Private Momentum

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Lounge Wear | Cybernetic Arm

He let the call run without prompting it again. If Aether was going to respond, he would do it on his own terms. Ace respected that.​

​

His gaze drifted briefly across the room, cataloguing nothing in particular. A habit carried over from too many places where stillness didn't mean safety. His left hand shifted once, metal fingers settling against the edge of the holotransmitter before going still again.​

​

This wasn't a reactive call. He hadn't reached out in anger, or shock, or some need to correct what had already been done. The broadcast had been clear. There was no ambiguity to resolve there.​

​

What remained unclear was intent. Ace hadn't prepared what he would say if the line connected, this wasn't a conversation that benefited from rehearsal. He wanted to hear Aether before he decided how to answer him.​

​

The signal pulsed again. Whatever this became would shape things beyond the Diarchy, beyond Mandalorian politics. Acts like that had momentum. They attracted followers, enemies, and justifications in equal measure. Ace had seen it before. Once a line was crossed publicly, walking it back was rarely the point.​

​

Ace pondered; could the galaxy sustain another full-scale war right now? The Galactic Empire was causing chaos in the Core, the Covenant were terrorizing Tapani and looking to expand their fire. Now this?​

​

Memory surfaced uninvited... Altier, Metus' rampage, the ease with which wrath had worn the shape of purpose. Ace had kept distance from it since then. From Aether. From the conversations they should have had. From the shared truth that the Verd fire didn't belong to any one of them alone.​

​

Avoidance had been a luxury. And now the galaxy, it seemed, was done allowing it.​

​

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

HOLOCALL

The holocommunicator answered after several patient rings, the air above it shivering before resolving into the towering holographic form of Mand’alor the Iron. Charcoal beskar’gam drank in the light rather than reflecting it, its plates scarred by history rather than neglect, while a crimson cloak fell from his shoulders.

For a time, Aether said nothing.

The visor regarded Acier with a stillness that carried memory rather than menace, an unbroken line stretching back to blood spilled and oaths kept. The last time they had spoken, the galaxy had been quieter in its cruelty, and Acier’s voice had carried the finality of vengeance fulfilled. Aether had not flinched then, had not softened the truth or dressed it in regret, because family answered blood with blood and anything less was a lie told to the dead. That understanding lingered now, unspoken, a shared language forged long before either of them learned how to lead.

The silence stretched, deliberate and unhurried, as Aether took in every detail he was given: the set of shoulders, the tension that did not fully leave even in stillness, the kind of fatigue that settled deeper than sleepless nights. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with the sort of warmth reserved only for those he cared deeply for.

“You look fucking exhausted, Ace. Do I need to send you a decent pillow?"

Acier Moonbound

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Lounge Wear | Cybernetic Arm

Ace didn't react immediately. The comment landed, but it didn't show. A few months ago, he might've laughed it off. Now, he was too tired to bother.

He stayed where he was, posture unchanged, the faint blue light of the holotransmitter tracing the edge of his silhouette. The exhaustion Aether had clocked wasn't something Ace felt the need to deny, it wasn't a vulnerability so much as a condition.

"Still standing." He said at last. Dry. Familiar. "I'll manage without the pillow."

His gaze stayed level with the visor, steady and unflinching, though something quieter had settled there.

"I didn't call to talk about me." He let that sit before continuing. "I watched the broadcast. I wanted to hear from you directly. And… it's been a while."

Through no fault of Aether's.

"You don't do things without a reason." He said, holding Aether's gaze. "I'm trying to understand why this was the answer. Not what it looked like. Not what it says to everyone else." His voice lowered slightly. "There were other ways to make the point. Ways that still carried weight."

He paused again, watching for any change in Aether's stance. Any tell at all.

"I'm not here to condemn you." Ace said, calm but intent. "But I need to know... what made this necessary?"

He didn't push past that.

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

HOLOCALL

The Mand’alor remained still as his brother held the line, stoicism meeting stoicism across the gulf of stars and silence. Beneath the helm, an eyebrow rose at the refusal to flinch, not in irritation but in recognition of a familiar kind of endurance, the sort that survived by refusing to ask permission. When Acier said he was still standing, Aether accepted it for exactly what it was and nothing more, a statement of fact offered without invitation or plea. He did not offer aid, not because it was unwelcome, but because his brother already knew the truth of it, that if the call ever came with need instead of questions, Mandalore would answer without hesitation.

The reason followed soon enough.

Aether listened without interruption, allowing the concern to breathe between them, aware that the galaxy had watched alongside Acier and drawn its own conclusions. He had expected this call from his brother more than from any senator or rival power, especially given Acier’s long pull toward the Jedi and their habit of searching for cleaner lines in dirty wars. The visor remained fixed, unreadable, while the question settled fully into place.

When Aether spoke, it was not with defensiveness, nor with the fire of a man challenged, but with the measured clarity of someone who had already counted the cost.

“The Diarchy was planning the genocide of Mandalorian worlds.” he said evenly, each word placed with intent. “Not military targets. Not me, not my commanders, not our fleets. They were preparing to erase civilians by the trillions, families who had never lifted a blaster, children whose only crime was being born under our banners.”

His voice did not rise, yet it carried the authority of a verdict long decided.

“My Nite Owls uncovered it.” Aether continued, unhurried and unrelenting. “What they found demanded a response that did more than end a plot. It had to satisfy my people, who were already sharpening their knives, and it had to teach the galaxy exactly how Mandalore values its own. Mercy would not have carried that lesson far enough.”

