aftermath. When we chose the Jedi, our civilians were vented into the void. When we chose the Sith, we were betrayed, and Mandalore was consumed.”

He set his helmet down on the edge of the table, folding his hands before him.

“I want that cycle to end. I want this Empire to outlast me. To do that, we need more than warriors who live and die by the Resol'nare. We need people willing to make the Empire their home, to build something greater than themselves, to serve a standard worth carrying into battle.”

He lifted his chin slightly, his tone unyielding yet not without warmth.

“So what does my standard mean? It means your bloodline does not decide your worth here. The Force does not decide it either. Mandalorian or Domarian, citizen or warrior, all stand equal before me. There are a few ancestral roles tied to our people that will remain ours, but everything else is open. Anyone can rise from nothing and become legend in this Empire, provided they have the merit and the will to see it through.”

Aether stepped closer, letting the Admiral see the conviction in his eyes.

“You should follow because I am the opposite of where you came from. You should follow because here, your efforts will not be wasted on the whims of cowards in velvet cloaks. Here, you can build something that lasts, something worthy of your experience, something worthy of your men.”

He extended his hand once more, not as a demand, but as an invitation.

“Choose this, Admiral, and we will see what legacy we can carve into the stars together.”​

Michael Hightower