Private Let the Planet Decide

[Korda Veydran]

The gunship didn't wait.
Its engines screamed once as it pulled away, vanishing almost immediately into the wall of ochre fury that swallowed the horizon. The sound was torn apart by the storm within seconds, leaving nothing behind but wind, howling, abrasive, endless.

Korda Veydran stood alone on Geonosis.
The sandstorm raged with biblical cruelty, sheets of grit slamming into his beskar like shrapnel. Each gust scraped paint from his armor in slow, patient violence, exposing scorched metal beneath. Fine dust worked its way into joints and seals, ticking softly as it struck his plating. It would have flayed an unarmored man in minutes.

Korda barely acknowledged it.
Red eyes narrowed behind his visor as he turned into the wind, one heavy step at a time. The Ashen Maw remained locked to his shoulder, magnet clamps humming faintly under the constant assault. This wasn't a mission. No objective. No extraction window.

Just a question he'd posed to himself.
How long before I need to leave?
The storm answered with another brutal gust, nearly shoving him sideways. Korda dug his boots into the sand, servos whining as he adjusted his balance. Somewhere out there, half-buried spires, collapsed hives, the remains of a war older than some empires, there would be shelter. Stone. Metal. Anything that broke the wind.

He began moving toward a darker shape barely visible through the storm, a jagged silhouette rising from the dunes like a broken tooth.
"Let's see what you've got," he muttered, voice lost immediately to the wind.
Geonosis howled back.

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian Abrantes had always been good at looking innocent while doing the exact opposite of what he had been told.

If they were not going to let him go, then he was going to sneak out. The thought made him chuckle under his breath as he slid his hands into a tool belt and tried to look like he belonged. Technically, he did belong. He was here on a Republic outpost, doing real work, repairing a line of battered communication relays that had been choking on Geonosis dust for weeks.

His parents would still call it reckless.

He had borrowed one of the family's smaller transports, filed a flight plan that looked boring enough to avoid attention, and landed with the kind of casual confidence that made people assume there was paperwork somewhere backing him up. Now he was crouched near the entrance, panel open, wiring exposed, a diagnostic pad balanced on his knee while the wind outside began to rise into something mean.

The sandstorm was coming in fast. Even through the entry shield, he could hear it building, that distant roar like an ocean made of grit.

Movement caught his eye.

Someone stepped through the threshold, shape half-obscured by the haze and the harsh exterior light. The figure carried themselves with the weight of armor and purpose, and the storm seemed to cling to them as if it wanted to follow them inside.

Elian blinked, then leaned back over the open panel like he was not at all curious, just busy.

"Hey," he called, voice pitching loud enough to cut through the wind and the base hum. He lifted one hand, palm up, without looking away from the wiring for too long. "You wanna hand me that torch?"

 

[Korda Veydran]

The storm followed him in.
Not fully, just enough sand and wind to scatter across the threshold before the entry shield sealed again with a low hum. Korda paused just inside, letting his armor shed grit in soft, abrasive whispers as grains slid from beskar and pooled on the deck plating.

His red eyes locked onto the interior in an instant.
Republic layout. Functional. Temporary. Too clean in places, too worn in others.
The man crouched at the open panel didn't look like trouble. That didn't mean much.

Korda's posture stayed rigid as he took a few heavy steps closer, the Ashen Maw still locked to his shoulder. The request for a torch earned no immediate answer. Instead, his head tilted slightly, visor angling to take in the insignia on the walls, the equipment racks, the open wiring.
"Republic outpost?" he asked, voice rough, carrying easily in the enclosed space.

He stopped beside the panel, looming without meaning to. A beat passed. Then, with a quiet click, Korda reached up and toggled a control on his helmet.
White light flared to life.
The beam wasn't narrow or polite, it flooded the entire panel, illuminating every wire, connector, and speck of Geonosian dust clogging the works. Shadows vanished under the intensity as the storm-muted world outside became irrelevant.

"Hands are full," he added, tone even. "This should do."
His gaze flicked back toward the entrance for half a second, listening to the storm batter uselessly against the shield.
"You picked a bad day to be doing maintenance," Korda said, eyes returning to the exposed wiring. "Or a brave one."
He stayed where he was, close enough to help, close enough to react, waiting to see which it would be.

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian squinted as the helmet light blasted the entire panel like a spotlight, then let out a short laugh as he raised an arm to shield his eyes.

"Okay, yeah, that definitely counts," he said, blinking a few times before leaning back in. He adjusted a connector with two fingers and the careful patience of someone who had learned the hard way what a bad ground could do to a circuit.

