Mission preperations to be made [LO]

[Laphisto]

The Chancellorate Assembly did not descend into chaos. It ended in clarity that carried far more weight than any disorder ever could.

When Laphisto addressed the assembly, there was no attempt to preserve appearances or to soften what was coming. His words were deliberate, controlled, and absolute. In a single address, he defined the fate of the Diarchs and, with them, the fate of the Diarchy itself. Whatever remained of that government ceased to function the moment he finished speaking.

For a brief moment, the Diarchy hesitated. Systems waited for contradiction, for clarification, for some sign that this was not final. None came. The silence broke quickly, and when it did, it spread faster than any authority could contain.

Worlds once unified under a single banner fractured almost immediately. Declarations of independence surged across sectors, some organized and calculated, others born from panic or ambition. Garrisons turned inward, fleets split their loyalties, and regional powers moved to secure what they could before their neighbors did. What had once been a structured hierarchy collapsed into a patchwork of competing claims, each one fighting to establish control in a system that no longer existed.

The Lilaste Order did not attempt to stop it. Even at full strength, the Order did not possess the manpower to suppress a collapse of this scale without destroying itself in the process. Laphisto understood this, and his response was not to hold the line, but to redraw it entirely. New orders were issued across all operating forces. The objective was no longer preservation. It was preparation.

Lilaste fleets began shifting away from broad territorial control and toward targeted acquisition. Strategic assets were identified and prioritized with ruthless efficiency. Shipyards, orbital defense platforms, supply depots, and communication networks were seized where possible, stripped where necessary, and destroyed where neither option could be guaranteed. Every movement was calculated not for stability, but for sustainability.

The Bastion Curtain, once the defining defensive network of the Diarchy, became the central focus of these operations. Its stations and installations had once ensured control over key regions of space. Now they were liabilities. One by one, they were either brought under Order command or dismantled entirely, leaving behind empty corridors where fortified lines had once stood. Entire sectors that relied on the Curtain's protection now find themselves exposed, their defenses gone and their future uncertain.

This is not an attempt to rebuild what was lost. It is the controlled stripping of a dying structure before it collapses completely. The Lilaste Order is not preparing to hold this territory. It is preparing to leave it. Everything taken now determines what survives the exodus. Everything denied ensures nothing follows that should not.

---

OBJECTIVE I: STRATEGIC EXTRACTION AND CONTROL

You are being deployed to systems where critical infrastructure remains intact but authority has collapsed. Your task is to secure and prepare key assets for relocation, repurposing, or long-term use by the Order beyond this region. This includes shipyards, logistics hubs, fuel reserves, and communication arrays that can sustain future operations.

Engagements with local forces and rival factions are expected, as many will attempt to claim these same resources. You are not here to stabilize the system or negotiate its future. Your role is to ensure that anything of value is either brought under Order control or prepared for removal before the region becomes untenable.

---

OBJECTIVE II: CONTROLLED DISMANTLING OF THE BASTION CURTAIN

You are assigned to operations targeting Bastion Curtain installations that can no longer be maintained. These stations are to be stripped of all critical systems, including weapons, shielding infrastructure, and navigational data, with extraction teams operating under strict time constraints.

Once priority assets have been secured, demolition protocols are to be executed to ensure total denial. No installation is to be left functional, and no defensive network is to remain that could be repurposed by any faction remaining behind. The Curtain will not fall into enemy hands, nor will it exist to be reclaimed.

---

OBJECTIVE III: EXODUS PREPARATION AND FORCE DENIAL

As the Order prepares to withdraw from former Diarchy space, you are tasked with securing safe corridors of movement while denying pursuit. This includes clearing hostile forces from key routes, disrupting any faction attempting to track or intercept Order fleets, and eliminating emerging strongholds that could threaten the exodus.

Every action taken in this phase determines the success of the withdrawal. You are not simply engaging enemies; you are shaping the conditions of departure. When the Order leaves, it must do so on its own terms, with no force capable of following, intercepting, or reclaiming what has been taken.

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

Location: Bastion Curtain, Rear Installation, Lilaste Order Operation Sector 7
Current Objective: Locate and secure station manifest and main munitions/weapons depot; prepare critical systems for extraction/demolition.
Gear: Standard Lilaste armor, LO-20D, LO-22S, commlink, data pad, small tool kit for system access.
Squad Size: 6 personnel + 2 utility droids

Kaelen's boots echoed softly on the cold metal decking, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the hum of the station's life-support systems. The corridor was narrow, lined with panels streaked in the dull gray of age and neglect. The lights flickered every few seconds, and he instinctively reached for the side rail, half-expecting the station itself to groan in complaint.

This station wasn't one of the high-priority installations the Curtain was famous for, it was a forgotten node on the backside, a place the Lilaste Order had deemed expendable in the grander strategy. That suited Kaelen just fine. Less attention meant less scrutiny, though it also meant less information. He was supposed to locate the manifest and the main munitions depot, but even a simple step felt like navigating a labyrinth.

He let a small chuckle escape under his breath. "Bet one of those AWOL maintenance droids is gonna pop out at me any second…" The thought alone was enough to make him glance at every shadowed doorway and alcove, eyes flicking nervously. He was alone, at least, separated from the rest of the squad by a junction or two, but a few droids had been assigned to the squad for backup and reconnaissance. Quiet, autonomous, and unpredictable. Just like him in some ways.

Rounding a corner, he slowed, scanning the walls, the ceiling, every exposed pipe. He noted the faint red glow of a control panel down the hall and made a mental note to check it later for automated logs. There was a whiff of burnt circuitry in the air, mingled with the acrid tang of old coolant. It reminded him of the old simulators back at training, only this was real, and mistakes carried consequences far heavier than a reprimand.

Then something moved, or rather, someone. He jumped back instinctively, almost colliding with the bulkhead. "You're not funny!" he barked, still rubbing at his chest like his heart had momentarily forgotten how to behave.

A familiar laugh echoed from the shadows. She stepped into view, squad armor catching the flickering light, a grin tugging at her features. Kaelen exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. "First mission jitters, I swear," he muttered, shaking his head. He couldn't quite tell if he was chastising himself or her.

She fell into step beside him without a word, boots clanging in rhythm with his own. Kaelen forced himself to refocus, eyes tracing the corridor ahead. The station wasn't just empty; it was hostile in its quietness. Panels hummed, vents hissed, and every turn could conceal something important, or something dangerous. The manifest had to be found, the depot located and secured, and the extraction points noted. That was the mission, clear and simple, if deceptively easy to forget under the weight of silence.

He allowed himself one last glance back at the shadows where his initial joke had lingered, imagining a droid popping out just to see him flinch. Nothing moved. Good. He would keep it that way, at least until the depot was secured.

