Duel Master VS Apprentice

[Laphisto]

Laphisto stood at the center of the training room, his posture rigid and deliberate, both arms folded behind his back. The chamber stretched wide around him, its reinforced flooring worn with the marks of countless prior engagements. he stood there patiently waiting for the others to arrive. he had sent the message out to all his current apprentices, and yet they would have the option of open challenge or simple speciation. there was a part of him that actually hoped at least one if not all of them would rise to the challenge.

After all The war with the Mandalorians had forced a realization he could no longer ignore. It was not a matter of strength or resolve. Those had never been in question. What the conflict had revealed was something far less forgiving. There were gaps in refinement, in adaptability, in the kind of disciplined combat training that could not be replaced by instinct or experience alone. Against an enemy that fought with precision and unity, those gaps became liabilities.

And that failure did not belong to him alone. His apprentices had chosen this path. They had chosen to stand within the ranks of the Lilaste Order, to take on the responsibilities and dangers that came with it. That choice demanded more than guidance. It demanded preparation, and preparation could not exist without pressure. Laphisto had held back before, he was afraid truth be told. that if he let them out on there own accord then he would lose them. just like he lost Jacen all those years ago. shaking his head free fromt he thoughts he sighed.

The message he sent had been direct, stripped of anything unnecessary. They were to meet him here, in the training room, and they were to arrive as if they were stepping into a real engagement. No hesitation. No assumption of safety. No expectation that he would temper his actions for their sake. He would not. This would not be a lesson in the traditional sense. It would be a trial. They were to treat him as an enemy combatant. Not their master. Not their commander. Not the High Commander of the Lilaste Order. Titles held no meaning in what was about to unfold. The moment they stepped into this room, those distinctions would cease to matter.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not rush.

The corridors of Aurora Station stretched long and quiet beneath her measured steps, the persistent hum of the station's systems serving as a familiar, mechanical shadow at her back. She had received the summons just as the others had, and like them, she understood the gravity of the call; this was not a moment for instruction, but one of judgment.

By the time she reached the heavy training chamber doors, her pace had neither quickened nor slowed. There was no outward tension in her posture, nor any visible sign of hesitation; instead, a quiet, deliberate focus had settled over her like a second skin, anchoring her to the present.

She was not dressed as a diplomat, nor as a healer; her attire bore a much grimmer distinction. The LO-58A plating sat fitted and purposeful across her frame, its matte surfaces broken only by subtle reinforcement lines that spoke to a balance of mobility and resilience. It was not ceremonial armor meant to inspire, but a tool meant to endure the unthinkable.

The doors parted with a low, hydraulic hiss, and she stepped inside.

For a brief moment, she simply observed. The worn floor told its own story, etched with the jagged remnants of countless prior engagements, leaving the space open, unobstructed, and pointedly intentional. And at its center stood Laphisto.

Her gaze settled on him, steady and unreadable. There was no greeting offered and no words exchanged; whatever history existed between them outside these walls had no place here. Not today.

Her hands remained at her sides, unarmed, her posture neutral yet far from idle. The subtle alignment of her stance betrayed a readiness held in reserve—a coiled strength not yet called upon, but never truly out of reach. She moved then, but only enough to claim her position within the space, standing slightly off-center to leave room for the others who would inevitably follow.

As she came to a stop, a heavy silence settled around her, the distant hum of the station pressing faintly at the edges of the chamber. Her attention never wavered from Laphisto, yet she neither advanced nor made a show of preparation.

She simply stood. Waiting.

Laphisto

 

[Aknoby]

The boy took a deep breath as he walked down the hallways. He had a rough idea of what to expect and just how dangerous it could be.

He checked the helmet strapped to his waist, as well as his lightsaber, his sword, and his pistol. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down; he had never been this nervous about something like this before—excited and anxious, yes, but this level of nervousness was something only a father would feel doing this with his son.

Taking one last deep breath, he entered, putting on his helmet, subconsciously wanting to show that at least he had learned that lesson. He didn't need to look at Iandre; he knew his older sister well enough to understand where she was positioned.

He stood there waiting for something to happen or for the other apprentices to arrive



Laphisto Iandre Athlea