At Korda's question, Elian gave a small nod without looking up. "Republic outpost," he confirmed. "Temporary, underfunded, and held together by optimism and replacement parts that should have been scrapped."

He glanced up then, finally taking in the beskar, the rifle, the way the stranger filled the doorway like a warning sign. Elian kept his expression easy anyway, because acting nervous never helped.

"Bad day, sure," he said, gesturing with his chin toward the shield where the storm hammered uselessly. "But if you wait for a good day on Geonosis, you are going to die of old age first."

He tapped the diagnostic pad and frowned at the readings. "Besides, the storm is exactly why I am doing this. If those relays go down, the next person who walks in from that sandblender might not have a shield to walk into."

Elian reached deeper into the panel and tightened a coupling, voice turning casual again. "You planning to ride out the weather here, or are you just passing through and making dramatic entrances for fun?"

 

[Korda Veydran]

A sound escaped Korda that might have passed for a laugh, short, rough, and unexpected, like metal scraping stone.
"Testing myself," he admitted, visor angling slightly as he watched the diagnostic readouts scroll. "Got dropped off with no timetable. Wanted to see how long Geonosis could push before I had to ask for evac."


He shifted his weight, armor servos whining softly as the storm continued to batter the shield behind them. The Ashen Maw stayed locked in place, but his posture had eased, fractionally.
His gaze dropped to Elian's hands just as the coupling tightened another notch.


"Careful," Korda rumbled, reaching out, not touching, just close enough that the intent was clear. He tapped the edge of the housing with one armored finger. "Over-tighten it and the vibration will crack the seat. Part fails faster. Seen it happen more times than I can count."
The finger withdrew, slow and deliberate.

"You don't look like a repair tech," he added, tone observational rather than accusatory. "More like someone who got told 'keep this running' and handed a kit that was already missing pieces."

A pause.
"Korda," he said simply. "And you are?"
His helmet light shifted slightly, tracking the panel again, then flicked briefly toward the shield as another heavy gust roared uselessly outside.
"If I'm riding out the storm," Korda continued, "might as well make sure this place doesn't fall apart while I'm inside it."

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian let the last diagnostic cycle finish before he leaned back from the open panel, rolling his shoulders as if he had been doing this for hours instead of minutes. The helmet light still flooded the exposed wiring, throwing hard shadows across his hands, but he did not mind it now. It made the work feel honest, and it made it harder for anyone to read too much into his expression.

He turned toward Korda fully, posture relaxed in a way that was practiced rather than careless. There was a polite warmth in his face, the kind he had learned in Theed halls and diplomatic receptions, but it did not feel fake. If anything, it felt like relief. A normal introduction, in a place that rarely allowed normal things.

"Korda," Elian said, voice clear over the hum of the outpost systems. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

He paused just long enough for the name to settle where it belonged, then added with a faint grin, "I am Elian Abrantes of Naboo. House Abrantes, formally, if we are doing full titles while standing next to half-dead comm equipment."

His eyes flicked briefly to the grit collecting near Korda's boots, then to the shield where the storm continued to claw at the world outside. Elian's smile softened into something more sincere.

"I am an engineer," he told Korda plainly, the words landing with a quiet confidence. "Ships, comms, power systems, field repairs, whatever decides to break at the worst possible moment."

He glanced down at his tool kit, then back up, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I am a bit of a jack-of-all-trades savant when it comes to starships and the things that keep them alive. Give me a hull, a drive, a wiring nightmare, and a few parts that do not match, and I can usually make it work."

Elian, was truly being modest when he talked about this, he was so much better than the things he was saying. He was incredibly smart and he wasn't top of his class for no reason.

Then Elian tilted his head, curiosity brightening in his eyes.

"How is life," he asked, like it was the simplest question in the galaxy, "When you are the kind of person who gets dropped on Geonosis with no timetable and decides that is a good way to spend a day?"

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda was quiet for a moment.
Not the guarded silence of someone calculating an angle, but the heavier kind, the sort that followed a name spoken with history behind it. His visor dipped a fraction, red eyes dimming as if focusing inward rather than out.

"Veydran," he said at last. "Korda Veydran."
The pause that followed was deliberate.
"Last of Clan Veydran," he added, voice steady, unadorned. "By circumstance. And by choice."

There was no pride in it. No bitterness either. Just fact.
He shifted his stance, the storm's distant roar filling the space the words left behind. When he spoke again, it was lighter, dry, almost amused.

"What fun is life," Korda continued, "if you don't push the limits of your own survival every once in a while?"
A faint huff of a chuckle followed. "Otherwise you're just waiting around for something else to decide them for you."


