Mission preperations to be made [LO]

[Aknoby]

He glanced over when he saw his sister there, torn between relief and fear of getting scolded, but that wasn't what happened.

He followed her with his eyes; first he noticed her voice sounded different, then the disturbance in the Force.

He stayed quiet as she had told him to. One of the mechanics reported that the Basilisk Stomper was fine, undergoing basic repairs, but the droid seemed irritated and was grumbling something about Aknoby being forced to fix it as compensation.

He smiled beneath his mask.

"I'm glad to still be here,"

He said, his voice coming through the bacta tank's speaker, not hiding his happiness, and in the Force it was as if he were giving his older sister a hug.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not move at first when he spoke again.

The sound of his voice settling into the space, carried through the distortion of the tank, did something quiet but significant to the tension she had been holding. It did not remove it, but it softened its edge just enough for her shoulders to ease a fraction.

Her gaze remained on him, steady and intent, as if confirming that he was truly there and not something that might vanish if she looked away too quickly.

"That is good," she said, her tone composed, though no longer as sharp as it had been moments before. "You will remain that way."

It was not a suggestion.

Her attention shifted briefly toward the mechanic as the report came through, and the faintest trace of dry acknowledgment touched her expression at the mention of Stomper's condition. "See that it stays that way," she added, not unkindly, before her focus returned fully to him.

For a moment, she simply stood there again. Then something in her posture shifted. Subtle. Controlled. But real. The Force carried it more clearly than anything her expression allowed.

The echo of his relief reached her, that quiet warmth offered without words, and she did not resist it. Instead, she met it, her presence settling around him like a steady, grounding counterpoint. Not overwhelming, not shielding, but there. Present. Certain.

"You frightened me," she admitted at last, the words quieter than anything she had said so far, stripped of command or structure.

Her chin lifted slightly after, composure reasserting itself, though not as rigidly as before.

"Do not make a habit of it."

A pause followed, softer this time.

"Rest," she added, her voice easing in a way that carried more care than instruction now. "Recover properly. That is your only task."

Her hand shifted faintly at her side again, that same grounding motion as before, though this time it seemed less about holding herself together and more about holding onto the fact that he was still here.

"I am here," she said finally, the words simple, but anchored with quiet certainty.

Aknoby

 

[Aknoby]

He kept listening, letting out a soft chuckle at the news about Stomper. He sighed heavily as he heard Iandre describe how he'd startled her, adding to the guilt he already felt about the situation.

"Lesson learned, don't worry."

And he added after she said she'd be there.

"Thank you."

He spoke softly, a smile hidden beneath his air mask. The Force emanated the comforting love of a brother toward her, just before he closed his eyes and entered the Force trance to aid his body's recovery.

He wanted to say something to her, but perhaps it would be better to speak once he was out of the tank. He would likely be released in a few days and would remain in bed in the hospital room under observation for a few days, but for now he was there, floating in bacta.


Iandre Athlea

 

[Laphisto]

Kaelen 'Ember' Virek
The Ex-Diarchy soldiers kept advancing, but the corridor had become a grind every step forward bought in blood and resistance. Their blaster fire continued to pour into the doorway, but it was no longer having the effect they needed. Bolts struck center mass, shoulders, torsos—yet the Kov'dra armor of the Lilaste Order soldiers held firm. Energy dispersed, flared, and bled off across reinforced plating, leaving scorch marks but little else.

What had started as a coordinated advance splintered under the mounting pressure. One man faltered, another hesitated under returning fire, and in those brief fractures the formation lost its cohesion. The shield line flickered, no longer perfectly aligned, and the steady rhythm of their assault gave way to something more desperate.

Three of them made it through. They surged the final stretch of the corridor, breaking from the remnants of their formation and closing the distance to the depot entrance. Blaster rifles dropped from primary to secondary as they moved, each man reaching instead for something more immediate. LO-9M vibroswords snapped into their hands, then screaming as they charged in

---

Ra'a'mah Rasha Popova
"Understood, Protectorate craft. Your transmission is received. We will remain in-system to provide military support for your operation. Diarchal forces will be handled, and our operative will be accounted for accordingly." There was a brief pause, not hesitation, but control allowing the situation to settle as targeting systems and command directives aligned behind the words.

"As for the Ex-Diarchal vessel that was fired upon, transmit identification codes immediately and confirm status We thank you for your assistance. Your actions have reduced further loss within the sector. If you wish to speak further regarding coordination with the Lilaste Order, this channel remains open."