Private River's Echo

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

Ukatis, his home, always brought a sense of gratitude each time he set foot upon its soil. The Wyndvane river lay ahead, unchanged. Three years had slipped by, leaving behind no sign of his departure. Returning to this familiar spot tugged at place he'd long since buried, making him feel as though he returned late.

The teen stood at its bank where the forest thinned just enough to allow light. Boots were planted in damp earth, just watching the water move. Black, as usual, but tailored for the outdoors today. A thermal layer hugged his lithe frame beneath a worn jacket. Trousers were designed for easy movement.

As he inhaled, crisp air filled his lungs; each breath was a reminder that winter was settling upon Ukatis.

Recently, an idea had come to him unexpectedly.. awakened by a moment of carelessness in some ways. Digging through old files on his datapad, he’d uncovered an old photograph from Naboo. That discovery.. it hurt, realizing how simple things had once been. The smiles and shared experience. A team they were, supposedly. Now, it was just another cruel reminder of whatever complexity that dared to consume him. The innocence of youth.. gone.

Perhaps, that was what stirred yet another memory, this river where he had first learned to fish. It was here, along this very stretch, where Roman had helped him cast his first line.

A rod rested in Lysander's hands as he carefully threaded the line through the guides. After that, he attached the lure, tied the knot, and gave it a tug to check. Then another out of habit. Once happy with it, he locked it, brushed his fingers over the line, and finally shifted his gaze to the water.

Stepping forward with the pole, he let it fly with a snap of the wrist; the surface ahead answered with a plop.

No quiet afternoon would ever erase the massacre across the Tapani Sector. But fishing slowed him down enough to stay present, instead of sinking into dark places he knew too well.

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

Roman slowed the horse as the river came into view, the familiar pull settling in his chest before he could argue with it. Same stupid gravity as always. Ukatis did that to him. The Force hummed low and constant beneath the snow, patient, like it had all the time in the galaxy and Roman was the one running late. Again.

He dismounted near the bank and loosened the reins, guiding the horse down to drink. Snow clung to the animal's coat, already melting. Roman rested a gloved hand against its neck and exhaled. The cold bit cleanly, sharp enough to keep his head where his body was. That was the trick. Stay here. Don't drift.

Across the river, movement caught his eye. A lone figure, rod arcing over black water. Roman squinted, then stilled. White hair. Too familiar. His chest tightened before he could stop it.

You've got to be kidding me.

Three years. Three quiet absences that had stretched longer than intended. Roman had known Lysander came back sometimes. He had just been very good at missing him. Or avoiding him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

He tied the reins to a low branch and started down the bank, boots crunching softly through snow. The Force stirred as he moved, warmer now, almost curious. Roman pulled his hood lower against the cold until he reached the opposite stretch of river. Close enough to see the line ripple. Close enough to be certain.

Memories crowded in, unwelcome and sharp. Naboo. Laughter. Teaching a kid to fish who pretended not to care but absolutely did. Roman swallowed and pushed it down. He was older now. Rougher. At least more tired.

He stopped at the water's edge and watched the line for a moment before speaking. Gave himself time to breathe.

"Catch anything good?"

Roman pushed his hood back, letting the cold hit his face. His breath fogged the air as he offered a small, crooked smile that didn't quite cover the weight behind his eyes.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

While bringing the line in, Lysander listened to the whisper of the reel beneath his thumb. That, with the river itself, was something of a sweet symphony. Keeping the rod at an angle, he felt the tug of water.. a connection between himself and nature. Interesting, really.. he carried the same pole from Naboo through all his travels. It even made an appearance on Jutrand, down in the Sadow district, using a handmade lure. That was where he met another Covenant Sith, Kirie, shortly before the band of marauders coalesced on Desevro, starving for vengeance.

Nothing tugged back yet.. no sign of life on the other end. And that was fine.

As he lifted the same old lure from the water’s surface, he let it hang there for a moment, and drew a deep breath. In those few seconds, his thoughts drifted back to the massacre on Pelagon. It wasn’t like he’d truly been an architect in its grand design. But.. his Master shaped it.. Mercy.

Before those thoughts dared to stretch too far, Lysander snapped his wrist and cast once more.

The line unfurled. Rings spread outward from the landing. So, he began to track the line again..

..until he heard it.

Barely worth acknowledging, the crunch of snow registered. And it paled in comparison to the shifting Force suddenly at the edge of his senses. Strangely warm. Well, it easy probably easy to surpass the biting cold of Ukatis' winter.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a figure on a horse, but didn’t think much of it.

