Private Iron and Shadow || Sidonia

[Aether Verd]

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

VERD ESTATE, MANDALORE

The heat shimmered across the horizon.

Even at dawn, the air above Mandalore’s deserts quivered like glass, the ochre sands stretching toward the horizon in waves of living flame. Far in the distance, mesas broke through the haze like the bones of old titans, and beyond them, slivers of green marked the slow return of life to the world. Aether Verd had seen to that himself. The planet that once stood broken and ashen beneath centuries of war now breathed again, its scars softened by renewal. The homeworld of his people, the heart of the Empire, was no longer a tomb. It was alive.

And it was here that he would receive his guest.

The Mand’alor stood upon the wide stone landing pad that crowned the uppermost terrace of the House Verd Estate. The structure sprawled across the mountainside like a fortress carved from the bones of the planet itself. Its towering ramparts and angular walls were forged from luminous white stone, veined with gold where the sun struck. Wind swept through its open halls, carrying the dry scent of dust and iron. From afar, it might have seemed a citadel built for kings; up close, it was unmistakably a stronghold. Verd to its core.

Aether waited at the edge of the bay, helm tucked beneath his arm. His armor, dark as volcanic glass and streaked faintly with crimson, drank in the morning light. The crimson cloak at his back stirred faintly with the wind, the fabric whispering against the beskar plates. His expression, hidden behind the hard lines of discipline, was unreadable but not unfeeling. Thule had left its impression upon him.

Flanking the landing pad stood his Supercommandos. Their armor gleamed gold beneath the twin suns, each warrior unmoving, spears angled toward the ground in a silent salute. They were symbols as much as guards, living embodiments of Mandalorian might and tradition.

Aether’s gaze rose toward the pale sky, where the faint trace of an approaching ship cut through the light. He had sent for Sidonia of Thule, Warden of a world steeped in shadow. A week had passed since he had stepped upon her soil, spoken amidst her stronghold, and now he sought to return that grace upon his own.

Hospitality was a language older than war.

So he waited, the dry wind lifting the edges of his cloak, the weight of a thousand histories pressing silent between them. The Mand’alor stood in the heat of his homeland, waiting to see how the Warden of Thule would answer his call, and what bridges might yet be forged between iron and shadow.​

Sidonia

 

[Sidonia]

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LOCATION: THULE​

The twin suns of Mandalore blazed across the horizon as Sidonia’s ship descended through the shimmering air — a dark vessel streaked with silver, its surface gleaming like cooled steel against the heat. As it touched down, the desert winds rose in spirals of gold and dust, wrapping the landing pad in a restless haze.

When the ramp lowered, the heat met her first, dry and heavy, pressing against her as if the world itself tested her resolve. But Sidonia stepped forward without hesitation. Her composure was unshaken, her stride steady, every movement carrying the calm assurance of someone who had already stood before fire and not been burned.

She was a vision of control and purpose. Pale-blue hair caught the light of the rising suns, and her ice-bright eyes scanned the line of golden-armored Supercommandos before settling on the man who waited at their head.

Lord Verd.

It had been only a week since they had last met on her world, beneath Thule’s pale skies. There, the air had been cold enough to bite, the halls quiet enough to hear one’s own breath. She remembered his presence clearly: unyielding, yet tempered by purpose. He had come to her as a guest then, and she had offered her hospitality as custom demanded. Now the balance turned.

There was a faint tug in her chest, not hesitation, but a recognition of the weight of this return. To be received by Mandalore’s ruler was no simple courtesy. It was a test of mutual respect, of unspoken diplomacy wrapped in iron and tradition. And Sidonia was not one to shrink from such things.

She stepped onto the landing pad, her coat stirring in the wind, revealing glimpses of the armor beneath; silver-gray beskar accented with pale blue, the sigil of Thule etched across one shoulder: a black crescent encircling a single shard of light. The sword at her side gleamed faintly in the heat, its presence quiet but undeniable.

“Lord Verd,” she greeted as she came to stand before him. Her tone was smooth and even, but there was warmth behind the formality, the kind earned through shared understanding. “Mandalore has changed since last I stood beneath its suns. You’ve kept your promise.”

Her gaze flicked to the horizon where green life pushed through the ochre sands before returning to his. “A week ago, you stood upon Thule’s ice as my guest. Now the favor is mine to return.”

She inclined her head slightly, the motion deliberate and balanced, a mark of respect between equals.

“Let us see,” Sidonia said, a faint smile ghosting across her lips, “if the same understanding we found in the cold can endure the heat.”

The wind swept between them, carrying dust, memory, and the first hint of something new; the meeting of shadow and flame under Mandalore’s twin suns.

 

[Aether Verd]

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

VERD ESTATE, MANDALORE

The vessel’s shadow cut through the light like a promise.