Every step was deliberate. Every corner approached with caution. Kaelen reminded himself why he had been brought along, why even a low-ranking scout like him mattered: precision, timing, observation. He might not lead this squad, but in these quiet corridors, one misstep could cost more than a promotion. It could cost the mission. or worse.

And yet, despite the tension, he couldn't help a small, private smirk. "If this is what being on a real mission feels like…" he murmured to himself, "I could get used to it."

Tags: @open

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Objective: 3
Allies: Aknoby Vyllia Sancetti

Ra'a'mah did not view the collapse as chaos. Chaos was loud. Emotional. Uncontrolled. This was none of those things. This was predictable.

The moment the Diarchy fractured, the question had never been if the corridors would become contested, only how quickly. The answer had arrived with the speed of a blade drawn too fast to see.

She stood on the command deck of a Protectorate‑aligned coordination vessel positioned along one of the primary outbound vectors, her golden eyes fixed on the layered holomap stretching across the projection field. Routes that had once been stable now flickered with fractured uncertainty. Signal noise. Splintered fleets. Opportunists pressing into spaces they did not yet understand.

Not disorder. Pressure. And pressure always sought the path of least resistance.

"Shift the secondary corridor three degrees rimward," she said, her voice carrying without urgency. "That lane will collapse within the hour if left exposed."

A quiet acknowledgment followed. She didn't turn.

"Mark it evacuation‑priority once adjusted. Civilian traffic first. Military assets can reroute."

Her hand lifted, tracing a new line across the projection as additional vectors responded. Objective III had never been about holding ground. It was about preventing collapse from outrunning their ability to move through it.

"Deploy forward screens here," she continued, indicating a narrowing junction between two unstable systems. "Not to hold. To delay and obscure. We don't need control. We need time."

Ships were already shifting. Not in formation. Not in dominance. In purpose.

Behind her, the command deck hummed with layered reports: small conflicts, intercepts, probing strikes from factions testing the emerging routes. Nothing decisive yet, but enough to confirm what she already knew.

They were watching. Waiting for weakness. She exhaled once, slow and even.

"Every corridor we open must remain fluid," she said. "Predictability becomes vulnerability."

Another route flickered under pressure. Her gaze followed it.

"Rotate access points. Stagger departures. No pattern holds longer than necessary." A beat. "They will try to follow," she added quietly. "Or intercept. Or claim what we leave behind."

Her tone did not shift.

"Make that impossible." Not through force. Through absence. Through misdirection. Through routes that existed only long enough to be used, then vanished behind them.

Only then did she turn slightly, addressing the officers more directly. "We are not holding this space," she said. "We are moving through it."

Her golden eyes swept the room once, steady and unhurried. "Keep the exits clear." A final beat. "And make sure nothing follows."

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

The corridor narrowed as they moved deeper into the station's spine, bulkheads scarred by old heat scoring and stripped wiring. The hum of the reactor core pulsed faintly through the deck plating, a low vibration that made the whole structure feel alive in a way it shouldn't have.

Kaelen checked a faded sector marker as they passed, brushing dust from the stencil with the back of his glove. Not the right branch. He kept walking.
For a stretch, it was just the sound of boots and distant systems cycling.
Then she glanced over at him.

"You were Diarchy before this, right?"
Kaelen didn't answer immediately.

His eyes stayed forward, scanning the corridor ahead, tracking the rhythm of flickering lights and shadow pockets. He let the silence sit for a moment longer than was comfortable.

"No," he said finally. Calm. Even.
A beat passed.
"I was High Republic."

That shifted the air between them.
He could feel it without looking.
"That's… different," she replied.
"Very," he said.

He slowed at an intersection, checking the wall panel for routing data, using the task to ground himself. The High Republic crest wasn't something people forgot. It carried weight. Structure. Prestige.

And walking away from it carried questions.
"So why leave?" she asked.
There it was.

Kaelen stopped just short of the next junction, not enough to make a scene, just enough to make the pause intentional. He turned his head slightly, not fully facing her.

"I'd rather not talk about my past," he said.
The words weren't sharp. But they weren't soft either.
He turned forward again and resumed walking.
"We're on a live strip operation inside a dismantled defense grid," he added after a moment. "If I start telling stories, something important gets missed."
That was the professional answer.
The real reason sat deeper.

People didn't ask about your past casually on first deployment. Not when the Order was restructuring. Not when loyalty was under a microscope. High Republic transfers weren't common. Voluntary ones even less so.

He wasn't sure if she was just curious.
Or checking.

"I'm here," he said, tone steady. "I follow mission parameters. I complete assigned objectives. That's the only part of my history that matters right now."
Ahead, faded stenciling caught his eye along a reinforced bulkhead. Munitions routing. Scorched, but readable.
He stepped closer, running a gloved hand across the panel to clear debris, eyes already searching for the access node.

"Looks like we're getting close," he said, voice returning fully to task-focused professionalism. "Depot should be behind one of these sealed compartments."

A small pause.
Then, almost absently, "And if you jump out at me again, I'm counting it as a hostile maneuver."
It wasn't quite a smile. But it was close.
He keyed the access panel and waited for the system to respond, attention locked back where it belonged.
On the mission.

Tags: @open

 

[Laphisto]

Objective 1
Selvrali

Laphisto had taken a small detachment from Tarain's Sword, alongside his newest apprentice. In the early days of the Lilaste Order's expansion, commanders had been dispatched across multiple systems to establish diplomacy, to offer structure before force. One of them had been Commander Lhiana Chi'co, a Pantoran woman and the acting leader of the Red Lancer Battalion. This world had answered that diplomacy with defiance.

When they declared their independence from Lilaste control, they did so with calculated brutality. Her guard had been executed. She had been taken alive. So Laphisto came himself. He could have sent Trace Xyston and his commandos. It would have been cleaner. Faster. But this was not just a recovery operation. It was a lesson. One his apprentice would witness firsthand.

His taloned feet pressed against the duracrete with controlled weight as he moved through the dim corridor. No wasted motion. No sound beyond what was necessary. As a patrol rounded the corner, Laphisto's hand shot forward without hesitation, seizing the nearest guard. The blades along his saber's guard drove forward in the same instant, piercing through armor and flesh alike, beskar punching clean through the chestplate. The man never had time to react.

Beside him, another guard was taken just as quickly. A man with a cybernetic limbs stepped in, his grip locking tight around the soldier's throat. There was no prolonged struggle. The body went limp within seconds. Both corpses were dragged without a word, concealed within a nearby supply crate, their absence already swallowed by the silence of the station.