His gaze returned to Elian, studying him anew, not as a potential threat, but as a problem-solver. Someone who understood systems.
"Figures you'd be an engineer," Korda said. "You don't fight the mess. You make it behave."
Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached up and disengaged the magnet locks at his shoulder.


The Ashen Maw came down into his hands with controlled ease, no sudden motion, no aggression. The weapon was heavy, scorched alloy and ceramite layered with brutal intent, its surface worn not from neglect but from constant use. He held it angled away, offering it for inspection rather than dominance.

"Built it myself," Korda said. "Every part tuned to me. Ballistic core. Variable output. Incendiary projection when things get… crowded."
His helmet light shifted, briefly illuminating the weapon's detailing.
"You ever seen a weapon like this," he asked Elian, tone genuinely curious, "or are you usually the one fixing what it leaves behind?"

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

"It's nice to meet you Korda." He extended his hand towards him.

​

Elian's gaze stayed on the Ashen Maw like it had its own gravity. He did not treat it like a trophy or a toy, but like a piece of engineering that had earned the right to be respected. The scorched alloy, the tight tolerances, the way every component looked married to the next, there was a kind of discipline in it that made his chest feel oddly quiet.

"I have seen some," he admitted, voice low and thoughtful. "Not as detailed as yours, but I have seen a few. Most of them are… loud solutions. Yours is elegant."

He let out a slow breath, eyes tracing the weapon's frame again as if he could read the choices Korda made in every seam and fastener. Awe softened into something more sober.

"I can handle a weapon," Elian added, "At the basics. I am not completely helpless." He said with a small laugh. "But I am usually the one cleaning up what is left behind. I am the one making sure the ship still flies, the comms still work, the people still have a way out after the shooting stops. And someone to manage their equipment upon their return."

He finally looked up at Korda, expression open, honest.

"If someone has good, detailed equipment like this," Elian said, "then I hope things never go wrong." His eyes flicked back to the Ashen Maw, admiration threaded with a quiet caution. "Because when something built this well has to be used the way it was meant to be used, it usually means the situation has already gone bad."

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda looked at the extended hand for half a second longer than politeness required.

Then he took it.
His grip was firm but measured, the kind that spoke of control rather than dominance. When he released it, his attention returned to the Ashen Maw, and to the way Elian looked at it.

That earned him something rare.
Respect.
"You're right," Korda said quietly. "Most weapons are loud solutions."


He shifted his hold, then extended the Ashen Maw toward Elian, stock first, chamber angled safely down and away. No sudden movements. No tests. Just trust, offered plainly.
"If you want," he said. "You can hold it."
As he transferred the weight, he stayed close, hands hovering just enough to guide rather than reclaim.


"Four modes," Korda continued, voice taking on the subtle cadence of someone talking about something they'd built with their own hands. "Long-range precision. Combat standard, default configuration. Heavy rapid fire for suppression or breach work. And an incendiary projector when you need to deny space or make sure something doesn't get back up."

His visor tilted slightly as if he were seeing the weapon in pieces rather than as a whole.
"Took me a few years to get it right," he admitted. "Balance was the hardest part. Multi-use systems love to fight each other if you let them. This one… doesn't."
A pause.

"Entirely ballistic," Korda added, a hint of dry humor bleeding through. "No energy cycling. No reliance on delicate electronics. Barbaric, some would say."
His shoulders rose in a faint shrug. "But it still works when an EMP goes off. And it doesn't care about sand."
The storm outside punctuated the thought, battering uselessly against the shield.
Korda's attention returned to Elian then, more direct than before.

"Engineers keep people alive long after the shooting stops," he said. "You make sure there's a way back. That earns my respect."
He straightened slightly, reins pulling back in, the moment of openness neatly contained.
"And you're right about one more thing," Korda finished. "If this has to be used the way it was meant to be used… then something has already gone very wrong."

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian's brows jumped, and for a heartbeat he looked genuinely caught off guard, like someone had just offered him the keys to a cruiser they actually cared about. Then his composure broke into a wide, unabashed grin.

"Really?" Elian said, and the word came out brighter than he meant it to.

He glanced up at Korda, then back to the Ashen Maw as it was extended toward him, stock first and safe. "Uh, yeah. Sure," he added, but the hesitation lasted about half a second before it turned into honest enthusiasm. "Hell yes."

Elian took the weapon with both hands, immediately adjusting his grip to accommodate the weight and balance. He shifted it slightly, feeling how it settled, how it wanted to be held, how the mass was distributed with deliberate intent instead of brute heaviness. His eyes swept over the housing and fittings, taking in the craftsmanship like he was reading a language he loved.