Aether watched as the ramp descended, and there she was. Sidonia of Thule. Composed, deliberate, unshaken beneath Mandalore's sun. Her presence was exactly what he envisioned for the Empire. She did not wear beskar, nor did she need to. The strength of Mandalore was not measured by armor alone. She was Imperial by culture and conviction, a daughter of the Domarian line whose people now stood beneath the banner of the Caburian Creed he had written. The rights and privileges it offered were not empty doctrine; they were the foundation of a civilization where all who swore loyalty had worth. Sidonia was proof of that. Living proof that the Empire’s strength did not end with the clans, but grew through those who believed in its future.

He found himself looking forward to this meeting more than most. A week past, they had shared words in the cold halls of Thule. Now, upon the scorched stone of his home, he hoped they would forge more than accord. Trust, once earned, would be the truest victory between iron and shadow.

When she greeted him, Aether inclined his head in return. “Lady Sidonia,” he said, voice steady as tempered steel. “You honor me with your presence. I gave my word that Mandalore would live again, and I keep my word. I am grateful you have made the voyage to the heart of the Empire.”[/color]

He turned, gesturing for her to follow as the Supercommandos fell into silent formation. “Come,” he said, his tone softening. “The sun is less forgiving here than on Thule.”

They moved through open halls of pale stone and gold, the air cooling as they entered the inner sanctum of the estate. Soon, the harsh brilliance of the desert yielded to the quiet glow of the Sun Parlor. The chamber was a sanctuary of light, its high windows veiled by radiant tapestries that turned the sunlight into a warm, golden hue. A modest table awaited them, set with carafes of chilled water, fruit, and thin slices of cured meat.

Aether paused beside his chair, setting his helm upon the table’s edge. “I can think of no better way to return Thule’s hospitality,” he said, motioning toward the opposite seat, “than to break bread together.”

The words were simple, but the weight of them was not. Here, beneath the softened light of Mandalore, two worlds met again. Iron and shadow, bound not by conquest, but by choice.​

Sidonia

 

[Sidonia]

Sidonia followed Lord Verd through the corridors of the estate, her pace unhurried yet deliberate. The faint sound of her boots against the stone echoed through the open halls, steady and measured, a rhythm that matched her calm exterior. The air grew cooler as they moved inward, carrying the scent of stone and iron instead of dust and sunfire.

Mandalore’s heart was not what she expected. The estate was built like a fortress, yes, but it held more grace than she had imagined; clean lines, open light, and a sense of order that spoke of purpose, not pride. Everything here reflected its master.

She glanced toward him as they walked, the red streaks of his armor catching glints of gold from the walls, the weight of his presence quiet but absolute. He carried command the way others carried breath. It was something she recognized immediately… and respected.

When they entered the Sun Parlor, Sidonia slowed. The chamber was bathed in amber light, its tall windows veiled by fabric that softened the harsh glow of the twin suns. It reminded her of warmth without chaos; a strange thing, to find serenity here of all places.

At his invitation, she tilted her head slightly, lips curving into something between amusement and acknowledgment. “You’ve gone to greater lengths than I expected, Lord Verd,” she said, her tone smooth but edged with dry humor. “I’d heard Mandalorian hospitality was usually offered with a blade, not a banquet.”

She removed her gloves slowly, finger by finger, before taking her seat across from him. Beneath the soft folds of her coat, her armor caught the light, silver-gray beskar with a faint blue tint, the sigil of Thule gleaming against her shoulder. A reminder of who she was, even here in the heart of his Empire.

Her gaze lingered on him as she continued. “A week ago, you stood in my halls, cold stone, colder air, and spoke of renewal. Of unity without subjugation. I’ll admit, I doubted how far words could reach.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly, though not in disdain. “But Mandalore breathes again. That alone earns a measure of respect.”

For a heartbeat, her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “You’ve done what most rulers cannot: rebuilt without erasing what came before.”

She reached for her glass, her fingers brushing against the condensation before lifting it to her lips. The water was cold and refreshing, grounding. “Thule has its own scars,” she said after a moment. “Perhaps that’s why I understand this more than I expected to.”

Her gaze flicked toward the window, where sunlight filtered through the fabric in soft waves. Then back to him. There was a glimmer in her eyes now, not just curiosity, but a hint of challenge. “Tell me, Lord Verd,” she said quietly, “what will you do when every world you touch begins to rise again? When the fire you’ve kindled burns brighter than you can control?”

A small smile curved her lips, not mocking, but edged with intrigue. “Strength invites test. Ambition, even more so. You’ve rebuilt a world from ash; the next trial won’t be of stone or soil.”

She leaned back slightly, her tone almost teasing, yet heavy with meaning. “I wonder if you’ve prepared for that.”

The moment hung between them, the silence thick with heat and tension. Outside, the desert wind murmured against the glass, a whisper of flame meeting frost and neither yielding first.

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