"Alright. We're almost on mark. Commander Chi'co is in the upper quarters." Laphisto raised a hand to his helmet's comlink, his voice low but clear as it reached the squad he had personally selected for this mission. Four souls. A man who Selvrali could not see, feel, or detect within the Force at all. Laphisto had already explained it to her. Force-dead. Entirely severed, an absence where presence should have been. An older veteran, Captain Varn. And another, Caelin, his arms fully replaced with mechanical replacements.

---

Objective 2
Kaelen 'Ember' Virek
The Bastion Curtain, for the most part, had already been shut down. One by one, its stations relinquished control, transferring their command authority to Aurora Station in accordance with High Command protocol. That transfer marked the beginning of the end. As the worlds once held under the authority of the Lilaste Order began to fracture, their loyalties dissolving into rebellion and opportunism, Laphisto issued a singular, uncompromising directive: terminate the network. No hesitation. No exceptions.

Across the sector, stations complied. Self-destruct sequences initiated in cold silence, their reactors overloading in controlled annihilation. Entire installations vanished in bursts of light, taking with them years of infrastructure, intelligence, and control. Yet not all followed the command. A handful of stations failed to respond. At first, it seemed like a delay, perhaps a malfunction. That illusion did not last. Evidence quickly revealed something far more deliberate. These stations had been tampered with. Whether through sabotage, external override, or internal betrayal, their systems had been altered before the order could be executed.

Those failures could not be ignored.

Select squadrons were deployed with precise instructions. They were to infiltrate the compromised installations, dismantle them manually, and ensure their destruction by hand. Reactor cores were to be primed for detonation. All surviving data was to be extracted and secured, especially anything that could explain how the self-destruct protocols had been intercepted or disabled. The mission was not simply demolition. It was an investigation under fire, a race to uncover the truth before it could be buried beneath the chaos of a collapsing network.

Complicating matters further, the local systems had no intention of relinquishing control. Whether through political coercion, promises of security, or outright bribery of naval command, entire defense forces had aligned themselves against the Lilaste Order. These stations were no longer abandoned relics drifting in orbit. They had become assets, contested and defended by those who saw opportunity in the Order's retreat. To them, keeping the stations operational meant power. And power was worth killing for.

Inside one such station, the silence was deceptive. "Are you sure this station is abandoned? I thought I heard movement." The voice carried down the corridor, low but tense, echoing faintly off the cold durasteel walls. A squad of former Diarchal soldiers rounded the corner with measured caution. Their armor bore the familiar markings of standard legion issue, though scuffed and worn from recent conflict. Each carried a service rifle at the ready, their posture rigid, disciplined, but not without unease.

This station had once orbited a compliant world. Now it hung above a system that had quietly shifted allegiance, its defense forces persuaded or purchased into cooperation. The details no longer mattered. What mattered was the present reality. If these soldiers succeeded in restoring the station, if they found a way to bypass the Lilaste Order's embedded virus and bring the systems back online, then the remnants of the Bastion network could be used by the local system Lords to establish dominance

---

Ra'a'mah Aknoby
A sudden flash tore across the void as a former Diarchy Star Destroyer emerged from hyperspace, its massive frame cutting into realspace with deliberate precision. Five escort vessels followed in tight formation, fanning outward as they stabilized, their positioning controlled and unmistakably intentional. The formation did not hesitate. It claimed space. Within seconds, an open channel broadcast surged across the system, overriding civilian bands and cutting through standard traffic frequencies.

"Unidentified vessel, you are ordered to stand down. All civilian traffic is now being halted. No one will be leaving this sector. Return to your homes. Return to your jobs, and continue to serve your government in these trying times."

The transmission carried with rigid authority, it was clear that this was not a request. Before any response could be issued, the newly arrived ships began powering their weapons. Energy signatures spiked across the formation as targeting systems came online, their intent made clear without the need for further explanation. The escorts adjusted their spacing slightly, tightening the net, reinforcing the blockade before it had even been contested.

The channel remained open. "Failure to comply will be seen as a hostile act. Any and all Lilaste Order–associated personnel will be imprisoned, and a trial will be set for your crimes against the Diarchy." The message ended without distortion, leaving only the low hum of charged weapon systems and the silent, growing pressure of a fleet prepared to enforce its claim.

 

[Selvrali]

Life seemed to run even faster now that she was part of the Order. Not to long ago, she was still in boot-camp. With the quickly changing situation both outside, and within the Order; Rali was set out on her first mission quickly. A rescue mission- which felt like a good start. Clad in her shiny new combat armor- she followed close to the other four she was with.

She slowed for a moment as they passed the entrance to the compound. Glancing up towering building for a moment, quickly dropping back down to the Commander as his voice buzzed though the com-link. "C-Copy that" her voice came last in response. Reflexively reaching back and checking that her Saber was still Maglocked to her side, but drew her LO-22S for now as she pushed forward with the other to regroup with Laphisto

Now closer to the holding building- Rali could beguine to sense the people inside. One floor alone she could sense at least double the squads numbers. "Lots of contacts-... but I can't distinguish Commander Chi'co" came her soft voice over the fuzzy commlink.

 

[Aknoby]

"They finally showed up."



Aknoby spoke softly; he was in space aboard his basilisk, Stomper. He smiled—the basilisk was small enough to be overlooked by the Star Destroyers.

The half-Chiss wasted no time, attacking the destroyer from behind. He went straight for the bridge of the ship that seemed to be in command, blowing up the bridge and everyone on it, then fired at the hull to make his point.

"This is the Lilaste Order. You are threatening our civilians in the name of an authority that no longer exists. Retreat now while you still can. You KNOW who we are, but you do NOT know everything we are capable of and know how to do."

The young man spoke in a serious tone but smiled behind his helmet, waiting for a response.

Laphisto Ra'a'mah

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra did not move when the transmission cut across the system, though her attention sharpened in that unmistakable way that anyone familiar with her would recognize instantly. The projection before her shifted as the Star Destroyer and its escorts resolved into formation, their positions mapped and analyzed in real time, every angle of approach and every potential firing solution unfolding across the display with the same quiet precision she had come to expect from her crew. She watched the formation for a moment longer than necessity demanded—not because she required additional data, but because she was weighing intent, reading the posture of the ships as one might read the stance of an opponent before the first strike.

"They were always going to try this," she said, her voice calm and steady as it carried across the command deck, offering no hint of alarm and no urgency that might ripple outward and disrupt the disciplined flow of movement already underway. Around her, officers continued their work without hesitation, adjusting routes, confirming departures, and tracking the steady stream of vessels slipping through the system before the corridor could fully collapse.

Then the flare of violence cut across the map.

Her eyes shifted slightly as the destroyer's bridge vanished in a bloom of light, the sudden loss of command registering instantly across the tactical overlay. She did not react outwardly, but there was a subtle narrowing of her gaze as she absorbed the consequences of that single, decisive action. An outcome not incorrect, merely earlier than she would have preferred.