A threat could be anywhere. Or.. maybe he didn’t take the Mid Rim as seriously as he once had, after so much time spent in the Outer Rim. Or perhaps that was the Sith arrogance people liked to talk about? Who was to say. Either way.. nothing felt out of place.

Returning to the river, it carried his focus.

Then the voice came.

Lysander’s breath caught abruptly.. freezing mid chest. Fingers clenched tighter around the rod. Somehow, the river's murmurs became a rushing torrent in his ears.

Roman?

Three years returned without warning.

Lysander stood rooted in place rather than turning right away. He couldn’t. There was another ripple across the water. Gradually, his head rotated, taking in details he hadn’t realized he’d memorized once upon a time.

The grip on the rod loosened, but for another moment, he said nothing. In truth, it kind of surprised him that recognition came at all. Sure, the cursed hair color was the same, with a face still undeniably youthful, even if marked by a scar over one brow, and the newer, longer cut along his cheekbone.. earned on Genarius. Apparently, black was his favorite color too.

“Only the cold. Ukatis hasn’t changed much.”

That familiar, Loth-cat-approved grin surfaced; it didn’t feel like it belonged anymore, so he erased it.

“I wasn’t expecting this.. not how I pictured today” came on the exhale. "Not that I pictured anything at all, really."

“So,” searching for footing.. A crease formed at the brows and would not leave, bracing for something he did not even fully understand.

“Um..” The next breath failed him.

"Yeah.. how have you been.. Roman? Didn't think you'd ever speak to me again. Or.. that I'd hear your voice again."

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

Roman stayed where he was, the river cutting cleanly between them like it had opinions on the matter. Wind pushed through his hair, sharp and impatient, tugging red curls loose from where they never quite stayed. He let the silence sit. It deserved a moment. Maybe more than a moment.

Lysander looked older. Not just taller or sharper, but worn in that quiet way people got when they learned too much too fast. Roman clocked the details without trying. The posture. The way his grip loosened like he expected the ground to shift under him. That part hurt more than Roman cared to admit.

So this is how we do this, then.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight, boots grinding into frozen soil. His breath fogged and vanished.

Three years since Lysander had walked away. From him. From Cora. Roman had told himself it was fine. People left. People always did. Still, something in his chest had gone permanently crooked after that, like a bone that never set right. He'd stopped believing in structures after. Orders. Councils. Promises that everyone stayed if you followed the rules.

He had blamed himself in the quiet hours, which was stupid and unhelpful and something he did anyway. Had he missed something obvious? Said the wrong thing? Let the kid shoulder too much alone? Roman prided himself on being decent, on showing up, but memory had a way of poking holes in that confidence.

Lysander asked how he'd been. Roman didn't answer. He couldn't. Not honestly. Not without unraveling things he'd spent time knotting tight.

Instead, he looked at the line cutting through the water, the slow patience of it. Fishing. Of course.

Roman exhaled and lifted his gaze back to him. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Have you found what you were looking for, Lysander?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

Wind skimmed his cheek, lifting stray strands of pale hair. The air was heavy in his chest; it filled him more than it should have. He let it go in a slow nasal exhale, the same kind of breath for decisions in the Outer Rim that did not allow retreat.

The question struck deeper than he expected. It hurt because it was fair, because now it forced him to weigh the last three years by meaning, when most of it had been survival. Avoidance had never been one of his weaknesses. The ache stemmed from the realization that the answer wasn’t something he could simply give.. not without first dissecting it.

Lips parted to answer, then closed. The words were just out of reach.

His gaze dropped briefly, down to the rod in his hands. He adjusted his stance by half a step, redistributing his balance as though preparing for something. Another habit learned in training, just one more thing when stability also meant survival.

A thought arrived uninvited.. that the years between might not have erased his reasoning entirely. Perhaps someone who had known him before could still trace the logic of it.

Lysander didn’t trust it.

Maybe the grin he wore before was a fluke. When the faintest hint of it returned at one side of his lips, it too was short lived. His eyes constricted, the mind grappling with the sheer amount of data to sort through.

But the next time he did find Roman, the green in his gaze had gone cold. Not by choice.. but stubbornly present all the same.

“No,” the truth surfaced at last. A shadow passed through Lysander’s expression. “I didn’t find it.”

Fingers released the rod, little by little. “But I think I’m finally getting closer.”

He swallowed hard, as if blocking back something. Something raw. "I found the price tag on hope though."

