K I N G
EVAA'LA YAIM
The stars stretched long as the escort peeled away.
Crimson streaks marked the sky in his wake, trailing behind the black-winged basilisk war droid that bore him across the frozen veil of Evaar’la Yaim. The cold light of the planet crept in through his visor, soft and silver, touching the edges of his beskar like frost clinging to flame.
Below him sprawled a city born of iron and bloom: A’lakua Ta’hyapr, the Orchid Sanctuary. Neither fortress nor flower. Something between.
He knew the name.
House Orchid. Clan Cadera. Remnants of a line once fire-forged in the crucible of Mand'alor the Infernal's reign. They had not knelt in his throne room. They had not been summoned. But they remained. Mandalorian still. And that was enough.
Aether had not come as Mand’alor to command. He came as kin.
The people of Clan Gred had welcomed him with open arms, not out of fear, not for favor, but because they believed in the idea that Mandalorians, scattered as they were, might still find their way home. It was a hope he carried here. Across stars and scars.
His basilisk dipped lower, engines cycling into descent. Towers and factories gave way to green belts and public sanctuaries, all threaded between war foundries and shipyards that pulsed with quiet life.
Here, steel was softened by flowers.
He brought no warband. No banners. No pageantry. Only the weight of his name, and the quiet hope that someone still wore the violet of Cadera beneath this frozen sky.
With a hiss of steam and a hum of stabilizers, the basilisk touched down at the nearest landing platform.
And Aether Verd stepped out into the cold, not as Mand’alor the Iron, but as a son of Mandalore. Here to meet his cousins across the stars.
Crimson streaks marked the sky in his wake, trailing behind the black-winged basilisk war droid that bore him across the frozen veil of Evaar’la Yaim. The cold light of the planet crept in through his visor, soft and silver, touching the edges of his beskar like frost clinging to flame.
Below him sprawled a city born of iron and bloom: A’lakua Ta’hyapr, the Orchid Sanctuary. Neither fortress nor flower. Something between.
He knew the name.
House Orchid. Clan Cadera. Remnants of a line once fire-forged in the crucible of Mand'alor the Infernal's reign. They had not knelt in his throne room. They had not been summoned. But they remained. Mandalorian still. And that was enough.
Aether had not come as Mand’alor to command. He came as kin.
The people of Clan Gred had welcomed him with open arms, not out of fear, not for favor, but because they believed in the idea that Mandalorians, scattered as they were, might still find their way home. It was a hope he carried here. Across stars and scars.
His basilisk dipped lower, engines cycling into descent. Towers and factories gave way to green belts and public sanctuaries, all threaded between war foundries and shipyards that pulsed with quiet life.
Here, steel was softened by flowers.
He brought no warband. No banners. No pageantry. Only the weight of his name, and the quiet hope that someone still wore the violet of Cadera beneath this frozen sky.
With a hiss of steam and a hum of stabilizers, the basilisk touched down at the nearest landing platform.
And Aether Verd stepped out into the cold, not as Mand’alor the Iron, but as a son of Mandalore. Here to meet his cousins across the stars.