"Maintain evacuation priority," she said, her tone unchanged. "Civilian traffic does not stop. Reroute anything flagged near that formation and keep the lanes open."

Her hand moved across the projection with deliberate precision, adjusting vectors as new paths unfolded in response to the blockade. "They want control of a fixed corridor," she continued, her voice measured, almost conversational despite the tension building around them. "Do not give them one."

Routes shifted again, splitting and reforming, no single path remaining stable long enough to be predicted or exploited.

"Rotate exits continuously. No pattern holds. If they cannot anticipate movement, they cannot contain it."

Her gaze lingered briefly on the damaged destroyer, already calculating the likelihood of secondary command stepping in, of automated systems compensating for the loss, of the ship's capacity to remain a threat despite the blow it had taken.

"Mark that vessel as unstable, not neutralized. Loss of a bridge does not end a ship like that."

Only then did she open a channel, directing it toward the hostile formation rather than broadcasting blindly across the system.

"This is Ra'a'mah of the United Protectorate of Sovereign Systems," she said, her voice carrying clearly, level and unforced, cutting through the tension without attempting to dominate it. "You are attempting to enforce authority that no longer exists. The Diarchy has fractured, and whatever command you believe you are acting under no longer holds legitimacy beyond your own formation."

She allowed a brief pause. It was not to provoke, but to ensure the point settled where it needed to. "You are now obstructing civilian evacuation routes in an unstable system. That is not control. That is escalation."

Behind her, ships continued to move through the shifting corridors she had set in motion, their paths fluid, difficult to track, and nearly impossible to predict.

"We are not engaging you because you are not the objective," she continued, her tone steady and unyielding. "Our priority is the safe withdrawal of personnel from a collapsing region of space. If you choose to interfere with that, then you will be forcing a response that does not benefit you, your crews, or whatever remains of the structure you are attempting to preserve."

Another small pause followed, quieter but no less firm.

"You still have the option to disengage and withdraw with your forces intact. I would advise you to take it."

The channel closed cleanly.

Ra's attention returned immediately to the projection, as though the exchange had been only one variable in a much larger equation she was already solving.

"Keep them reacting," she said, her voice softer now but still controlled. "As long as they are trying to assert control, they are not effectively stopping movement."

Her gaze traced the flowing network of escape routes, each one opening and collapsing in turn, a living system designed to deny the enemy anything stable enough to exploit.

"Every ship that leaves reduces their leverage." She did not look back at her officers. "Keep the corridors clear."

Then, after a brief moment, quieter still, the words carried the weight of her entire strategy: "And do not give them anything they can hold onto."

Aknoby Laphisto Vyllia Sancetti

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

Location: Bastion Curtain, Rear Installation, Lilaste Order Operation Sector 7
Current Objective: Locate and secure station manifest and main munitions/weapons depot; prepare critical systems for extraction/demolition.
Gear: Standard Lilaste armor, LO-20D, LO-22S, commlink, data pad, small tool kit for system access.
Squad Size: 6 personnel + 2 utility droids

Kaelen rounded the last corner and froze for a moment, blinking at the reinforced bulkhead before him. The faded stenciling confirmed it: munitions depot. A grin tugged at his lips, brief and private. Finally.

He stepped up, brushing dust off the control panel, tapping keys in quick succession. Nothing. The panel remained dead. He groaned, muttering under his breath. "Figures. Not like this'd be easy." He tapped again. Still nothing.

A sharp, frustrated exhale left him. He jabbed the panel with his fist. "Come on, work!" The door didn't budge. "You stupid motherf-!" A string of cusses ended in a muttered sigh.

A hand fell on his shoulder, steadying him. He froze, half-expecting a jump scare, but then saw the fusion cutter in her other hand. No words. Just silent efficiency. He nodded, dropping the datapad and standing back, rifle at the ready.

His pulse sped as she activated the cutter. Sparks flew, smoke hissed. Kaelen kept his focus tight, eyes scanning every shadow, every flicker of light. This station was silent but not empty, and he wasn't about to let his guard down.

A sudden clang echoed from down the hall. His body tensed instantly, rifle up, trained on the noise. "Hurry," he hissed, voice low but firm. "We don't have time for surprises."

She didn't hesitate, and Kaelen's gaze snapped back to the door. Every second stretched. He stayed steady, even as adrenaline prickled his senses. It wasn't just a door he was guarding, it was the difference between completing the mission and getting caught in whatever remnants of defense still lingered in this abandoned node.

Minutes felt like hours until the cutter finished its work. Smoke cleared, revealing a scorched but intact panel. Kaelen exhaled, shoulders easing slightly as the depot doors slid open with a metallic groan. He moved in first, eyes sweeping the room as he scanned racks of munitions, crates stacked high and meticulously organized.

"Finally," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Fingers hovered over the racks, already making mental notes for extraction points and priority items. His squadmate stepped in behind him, and Kaelen nodded in silent acknowledgment.
Every sense stayed sharp, rifle at the ready. This was only the beginning, and he knew the Bastion Curtain wasn't done testing them yet.

Tags: Laphisto @open

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

Location: Bastion Curtain, Rear Installation, Lilaste Order Operation Sector 7
Current Objective: Locate and secure station manifest and main munitions/weapons depot; prepare critical systems for extraction/demolition.
Gear: Standard Lilaste armor, LO-20D, LO-22S, commlink, data pad, small tool kit for system access.
Squad Size: 6 personnel + 2 utility droids

The depot lights flickered once before stabilizing, dim but functional. Rows of munitions stretched deeper than he expected, stacked in orderly racks that hadn't been touched since shutdown. The air inside smelled cleaner than the corridor, sealed and preserved.

Kaelen stepped in slowly, rifle leading, eyes sweeping left to right.
"Well," he muttered, "if this place explodes, at least it'll be impressive."
He moved between the racks, reading labels as he passed. Standard charges. Shield disruptors. Anti-fighter torpedoes. All logged, all cataloged.
Then he paused.

A separate rack stood behind a transparent security field, marked with warning sigils he didn't immediately recognize. The crates were smaller. Sleeker. Labeled with development codes instead of unit designations.

His brows lifted slightly.
"Oh that's not concerning at all," he murmured. "Experimental munitions on a station we're about to manually dismantle. Great planning."
He leaned closer, reading the faded stencil. Prototype yield modifiers. Variable ignition sequencing.
"Yeah," he exhaled. "Definitely not touching those until we know what they do."

He stepped back toward a central terminal mounted along the far wall. The screen was dim but alive, running on auxiliary power. He keyed it awake and waited as old Diarchal interface code crawled across the display.