The bridge of his nose tightened. “At the beginning, before things shifted, it was just me. No voices to say I'd crossed a line. None that wanted to check on me. There were times I would have welcomed being told I was wrong. I uncovered things I still can't put into words. After enough of that, I stopped expecting to hear from everyone. After wandering through that tangled maze alone, I found a road that led onward.”

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

​

Roman nodded once, slow. Of course Lysander answered like that. Big thoughts wrapped in careful words, like meaning might spill out if he handled it wrong. Some things never changed, apparently. Roman almost smiled, then decided better of it.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

The wind cut sharper, needling through his cloak. Roman shifted his stance and dug his hands deeper into his pockets, fingers curling tight. The river kept moving, indifferent as ever. He hated how steady it was. Made everything else feel flimsy by comparison.

"I should've helped you," he went on after a beat. The words landed heavier than he meant them to. He let out a breath, watched it fog and vanish. "Or at least tried harder. I couldn't walk that path with you. Wouldn't. And I'm sorry I didn't know how to say that without it sounding like abandonment."

That one stung. It always did. Roman stared at the water, jaw tight, giving the silence room to breathe before it swallowed him whole. He waited until the pressure eased, just a little.

He lifted his head again, eyes tracking back to Lysander. The kid wasn't a kid anymore. That truth sat in his chest.

"So why are you here, Lysander?" Roman asked. His voice stayed even, but his shoulders had gone rigid. "Ukatis isn't exactly on the way to anywhere. I don't remember Cora mentioning a visit."

He shifted uncomfortably, then added, more carefully, "I've heard things. Rumors. About Tapani."

The word felt dirty in his mouth. He shifted his weight, boots crunching against frozen ground, and gestured vaguely toward the treeline behind him.

"You know there are families settling here now. Refugees. People who lost everything and don't even know who to hate yet." His brow furrowed, frustration bleeding through despite his effort to keep it contained. "They're cold, they're scared, and they're trying to rebuild on ground that barely holds together."

Roman swallowed. He hadn't meant to sound angry. Apparently, he failed.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

Lysander’s mouth tightened for a second before smoothing again. His chin lifted another inch or so, a modest attempt to regain composure. Then, a single swallow, sealing shut a flood of words that begged to be released.

None of them were good..

“In the beginning, I hated you for it,” the admittance came. Part of him wanted to lash out, to name everything and why he felt abandoned back then. Even upon years of etiquette, years of study.. but it was difficult to clamp down on.

“I really needed you, Roman.” Though his hands stayed wrapped around the rod, the hold loosened further.. and sank close to the river. “I didn’t need you to agree with me. It just would’ve been nice to know I wasn’t invisible. Not only you.. everyone.”

Cora counted among them.

He inhaled; the breath paused, and he exhaled slowly through his nose. “I thought of you as my brother."

Inside, the blonde’s thoughts churned. Meditation was routine, and he had spent many nights reflecting on certain things, while the absence of others had been a recurring theme during his time on Korriban. He was painfully aware that he hadn't reached out either. Of course, it was a two way street. He could have made a long list of excuses, convincing ones at that. None of them would erase the truth.

“There were messages I wanted to send. I.. waited for the right words.. for it to make sense to me. I didn’t know how to come back.”

Tapani. The massacre. This wasn’t something he carried lightly. Now it was another truth, carved into him, a scar that he refused to call regret.. but it was still a scar. And now it was tightening.

“I was there when Pelagon and the others burned.. and I helped light the fire. I stood with the Covenant. As a voice..”

And to answer, finally, why he was back home. “Once you stand in the ashes after.. you never walk clean again.” Or so, that was how it felt thus far.

A dragon in the making, awakened on Jutrand.

His gaze drew inward, lids falling like a shield. “If they don’t know who to hate yet.. they’ll learn. That is the only thing that keeps the dark from swallowing you. That should keep them warm.”

Leather boots ground against the ice hard soil; the movement of his lithe frame became more calculated. “Ukatis isn’t the Republic’s dumping ground. This world has its own wounds. Let them find another place to taint with their grief and weakness.”

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

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Roman didn't move at first. The words hit him square in the chest, solid enough to steal the air from his lungs. I really needed you. He'd heard worse things shouted in battle and walked away bleeding less. His jaw tightened, eyes dropping to the river because if he kept looking at Lysander, something ugly might spill out.

He swallowed and rubbed a thumb against his knuckle, grounding himself. You were barely holding it together yourself, he reminded himself. That had been true. He'd been young, scared, pretending he knew what he was doing because everyone else seemed to think he should. Still, knowing that didn't dull the ache. It just made it heavier.