A slight tilt of the helm followed, not toward doubt but toward resolve made visible.

“Those chosen were chosen deliberately.” he said. “I will not elaborate beyond that, but understand this clearly, they were not innocent, and their ends were earned long before my hammer drove the nails.”

Silence returned for a breath, then Aether reached up and removed his helm. The hologram caught the movement in clean detail, revealing a face carved by command and consequence, dark eyes burning with a severity that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with promise. He met his brother’s gaze without armor between them, Verd fire unmasked and unmistakable.

“That is why you should carry the Verd name.” Aether said, his voice lower now, iron wrapped in kinship. “It is not a legacy of comfort. It is a warning to the galaxy. Should any spill your blood, should any make you suffer...I will not hesitate to hang them from a cross.”

Acier Moonbound

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Lounge Wear | Cybernetic Arm

Ace listened in silence as Aether spoke, posture unchanged, expression set into something unreadable on the surface. But memory had a way of answering before he did.

Tapani. Civilian hotspots turned kill zones. Orders followed without pause. People caught in the wrong place, under the wrong banner, erased because the Covenant demanded it. Ace had done what was required of him then. He'd worn the role. Played it convincingly enough that no one suspected.

The Diarchy's intent... genocide, civilian erasure, slid into place beside those memories with uncomfortable ease. Hatred surfaced, cold and familiar. Not explosive. Focused. When Ace finally spoke, it wasn't rushed.

"I understand." Two words. Flat. Honest.

A pause followed, just long enough for the weight of Aether's justification to settle fully.

"Okay." Ace continued, voice steady. "Then wipe them off the face of the galaxy."

His jaw tightened as he said it, the muscle standing out briefly beneath his skin. His grip on the holotransmitter firmed, metal fingers creaking faintly against the casing.

"Genocide." He added, more quietly now. "Targeting civilians. That can't be tolerated." His gaze never left Aether's. "It won't be."

There was no contradiction in him. No hesitation. If anything, there was alignment, a shared understanding that some threats didn't deserve patience or negotiation. Ace felt the truth of it settle deep, threaded through guilt he rarely named.

Tapani hadn't been undone. The Covenant still stood. And people were still dying because monsters were allowed time to become inevitable. That was on him too.

The thought didn't linger long. Aether's next words cut through it, the Verd name, offered not as honor but as inheritance.

Ace's expression shifted then, subtle but unmistakable. His grip eased. The tension in his jaw released, replaced by something more controlled. Deliberate.

"No." He said, calmly. "It paints a target I don't need. And it complicates things where I am."

Ace straightened slightly, shoulders squaring.

"You know I've never wanted to move under our family's shadow. Whatever I become, I want it to be earned. Not inherited."

The holotransmitter's light flickered faintly as his fingers loosened around it.

"Don't get it twisted, though. This doesn't change where I stand." Ace added. "Or what I'm willing to do when lines are crossed."

It was the closest thing to reassurance he offered.

"But the name stays yours. Father's..."

Ace fell silent after that, letting the line hold, remaining exactly where he was, even as it became clearer that where he was standing… was not where he used to be.

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

MANDALORE - HOLOCALL

Aether listened.

The rise of his brows beneath the helm came unbidden when Acier spoke his understanding, when the words of eradication followed without hesitation or apology. The Mand’alor did not interrupt, did not correct, did not temper it, because this was not recklessness speaking but recognition earned through scars and silence. The boy who once stood on Roon, bloodied by grief and haunted by the coven he had erased for their crime, had finally learned to see the galaxy as it truly was rather than as it wished to be. That realization settled deep, and Aether felt pride coil quietly beneath his restraint.

He nodded once when Acier drew his line against genocide and the targeting of civilians, an acknowledgment rather than approval sought or given. When the Verd name was offered again and declined just as cleanly, Aether accepted that answer as well. The reasons were sound. Survival sometimes demanded distance from banners and bloodlines, and Mand’alor understood that truth better than most. His nod this time was slower, thoughtful, a concession without resentment.

Silence returned, allowed to breathe and stretch between them without pressure.

When Aether finally spoke, his voice carried neither command nor challenge, only certainty shaped by care.

“I am proud of you.” he said, the words steady and deliberate. “Not for agreeing with me, but for growing into someone who understands what must be done without losing sight of where the line stands. You have learned to draw it with intention, and that matters more than you realize. The man you are becoming honors our blood whether you carry the name or not.”

He paused then, gaze sharpening just slightly as something Acier had said surfaced again, not as suspicion but as awareness.

“You said the name would complicate things where you are...” Aether continued, tone even and unintrusive. “I will not ask you to explain that. But if the heat ever rises too high, if the ground beneath you starts to burn, remember the lesson our father tried to teach you the day you stood before him.”

The Mand’alor did not name the encounter, but the implication was clear. He knew Metus. He knew how that man tested resolve through pressure rather than mercy.

“Anger is not your enemy.” Aether said quietly. “Neither is your refusal to bend. Those things are fuel, and the Force answers fuel in ways most never learn to wield. Sorcerous ways. Old ways.”

His gaze held steady, intent sharpening into something close to invocation.

“If you ever find yourself staring down death with no path left but forward, remember these words.” he said, voice low and absolute. “Qo Zalias. Speak them without doubt. They are power, and they will save you.”

He fell silent after that, presence unwavering, a brother not reaching to pull Acier closer nor pushing him away, but standing exactly where Mand’alor belonged, a constant in a galaxy that rarely allowed such things to endure.

Acier Moonbound