Access restricted.
Command authorization required.
Password required.

He stared at it for a long moment.
"Of course," he said quietly. "Because nothing in my life can just open."
He tapped a few sequences anyway. Old habits. High Republic training meant familiarity with layered security systems. But this one had been reconfigured. Tampered, maybe.

That thought lingered.
He glanced around the room, scanning for written codes, maintenance logs, anything lazily left behind. Nothing obvious.
Then he looked over his shoulder at her.
"You wouldn't happen to be carrying a miracle in your kit, would you?" he asked.
She raised an eyebrow.
"I can try," she said calmly. "Engineering track. Systems specialization."

Kaelen blinked once.
"You're telling me I've been manually arguing with doors this whole time when I had a tech specialist next to me?"
She didn't answer. Just stepped forward, already pulling a datapad from her belt.
He moved aside immediately, taking up position near the depot entrance, rifle up again as she interfaced with the terminal.

"You know," he said lightly, though his eyes never stopped scanning the doorway, "if this works, I owe you a drink after this."
A beat.
"Non-explosive variety."
He adjusted his stance, listening.

The depot felt too intact. Too preserved. And now that he was inside, the silence pressed heavier. If the Grandmaster report was right, this station hadn't simply failed to self-destruct.

It had been altered.
That meant someone had wanted it operational.
A faint metallic sound echoed somewhere beyond the corridor outside. Not close. But not distant either.
Kaelen's grip tightened.
"Please tell me that's just cooling pipes," he muttered under his breath.

His voice dropped, more serious now.
"Let me know when you're in."
He kept his rifle steady, posture disciplined despite the nerves.
First real mission.

Experimental weapons behind him. Locked files in front of him. Unknown movement somewhere in the station.
This was no longer just dismantling.
This was something else.
And he could feel it.

Tags: Laphisto @open

 

[Laphisto]

Selvrali
Laphisto gave a small, deliberate nod toward Selvrali, his expression tightening as he lowered himself into a crouch against the outer wall. From this angle, the compound loomed above them dark, layered, and alive with the subtle movement of patrols and shifting light. His eyes traced its structure, mapping entry points, sightlines, and likely resistance without a word.

His hand moved with practiced ease, guiding the hilt of his saber back onto the mag lock at his hip. The faint click of it securing into place was followed by the smooth pull of his rifle from across his back. He brought it in close, running a quick, tactile check along the frame. His fingers brushed the suppressor, ensuring it was firmly attached, before settling into a ready grip.

"Aye, Neither can I. If anything, we track her dog tags first. That gives us a trail." His gaze flicked once more toward the structure, calculating. "If that turns up nothing, then we take one of theirs alive and make them talk."

There was no hesitation after that. His body shifted forward, coiling for movement, and then he was gone. Laphisto broke from cover in a controlled sprint, crossing the courtyard in a blur of motion that hugged shadow and structure. Each step was deliberate, measured to minimize sound while maximizing speed. As he neared the building's outer wall, his wings unfurled in a sharp, controlled expansion, catching just enough air to carry him upward.

The Force moved with him, not as a surge but as a steady extension of intent. It pressed outward ahead of him, slipping through the seams of the third-story window. The latch gave with a muted click, the pane easing open just enough for entry.

He caught the ledge and pulled himself through in one fluid motion, boots landing silently against the interior floor. The rifle came up immediately, barrel sweeping the room in a tight arc as he cleared corners and checked angles. His presence settled into the space like a held breath—controlled, watchful, lethal.

Only then did he speak again, voice cutting clean and quiet through the comms. "Search every floor. Move methodically. Eliminate hostiles as you go. Selvrali, you're on me." He advanced without waiting, slipping into the corridor beyond with the same measured precision, already anticipating the next turn, the next contact, the next decision that would need to be made in a fraction of a second.

---

Aknoby Ra'a'mah
With the engines crippled and the bridge taking sustained punishment from the Basilisk's assault, the ship's internal systems began to fail in cascading succession. Lights flickered. Consoles sparked. Across every channel, voices bled into static as the comm network struggled to hold cohesion before fracturing entirely. Orders became fragments. Signals became noise. Coordination dissolved into chaos.

Outside, the escorting corvettes reacted on instinct more than command.

Their weapons lit the void, opening fire in staggered volleys as targeting systems struggled to lock onto Aknoby through interference and debris. Turbolaser fire streaked past in violent bursts, some finding their mark, others tearing blindly through the battlefield with no regard for what lay beyond. And beyond them were the civilians.

Unarmed transports and evacuation craft, already scrambling to flee the engagement zone, were caught in the widening cone of fire. A stray volley clipped the hull of one vessel, shearing through it in a flash of light and atmosphere. Another took a glancing hit along its engine block, sending it spinning off-course, trailing fire and debris as its distress signal died in the same static consuming the battlefield. What had begun as a coordinated assault was unraveling into something far more dangerous. A battlefield without control.

---

Kaelen 'Ember' Virek
As Kaelen and his team pressed forward with their work, the rhythm of movement and focus held—tight, controlled, efficient. Every motion had purpose, every second accounted for. It didn't last.

From the far end of the corridor, the sharp echo of boots broke the silence first. Then shadows shifted along the wall—too many, too fast. A squad rounded the corner in force, armor catching the dim light as they came into full view. Ex-Diarchy. There was no hesitation, no warning. The moment their eyes fell upon Lilaste Order markings, weapons were already coming up. "Contact—"

The word barely had time to form before the corridor erupted. Blaster fire tore through the space in a sudden, violent storm, red bolts streaking downrange toward Kaelen and his squad. The tight confines amplified everything the crack of discharge, the hiss of passing plasma, the sharp impact of bolts slamming into bulkheads and sparking off metal. The enemy advanced as they fired, disciplined despite the aggression, attempting to overwhelm through sheer pressure and positioning.

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah felt the shift the moment the formation broke, not through the displays, but through the sudden, hollow quiet that followed where structure should have been. The absence hit harder than any alarm, a silence that told her the field had slipped beyond anyone's control.

Her gaze snapped to the civilian vectors just as the first transport was struck, its signal cutting out mid-broadcast. Another vessel spiraled off-course, burning, its trajectory already collapsing into inevitability. For a single, measured heartbeat, she held still, letting the shape of the loss settle.

Then the stillness hardened into purpose.

"They've lost control," she said, her voice low and steady, no longer distant but anchored in the reality unfolding before them. "All firing lanes are now unsafe."

Her hand swept across the projection with deliberate precision, isolating what remained of the evacuation paths and discarding the ones that had already ceased to exist. She didn't waste time trying to salvage routes that were gone; she simply removed them, clearing the board for what could still be saved.