"I know," he said finally, voice rough. "And I wasn't in any shape to be what you needed. That's not an excuse. It's just... the truth." He exhaled slowly. "I was a kid too. I didn't know how to save you when I was busy trying to survive myself."

The confession sat between them. Roman straightened, shoulders squaring out of habit. He listened as Lysander spoke of fire and ash, of standing with the Covenant. Each word felt like another stone added to a pile Roman already carried.

When Lysander finished, Roman shook his head once, sharp. "You don't talk like someone who's free," he said. "You talk like someone who's drowning and insisting the water's warm."

He stepped closer to the bank, boots biting into ice. "That guilt is eating you alive. I can hear it in every sentence." His gaze softened, just a fraction. "You think you're ruined. That you can't walk back once you've gone that far."

Roman let out a breath, steadier now. "You're wrong."

He lifted his eyes to meet Lysander's. "You can always come back. It won't be clean, and it won't be quick, but it's possible. You don't have to carry it alone. You could heal. With me. With Cora."

The words felt dangerous.

"We could help the people who ended up here," he went on. "Find them homes somewhere else. Let Ukatis breathe instead of bleeding for everyone else's mistakes." His mouth twitched, faint and tired.

Roman held his ground, voice low and steady. "We could be brothers again, Lysander. Repair what broke." He shrugged slightly. "If you want it."

The river flowed on. Roman waited, knowing some choices only ever came once.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

The river would flow, and that, he thought, was the cruelest thing. There was no pause for confessions or choices. A dull ache in the hands suggested he’d been holding the rod tightly again, and so Lysander eased his fingers back open.

But he stood perfectly still then, the distance staying as it was. Of course, the part of his mind that’d been trained in the darker arts was quick to accept this. A discipline in some ways. In the Outer Rim, it kept you alive. In the Tapani Sector, maybe it bought you a few more seconds. Sometimes that was all mercy ever was.

Lysander offered a small nod, the kind that spoke of acceptance.. not approval. “I found that when you stop waiting for someone, life holds fewer complications. I didn’t realize you were sinking as well. I only ever knew solitude at the time.”

After three years of silence, and caught without defenses, maybe repeating himself was necessary.

Tightness set along his jaw. “But knowing why.. doesn’t make it hurt any less. ”

“Freedom,” came the word, brittle on the tongue, “that.. is a generous definition.”

Lips pressed together as though the bitterness lingered. “I’m not ruined,” added quietly. “I’m informed. I’ve come to accept how the galaxy works.”

Fingers inclined toward the river, Roman’s analogy circling through his thoughts.. without finding rest.

“In the Outer Rim, people drown waiting for the current to show mercy. So, I learned how to move with it. That’s not warmth, Roman. That’s just adaptation.”

Healing.. Cora..

At first, he began looking at Roman’s shoulder, not his face.

A long moment passed without words.

“It would be impossible to rebuild while someone is holding some type of blueprint.. deciding which parts I’m allowed to keep. Healing requires trust, and trust requires.. proof.”

He left unsaid why the Light constantly failed.

Another pause, shorter this time, before lifting his gaze again.

“I don’t need to be loved by everyone, or admired. What I need, is to be inconvenient to cross. No one looks twice at a family guarded by something.. dangerous. Someone has to stand where it's ugly. I can carry that.”

There was too much to explain. He’d made a name for himself after fighting up the ladder for so long. And yet, here he was by the river. A void, set against all that recent success.

But.. there would always be monsters. Better to be one with limits than leave a vacuum.

Lysander’s following words would land flat, and final. “I’m not helping them.” His throat worked once. "The Covenant isn’t something you step away from once you’re.. useful. I don’t know how to be your idea of a good man. I don’t think I ever truly did. But.. I still know how to be a brother."

The rod finally dipped, line touching the water.

"Coming back wouldn't give me a place to stand.. it'll strip me of one. I'd be forfeiting everything I've worked toward.. starting from zero.. again."

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

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Roman felt it like a punch to the chest, the calm weight in Lysander's voice. Every carefully chosen word dug into him, but it didn't soften the sting. Not helping them. I still know how to be a brother. That last line echoed, like it was almost an apology.

"You're lost," Roman said finally, voice low but cutting across the river like a blade. "You don't need to be dangerous. You don't need to carve a name out of fear or climb some ladder built on corpses. You don't need a title or power to matter."