"This is amazing," he said, voice full of awe. He worked the weight through a small, controlled motion, careful not to point it anywhere foolish, just enough to understand how it moved. "The balance alone..."

Elian looked back up at Korda, grin still there, warm and impressed. "Great job, Korda," he said simply, and he meant it, as he handed the weapon back to him.

"That gives me inspiration to make my own."

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda accepted the Ashen Maw back with a smooth, practiced motion, magnet locks engaging with a muted clack as it settled once more against his shoulder.
The grin had surprised him.
Not the enthusiasm, he understood that. It was the care behind it. The way Elian handled the weapon like it mattered.

"Glad you felt it," Korda said. There was approval in his voice, understated but real. "Balance tells you whether a weapon will work with you or fight you the whole time."
He considered Elian for a moment longer than before, then gave a small nod.

"If you're serious about building your own," he continued, "I can give you pointers. Maybe even help source a few parts."
A pause. "But start small."
Korda lifted one gauntleted finger, almost instructional.

"Dual‑mode at most for your first build. Primary and secondary. Anything more and you'll spend all your time chasing feedback loops instead of learning why something failed."
His free hand tapped once against his own chest plate.

"I only run four modes because I'm used to designing explosives and ordnance. Complex systems that expect abuse."
A beat. "And because my armor can take the shock."
He glanced down at the heavy beskar plating, scarred and sandblasted.

"Bulky for a reason," he added. "Helps with blast overpressure and shrapnel. Doesn't make me invincible. Just gives me a margin for error."
The storm outside seemed to agree, howling like it was eager to prove the point.
Korda's gaze returned to Elian, thoughtful now rather than guarded.

"If you build something," he said, "build it to survive mistakes. That's what keeps you alive long enough to get good."
A faint, dry edge crept into his tone.
"And if you do decide to make one," he finished, "I expect to see it when you're done."

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian's smile softened into something genuine as he nodded, taking Korda's words in without trying to turn them into a joke. He had a habit of masking nerves with humor, but this was not a moment that needed masking. It needed honesty.

"That would be awesome," Elian said, and he meant it. "I would build one soon, I'd appreciate the pointers. Maybe you could help too?"

His gaze flicked briefly toward the shield where the storm still raged, then back to Korda's visor. The name Veydran still carried weight, and Mandalore sat behind it like a shadowed star.

Elian lifted his brows slightly, curiosity plain on his face. "So do you go to Mandalore often?" he asked.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda inclined his head once.
"I'd be happy to help," he said. "With the build. Planning. Testing."
A faint edge of dry humor followed. "And stopping you from making the same mistakes I did."

At the mention of Mandalore, though, his stillness changed.
Not tension, memory.
"No," he answered after a moment. "I don't go often."

His visor turned slightly, as if looking past the outpost walls and into something older than the storm outside.
"Not since they terraformed it," Korda continued. "I remember it before that. When it was a wasteland. Stone, ash, iron skies."
A beat. "That was the Mandalore I knew."
He shifted his weight, armor settling with a low, familiar sound.


"My clan was based there once," he said. Then...
Silence.
The pause wasn't dramatic. It was cautious. Measured. As if he were deciding how much truth this place, and this man, could hold.

"…until they weren't," Korda finished at last.
For a fraction of a second, his visor angled back toward Elian, searching, not for judgment, but for recognition. For the look people got when they decided what kind of creature he was.
Then Korda straightened, composure locking back into place.

"I don't miss the planet," he said evenly. "I miss what it demanded of us."
The storm roared again against the shield, a raw, familiar sound.
"That kind of world," he added, quieter now, "tells you exactly who you are. No illusions."
He looked back at Elian.

"You strike me as someone who understands systems," Korda said. "Past and present. Things that were built for one purpose and forced to become something else."
A pause.
"If you still want my help after hearing that," he finished, "then we'll get along just fine."

Elian Abrantes

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Korda Veydran
​

Elian's expression stayed open as he faced Korda, the storm's distant roar filling the pauses between them. He did not rush to fill the silence, and he did not try to smooth over the sharp edges of what had been said. He simply treated it with the respect it deserved.

"I appreciate you telling me," Elian said, voice even and sincere. "I know that is not small information to share."

He gave a small nod, a quiet sign of understanding rather than pity. "I do not judge you by what your world demanded of you," he continued. "I pay attention to what you choose to do now, and the way you carry yourself. That tells me enough."


(We can call this thread here. My muse is kinda slipping with Elian)