"Do not follow previous routes," she continued, her tone firm but even. "They're compromised."

The battlefield erupted again, wide, unfocused, indiscriminate. Too much fire, no coordination, no restraint. It was the kind of chaos that devoured anything predictable.

Ra adjusted the overlay once more, not searching for order; there was none left, but tracing the narrow, shifting gaps between the chaos, the fleeting spaces where movement might still survive.

"There," she said, marking a corridor that flickered between staggered volleys. "That window will hold for seconds at most." She drew in a controlled breath, grounding the moment. "Guide them through it."

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the signals already lost, but she didn't linger; the dead could not be helped, and the living still needed direction.

"They are firing blind now," she said, her voice softening without losing clarity. "Which means they will not correct in time." Another flare tore through the map, a near miss carving across the space where a transport had been only moments earlier. "We move with the gaps," Ra said quietly, her focus narrowing on the ships still fighting to escape. "Not against them."

Her gaze steadied, settling on the cluster of vessels that remained. "Keep them together." A pause followed, brief, deliberate, and carrying the weight of everything she refused to let slip away. "We are not losing any more."

Laphisto Aknoby

 

[Rasha Popova]

Objective: Protect the Refugees
Tags: Laphisto , Aknoby , Ra'a'mah

Diarchy ships moved throughout the sector, some warping in to assist the existing forces. This new fleet was under the command of a seasoned veteran, Rasha Popova. She watched as former Diarchy elements of the Lilaste Order clashed with her comrades. It had started a reaction that would turn the tide of the battle.

Normally, Rasha tried to suppress her emotions, thinking they had no place on the battlefield. However, seeing a civilian ship be blown to fiery slag right before her eyes stirred something in her gut. There was no reason to destroy unarmed freighters in such a manner. Seeing those lives destroyed in an instant.

It was terrible, blood that didn't need to be spilled. Any force that would do such a thing wasn't worth serving with. She had made her decision, and that meant addressing the crew.

"This is Legatus Popova addressing all hands! We will no longer be part of The Diarchy's fleet. Anyone who wishes to remain loyal to them will be allowed to leave duty station..."

She knew that her men were loyal, the bulk of them would follow her orders. Any who didn't would be getting a stay in the brig until they made port again. For now, the focus would be on stopping civillian casualties. The issue was that there wouldn't be many ships to support her own. The Pegasus was a potent ship, a Suppression Cruiser of the N&Z Corporation, but it was by no means invincible.

"Fire Control team! Lock all lasers on the broadside of the lead ship! Get their attention and keep it. I don't want any more civilian casualties!"

Now the trap was sprung, Turbolasers were bombarding the shields of the lead Diarchy vessel. There was no turning back now...

 

[Aknoby]

"O f...."

He let out a curse, dodging the barrage of shots, trying to stay calm. He knew he'd taken a risky move; he'd thought he'd buy a minute or two for the LO's wings to get into position, but it didn't work out that way.

"Ah…"

He stifled a scream when Stomper was hit, while the basilisk, in turn, cursed in binary.

"Stomper, watch your language! I'm fine—are you okay?"

The basilisk beeped. The half-chiss took a deep breath, trying to dodge and hide, but his blood boiled when he saw the civilian ships get hit. Feeling anger and guilt, he changed tactics, attacking another of the destroyers, dodging and relying on Stomper's heavy armor.

In the midst of this, he noticed one of the cruisers changing sides. This made him smile for a few seconds and focus, using the Force and synchronizing with Stomper, dodging and attacking while taking grazing shots for the time being

Laphisto Rasha Popova Ra'a'mah

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

Location: Bastion Curtain, Rear Installation, Lilaste Order Operation Sector 7
Current Objective: Locate and secure station manifest and main munitions/weapons depot; prepare critical systems for extraction/demolition.
Gear: Standard Lilaste armor, LO-20D, LO-22S, commlink, data pad, small tool kit for system access.
Squad Size: 5 personnel combat fit + 2 utility droids + 1 wounded

Kaelen had just shifted his weight toward the entrance, half-turning to sweep the corridor again
And then the world exploded.
Blaster fire ripped through the hallway in a sudden, blinding storm of red plasma. The crack and hiss of discharge filled the air, bolts hammering into the bulkhead just outside the depot entrance. Sparks showered inward as metal screamed under impact.

"Contact!" someone shouted.
Kaelen didn't think. He moved.
He lunged forward just as two of his squadmates sprinted into view from down the corridor, returning fire as they fell back. One of them stumbled mid-stride, armor flaring under a direct hit. The squad's CO.

He hit the deck hard.
"Inside! Inside!" Kaelen barked, grabbing the nearest trooper by the shoulder and dragging him through the depot threshold as more bolts slammed into the doorway. They ducked into a recessed maintenance alcove just inside the entrance as fire continued to rake the corridor.

The wounded CO tried to push himself up.
Failed.
The air was thick with smoke and heat. The enemy was advancing. Disciplined. Coordinated.

Kaelen felt something click into place.
The CO was down.
That meant...

He swallowed it.
"Form on me!" he snapped, voice sharper now. Cleaner. No hesitation. "Two on suppression, right side of the door! Keep them pinned!"
He dropped to one knee at the edge of the threshold, bracing his forearm against the scorched frame to steady his rifle. Plasma bolts streaked past, close enough to make the air sting.

He waited.
Measured the rhythm of their advance.
There.
A former Diarchal soldier leaned out just a fraction too far, trying to press their advantage.

Kaelen exhaled once and squeezed the trigger.
His shot flew clean and straight, striking center mass. The enemy trooper dropped instantly, armor sparking as they collapsed against the bulkhead.
"Push them back!" he shouted.
Suppressive fire from his squad forced the enemy to slow their advance, breaking their momentum just enough.

Behind him, the squad medic was already dragging the wounded CO deeper into the depot, away from the doorway.
"Get him stable!" Kaelen called without looking back. "We hold here!"
Another hail of blaster fire tore into the entrance. One bolt clipped the edge of the doorframe near his shoulder, showering him with hot fragments. He didn't flinch.

"Left flank's trying to angle us!" someone yelled.
"I see it," Kaelen replied, adjusting position.
He leaned out just enough to return controlled shots downrange, not wild, not panicked. High Republic training burned into muscle memory. Fire. Adjust. Fire again.

This wasn't dismantling anymore.
This was contested territory.
And they were outnumbered.
He risked a quick glance back into the depot.

The tech specialist was still at the terminal.
"Status?!" he called.
Because if they were going to survive this, they needed more than blaster fire.
They needed whatever secrets this station was hiding.