He stepped closer to the water, boots crunching ice. His hands fisted at his sides, and the wind tugged at his cloak like it wanted to yank him off balance. "You think that gives you freedom? That gives you control? All it's doing is chaining you tighter. You've been running from yourself, Lysander, pretending the darkness makes you strong."

Roman's gaze never wavered. He could feel the years of solitude in Lysander's posture, the careful, trained discipline that kept him standing even when the current wanted to drag him under. He hated it. Hated that he had to see it, hated that part of him had been swallowed by it too.

"You're not the galaxy's executioner. You're not some monster people need to fear to survive. You're a man who's letting the past write his future instead of taking it back." His voice sharpened. "I don't care what you've done. I care about who you could be if you stopped pretending that standing on the edge of everything is the same as living."

Roman shook his head, letting snow drift from his shoulders. "Healing isn't about being untouchable. It's not about proving anything to anyone except yourself. You don't need to 'adapt' by turning into something ugly. You need to come back before the river swallows you."

He swallowed, the words bitter on his tongue. "You think you're alone out there. You think nobody's keeping a place for you. But I am. And if you want to, we can start again. Cora can help too. Your little niece. You don't have to keep climbing that ladder alone, Lysander."

Roman's chest rose and fell with the wind. "You've spent too long thinking power or fear makes you strong. It doesn't. It just leaves you hollow. You could be whole again. You could actually stand somewhere that matters, with people who care about you."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

Verdant depths shifted.. sharpening as he focused. The wind would skim his cheek once more, creeping beneath both hood and collar. Though Roman drew closer, Lysander didn’t budge an inch; muscle memory locked him into position.

“I didn’t just somehow disappear into the Dark," stripped of warmth, "I learned how to stand in it without letting it decide everything for me. Maybe you keep calling me lost because it’s easier than admitting I went somewhere you-”

Lysander cut it off himself. A palm lifted, sliding over his face, catching the scarred cheekbone.

He wasn’t sure why he’d gone that far; only that some part of him had wanted it to sting. But, the truth of it was enough to silence him, and so he would continue to listen..

.. for a short time.

“Not yet. But I am my family’s executioner. You were even there during the very first justifications. Back when I was still half blind and decided that protection would no longer be an idea..”

Nothing in the teen’s expression shifted. “The wedding on Hapan.”

Roman had been there when an arm reached for his sister, only to be severed seconds later by a purple blade. Lysander never forgot the judgmental looks received on that day; they told him so much about the Light..

Healing sounded like a foreign word. He’d never known what to do with it. No one had ever sat him down and suggested it was something he should consider. Only habits that were still forming.

“I don’t think I ever learned how to want that. You’re asking me to come back, to.. step out of everything I’ve built and pretend I can pick up where I left off.”

He hesitated.

“I can’t do that, Roman.”

Another breath passed through him.

“I can’t come back to a version of myself that no longer exists. I can’t undo what I’ve seen, or what I’ve decided, or the way the galaxy responds to me now. It doesn’t even feel like I’m choosing the Dark over something else.. I just accepted that the path I chose won’t ever loop back. I can only move forward.”

Then, quieter. “It.. doesn’t mean I don’t hear you.. I understand what you’re trying to offer..”

The mention of his niece was like a dagger through the heart. That was why the river reclaimed his attention next. He hadn’t been there when she was born. And the fact wasn’t new.. but phrased like that, it still hurt. Of course, that meant he missed the moments afterwards too.

Before the destruction of Coruscant, he’d spent a fair amount of time turning thoughts of her over in his mind.. wondering what she might be like, what it might feel like to be an uncle, to hum lullabies to Luciana. His blood.

Pressure gathered behind his eyes, throat tightening, but this too would vanish under control. It wasn’t something he wished to be visible.

"You speak like there's a version of me waiting somewhere.. where I left him. I believe you when you say you're keeping a place. I can't be whole in ways that you're asking. And.. I don't want to anymore. Just because I'm a Sith doesn't mean I'm empty. I need a life that feels honest. You know, it's interesting.. I’ve stood beside Jedi who spoke of compassion, only to step away when it became inconvenient.. just as I’ve bled next to other Sith who decided to stay even when the odds were far from favorable.”

His focus realigned with Roman. “I didn’t stop being capable of connection when I left,” the admission landed. “And it's possible to start again without pretending it will be uncomplicated. Coruscant is where I’m needed right now.”

For a few seconds, he considered the cost of honesty. “It's important I keep things from tearing themselves apart in the Core. I’m there to determine whether cooperation is viable, or if other measures are required.”

Not quite a diplomat.