Tags: Laphisto

 

[Laphisto]

Ra'a'mah Aknoby Rasha Popova

The entire sector had descended into chaos. Diarchy vessels, once operating under structured command, were now fighting simply to survive. In their desperation to engage Aknoby, firing patterns broke down into reckless volleys. Targeting discipline vanished. Ships fired without regard for lanes or allies, and the void became a storm of indiscriminate destruction. Stray rounds lanced across the battlefield, striking anything caught in their path enemy, civilian, or their own.

One Corvette ook a direct hit from a friendly broadside, its shields collapsing in a cascade of light before its hull split open. Another vessel clipped a transport trying to flee, sending it tumbling end over end, venting atmosphere into the vacuum. The chain of command wasn't just strained. It was gone. What remained was panic, reaction, and fragmented survival.

when the vessel under Rasha Popova arrived to the scene For a brief moment, something shifted. Among the scattered Diarchy ships, there was a flicker of hope n assumption that order had returned, that reinforcement had come to stabilize the unraveling engagement.

It died almost immediately however as Rasha's ship opened fire. Precision strikes carved through already-weakened Diarchy formations, and whatever fragile cohesion remained shattered completely. The illusion of command gave way to full collapse. One corvette broke first, its engines flaring as it jumped blindly to hyperspace. Then another followed. Then another. Within moments, ships were fleeing in every direction, plotting erratic escape vectors to random coordinates with no coordination, no regroup point, no plan beyond escape.

The battlefield emptied in fragments. Only two corvettes remained. Whether too damaged to jump or too stubborn to retreat, they held position amid the wreckage, turning their guns toward Rasha's forces and continuing to fire. Their resistance was erratic, fueled more by defiance than strategy. For a brief moment, the sector fell into an uneasy lull. Scattered debris drifted where ships had just clashed, the silence broken only by distant alarms and fading weapons fire.

It didn't last how ever as From the edge of the engagement zone, a new presence emerged. An Air'mar-class heavy cruiser bearing Lilaste Order IFF signatures moved into view, its massive frame cutting through the debris field with controlled authority. It didn't rush. It didn't hesitate. It arrived with purpose. A channel opened across all frequencies, its signal cutting cleanly through the lingering static.

"All ships in sector, power down your weapons immediately. Transmit transponder codes and identify. Any further attack on civilian vessels will be met with immediate retaliation.". One of the remaining corvettes responded. Its weapons systems powered down, its posture shifting as it complied, transmitting identification in fractured but cooperative bursts.

The other did not. Instead, it surged forward, weapons igniting once more as it unleashed a volley directly at the Lilaste cruiser. Blaster fire and light cannons splashed harmlessly against the cruiser's shields, which flared in response but held without strain.

There was no second warning. The Air'mar's heavy mass drivers aligned with cold precision. A single salvo fired. The impact was instantaneous. The unshielded corvette was torn apart in a violent eruption, its hull disintegrating under the sheer kinetic force. The explosion bloomed outward in a brief, blinding fireball before collapsing into a cloud of twisted metal and incandescent debris. Shrapnel scattered across the void, spinning remnants of what had once been a warship.

---

Kaelen 'Ember' Virek

The nine soldiers of the Diarchy did not slow; if anything, they pressed harder. Boots slammed against the deck as they advanced through the corridor, their formation tightening with a clear edge of urgency beneath it. One after another, their gauntlets flared to life, LO-Va'karis emitters projecting forward into layered energy shields. The barriers snapped into place in front of them, overlapping into a glowing wall as they pushed toward the depot entrance, trying to survive the choke point, trying to force their way through it. Blaster fire poured from behind those shields, controlled but heavier now, less measured the kind of fire that came when discipline started to strain under pressure.

A sharp, violent crack tore through the corridor, louder and heavier than any blaster discharge. For a fraction of a second, it didn't register until the lead soldier's chest plate buckled inward. he had opted to keep his shield skin tight to his armor to better hold his weapon. but that soon proved to be a mistake as The round punched straight through him, armor and all, and carried into the man behind him. Both dropped instantly, their bodies collapsing into the deck in a heap of sparking systems and lifeless weight. The formation faltered. Just for a moment. Just long enough for the realization to hit.

Even through sealed helmets, it showed. The shield line wavered as the two bodies hit the floor, the advance stuttering for half a breath. Seven remained. They stepped forward anyway. The shields came back up, tighter now, closer together as they advanced over their fallen without stopping. Their fire resumed, but there was a change in it faster, sharper, less controlled. Bolts snapped toward the doorway, toward any movement, trying to keep the pressure on, trying to pin the defenders in place. They were still advancing, still fighting, but the rhythm had shifted. The confidence was thinner now, replaced by something else. fear

 

[Kaelen 'Ember' Virek]

Location: Bastion Curtain, Rear Installation, Lilaste Order Operation Sector 7
Current Objective: survive till extract
Gear: Standard Lilaste armor, LO-20D, LO-22S, commlink, data pad, small tool kit for system access.
Squad Size: 4 personnel combat fit + 2 utility droids + 1 wounded + 1 KIA

The heavier crack of Kaelen's shot rolled through the corridor, cutting through the storm of blaster fire. Ahead, the Diarchal line visibly faltered as armor buckled and bodies collided. The shield wall wavered for the briefest second before tightening again, overlapping emitters snapping back into place.

They kept coming.
Boots slammed against the deck, shields layered close, fire intensifying as they pressed through the choke point.
"Status on the CO?!" Kaelen called over the chaos.

"Unconscious!" the medic answered. "Bleeding, but stable!"
That was enough. Command settled fully onto Kaelen's shoulders.
"Switch to slug rounds! Target emitters and shield seams! Break their projection!"

Blaster fire gave way to the harder percussion of kinetic shots. Slug rounds slammed into the advancing barrier, sending ripples across the layered shields. Some impacts sparked against emitters. Some seemed to punch deeper through unstable overlaps. The wall shuddered but continued forward.

Kaelen ducked back into the depot, eyes scanning fast. A crate marked EMP caught his attention. He tore it open.
Unassembled. Useless.
He swore under his breath.
"Anyone got concussion or flash?"

A flash detonator hit his palm.
He primed it, rolled it low down the corridor.
"Eyes!"

The detonation burst in a searing flare, light fracturing violently across the shield surfaces. The advancing formation compressed instinctively. Some figures recoiled. Others pushed through the glare.

"Fire!"
Slug rounds cracked downrange again. Impacts struck shields in violent pulses. One emitter flickered erratically. Another sparked. The wall's advance slowed, staggered for a breath.

Then a red bolt cut back through the chaos.
One of Kaelen's squadmates jerked as the shot struck center mass in the helmet. The trooper dropped hard, armor clattering against the deck.
For a split second, Kaelen was somewhere else. Another corridor. Another body hitting the floor during his first deployment with the High Republic. The same hollow shock.

Not now.
"Man down!" he roared.
He lunged into the threshold despite incoming fire, grabbed the fallen trooper by the harness, and dragged them bodily back into the depot. Slug rounds snapped overhead as he hauled the weight across the floor and pulled them behind solid cover.

He didn't check the visor.
Not yet.
"Maintain pressure!" he barked. "Don't let them close!"

More kinetic fire hammered the shield wall. Some rounds seemed to force visible distortion through the barrier layers. Shapes shifted behind the glow. The formation tightened again, but its rhythm was different now. Tighter. Tenser.

Fear had crept in.
Kaelen braced against the doorframe once more, steadying his rifle along his forearm. He lined up another narrow seam between overlapping shields and squeezed the trigger.

The round vanished into the glow.
The wall shuddered.
How many still stood behind it was impossible to tell.
They were still advancing.
So was he.

Tags: Laphisto

 

[Ra'a'mah]

Ra'a'mah did not look away as the sector unraveled around her. She watched the last threads of structure give way, not with surprise, and not with any lingering expectation that order might reassert itself, but with a quiet, measured recognition of what the field had become. This was no longer a battle, nor even a retreat in any meaningful sense. It was a fracture, the kind that signaled not a momentary collapse but the end of a system that had already been failing long before the first shot was fired.

Her focus moved across the fleeing signatures, tracking the erratic hyperspace jumps, the absence of coordination, the complete dissolution of any shared command. What remained was not strategy or resistance, but scattered survival, isolated vessels acting on instinct rather than instruction, each one trying to escape a structure that no longer existed to guide them.

Then a new presence entered the field.

Her eyes settled on the Air'mar-class cruiser as it cut cleanly through the drifting debris, its movement controlled and deliberate, untouched by the chaos it had stepped into. The broadcast that followed carried across every channel with a clarity the battlefield had long since lost, a signal that reintroduced order simply by existing.

For a moment, Ra said nothing. She observed the shift.

One corvette complied. The other did not. The response was immediate, decisive, and final. The destruction of the attacking vessel registered across her display in a brief flare of light before dissolving into drifting fragments, an unmistakable demonstration of authority restored through certainty rather than escalation.

Ra drew a slow breath, grounding the change in the field, then opened a channel. When she spoke, her voice carried with calm authority, steady and composed, shaped not by urgency but by alignment.

"Lilaste command, this is Ra'a'mah of the Protectorate. Your intervention is acknowledged."

Her gaze moved beyond the immediate exchange, sweeping across the wider field, the debris, the scattered civilian signatures still attempting to clear the engagement zone, and beyond them, the lingering threat that had caused the collapse in the first place.

"Aknoby remains the central destabilizing factor in this sector," she continued, her tone even and precise, each word chosen with intention. "If left uncontained, the current lull will not hold."

A brief pause followed, measured rather than hesitant.

"We are coordinating civilian extraction along revised corridors. If your vessel is able to maintain pressure on Aknoby's position, it will allow those routes to stabilize and reduce the likelihood of further disruption."

It was not a command. It was a vector, clear, actionable, and offered without presumption.

Her attention shifted momentarily to the remaining corvette that had powered down, its identification still coming through in fractured bursts, the signal thin but present.

"The compliant vessel is transmitting under duress conditions," she added. "It may be worth securing rather than eliminating, if you have the capacity to do so without compromising your position."

Another pause, quieter, carrying the weight of what she did not need to state outright.

"Our priority remains the evacuation of non-combatants. Any additional coverage you can provide against stray engagements will reduce further loss."

Ra let the transmission settle, offering nothing more than what was necessary, not attempting to claim control over forces that were not hers to direct. Her gaze returned to the field, already recalculating its new shape, the presence of the Air'mar cruiser creating a temporary center where none had existed moments before.

"For now," she said softly, more to herself than to the open channel, "that may be enough."

Laphisto Aknoby Rasha Popova

 

[Aknoby]

He flies in the opposite direction of the civilian ships, drawing more fire onto himself; he manages to buy himself a few seconds to catch his breath, his body beginning to burn—even with the defenses of a heavy basilisk like Stomper, they wouldn't last long.

He hears everything over the radio and sighs. Lesson learned: never overestimate the enemy troops' discipline; they can be a mindless mob when their commander falls.

More shots, now less random; the remaining enemy ship apparently wanted some revenge, if anything.

His mind calculated; he took a deep breath, feeling the Force. Yes, there was a window of opportunity that would keep him and Stomper alive but badly wounded. He would likely wake up in a Bacta tank on one of the Lilac Order's ships, his body still burning, while Stomper was being repaired in the hangar.


He took a deep breath, spoke quietly to his droid, and they flew off, fast. The last Diarch destroyer fired at him and the cruiser that had allied itself with the Protectorate and the Lilaste—one, two shots—still awake, strange.

BAM—the wreckage of one of the ships hits him.


Hours later, Aknoby wakes up inside a bacta tank and sighs.


"Iandre… hi, sis."


Iandre Athlea Laphisto

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre was already there when his eyes opened, standing just off to the side of the tank where she could observe the med-droids' work without obstructing them. Her posture was composed, and her hands were loosely folded, but her stillness carried a quiet vigilance that was clearly no accident. There was something else in her presence, too, something shifting and significant that she had not yet found a name for.

When he spoke, her gaze shifted to him immediately. "You sound terrible," she said, her tone calm even as an unmistakable edge sharpened beneath the words. She offered the faintest, controlled exhale before adding, "Which means you are alive."

She stepped closer then, studying him through the glass with practiced precision as her eyes moved over the visible injuries and the monitors feeding her the state of the bacta. "That will suffice," she noted, her voice softening slightly while remaining structurally firm. "Do not try to speak further. Let the bacta do its work." It wasn't an unkind directive, merely an absolute one that left no room for argument.

Her attention flicked briefly toward the nearby console to confirm the readings before returning to him with a practical question: "Stomper? Was the unit recovered intact?" As she waited for the answer, her gaze drifted just slightly, not out of distraction, but a sudden, sharp awareness. A faint, almost imperceptible tightening touched her brow as if something at the edge of her perception refused to settle into place. The Force didn't feel empty; it felt misaligned, like a single note held just off-pitch, though she chose not to speak of it yet.

"You chose a particularly inconvenient time to test your survivability," she added after a moment, a trace of dry warmth coloring the statement. Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than necessary before she straightened, though that subtle tension remained anchored in her posture. "When you are stable, you will give me a full account of what occurred. Until then…rest."

Her final words were softer, though no less steady: "I am glad you are still here." Her hand shifted slightly at her side, her fingers curling once as she grounded herself against that quiet, persistent wrongness she could not yet define and did not yet understand.

Aknoby