No, a position that would have to absorb consequences.

“I don’t do this because I want power. I do it because someone has to decide where the line is now.”

Perhaps it was some sort of conscious sidestep, but his mind wandered anyway. Though it lasted for a second, something softened his face.

“Have you met her?” asked softly.

“Luciana?”

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

Roman listened without interrupting, jaw set hard enough to ache. Lysander always did this, turned conviction into something sharp and polished, like if he named it carefully enough it couldn't be questioned. Roman let the wind bite his face and took it anyway.

"You're still dressing it up," he said quietly when Lysander finished. "You call it 'standing in the dark,' but it's the darkness that's already inside you." He shook his head once. "Choosing this path doesn't erase the fact that it's a dead‑end. It only means you walked into it fully aware."

His hands flexed, cold creeping into his fingers. He hated how calm Lysander sounded talking about lines and executions, hated how practiced it was. "You tell yourself someone has to draw the line, that someone has to shoulder the ugly work so the rest can stay clean. That's how it starts. Then you're left standing in the filth while everyone else walks away."

He exhaled through his nose, tired. Not angry anymore. Just worn down by the truth of it.

"We're not getting back to what we were," he said, more plainly. "That version of us is gone. I know that. You're different. I'm different. Pretending otherwise would just tear us open again." His gaze stayed on Lysander, steady despite the ache behind his eyes. "But don't confuse forward motion with progress. Sometimes it's just momentum."

At the mention of Coruscant, Roman's shoulders stiffened. "You might want to think twice before pulling anyone, especially your niece, into what's brewing in the Core."

He paused, then softened despite himself. "Yeah. I've met Luciana." A faint, genuine smile tugged at his mouth. "She's beautiful... Innocent to everything." His voice dropped. "She deserves to keep that for as long as possible."

Roman swallowed. "You say you're doing this so things don't tear apart. Fine. But don't tell yourself you're protecting family while standing in the blast radius." He met Lysander's eyes again. "Because if this goes wrong, it won't just be you paying for it."

The river kept moving between them, unchanged. Roman stayed where he was.

"I won't stop caring," he said quietly. "But I won't lie to you either. Whatever you're becoming, make sure it's something you'd want her to see someday."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

At some point, the fishing pole had stopped being a tool. The realization didn’t alarm him. It simply.. registered. He stayed where he was anyway.

With every word, Lysander’s shoulders pulled back, chin rising in that reflexive preparation for a strike. One he wouldn’t have minded.

“You think I haven’t interrogated that? That I haven’t already taken it apart and put it back together enough times to know exactly where it breaks?”

A breath was drawn in deep through the nose. Then, held for a count, before released slowly. A more primal instinct, ingrained into him long before thoughts of philosophy.

“You say it’s inside me. Maybe it always was. That doesn’t absolve me. And you’re absolutely right about the dead end, Roman. This path doesn’t loop back. I accepted that back on Korriban. A matter of perspective, perhaps, but not all ends are failures.”

He’d learned a great deal about leadership during his time with the Covenant.

"Strength is what people admire from a distance. Responsibility is what stays when admiration leaves.”

Lysander let that sit for a few seconds. “You shouldn’t be worried I’ll be left standing alone when everyone else walks away. You’re not wrong. That’s already happened. The difference is that now I’m not surprised by it.”

Still no cast.

“No one is being pulled into the Core. That isn’t a place you visit without consequence now. A pressure system, you could say. I’m there because I can absorb that without breaking.”

He found no reason to doubt it.

When his niece’s name drifted through the air again, he forced a faint smile to the surface. Though his moral compass was undoubtably twisted, and the weight of lives ended by his own hands was ever present, Lysander refused to let that dim the light of her life. Even now.. belated.. burdened, naturally, he yearned for her memory to be honored.

“She deserves a life where she doesn’t have to understand why people make the choices they do. A life where innocence isn’t something she has to defend. Not now.. not later. I would never be the reason she loses that.”

Luciana was one of many influences that had pushed him into the role of point emissary for the Covenant. Regardless of faction, when it came to negotiations, Lysander was who they dealt with now.

And because of that, there was a fighting chance Ukatis might just remain safe.

Furthermore, it was hard to ignore that this role, in a purely statistical sense, reduced the likelihood of his own survival.

“If Luciana grows older and never needs to understand the details of where I’ve been, then I would consider that a success as well.”

There wouldn't be any value in further exchanges..

Some things ended without conclusion.

“Well, I’m glad I saw you again. For whatever that amounts to.”