Private Shadows of the Frozen Spire

[Iandre Athlea]

The low hum of the Republic shuttle thrummed through Iandre's chest as it descended toward the icy plateau. Outside, the Frozen Spire rose from the snow like a jagged crystal, its lights flickering against the storm-darkened sky. The wind buffeted the hull, sending frost streaking across the viewport.

Iandre tightened her grip on the harness, her gaze steady. Beside her, Cora moved with quiet precision, checking her gear, blades strapped and ready. They exchanged no words; none were needed. Both knew the assignment: secure the Spire, assess the situation, and neutralize any threat.

The shuttle touched down with a hiss of hydraulics, snow swirling around the landing skids. Iandre led the way across the ridge, feet sure on the ice, eyes scanning for anomalies, while the Force whispered subtle warnings of the storm's hidden dangers. Cora followed, silent, lethal in every movement, a presence Iandre acknowledged but did not direct.

At the perimeter, the first sign of trouble revealed itself: an outer turret had been torn from its mount, power lines sparking across the snow. Tracks led into the shadows of the Spire's lower levels—too deep for any of the outpost's personnel.

Iandre adjusted her stance, senses alert. The storm pressed in, howling against stone and metal, and with every step, the Frozen Spire seemed to grow taller, darker, as if waiting. Whatever lurked within its frozen halls had already made its move. And now, together, Iandre and Cora would meet it.

Cora

 

[Cora]

Cora ran through her gear inspection on the final approach to their landing zone, each motion practiced but tense. A tightness clung to her chest. It was her first mission under Iandre's command. Her luck couldn't be worse. Of all the officers she could've been assigned to, it had to be the one with a direct line to the Diarch Rellik . If Cora made even a minor mistake, it would go straight to the top, reflecting poorly on her before she even had a chance to prove herself.

The shuttle touched down on the snowy plateau with a hiss of hydraulics. Cora closed her eye and drew a deep breath, stealing a moment of silence to steady her thoughts. When the doors opened, Iandre stepped out first, and Cora fell into formation behind her, matching her rhythm stride for stride. She stretched her senses outward through the Force, inspecting the surroundings, staying cautious and alert.

The destruction at the perimeter was worse than she'd expected. Still, she knew her role. She slipped her rifle free and lowered her stance as they advanced toward their objective.
"Weapon ready," she murmured through the helmet comm, her voice sharper than intended as she swept the area.

Above them, the Frozen Spire loomed. It was beautiful, but cold in a way that felt... expectant. As though it watched their approach with silent judgment. A cold shiver ran down Cora's spine. I have a bad feeling about this… But she refused to falter. Not in front of Iandre.

She drew a steadying breath as they reached the entrance, blasted wide open by whatever had torn through the outer defenses. When Iandre stepped across the threshold into the depths of the Spire, Cora followed a single step behind.

They paused in the entrance. Something was wrong. For all the destruction that they'd witness outside the Spire, the inside was pristine and silent. It was unnerving. Whatever had caused that destruction outside had left the inside completely intact. This only furthered the mystery surrounding their mission. What had attacked the Spire in the first place? And why was the inside untouched? She exchanged a look of confusion with Iandre as they continued deeper.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Snow whispered under Iandre's boots as she crossed into the Frozen Spire, her armored silhouette briefly illuminated by the sharp white glow refracting off the crystalline threshold. The woman behind her—older in years but newer to this kind of assignment—moved with crisp discipline, yet Iandre could still feel the tension in her steps as surely as if it were a current running beneath the snow. The Force did not need to tell her that Cora was overthinking every movement, cataloging every possible mistake, anxious about being judged by a commander younger than herself yet shaped by the Lilaste Order into something calm, steady, and unshakably precise.

Iandre did not turn at once. She gave Cora the space to settle, to breathe, to find equilibrium in the quiet.

The air inside the Spire shifted immediately—still, razor-clean, untouched by the violence that had torn through the outer defenses. The contrast felt wrong. Purposeful. As though whatever had raged outside had drawn a boundary at the entrance and…ended.

She lifted one gloved hand—halt.

Cora froze behind her without hesitation, good reflexes despite the nerves that pulsed faintly from her like residual heat. Iandre let her senses drift outward, reading the chamber not with her eyes but with the intuition honed in years of healing and training aboard the orbital station she had once called home. The emptiness ahead weighed it, as though the Spire itself was holding its breath.

"The breach outside doesn't match this," she said at last, her voice even but edged with a contemplative tone that carried clearly through the comm. "Whatever caused that destruction did not enter. This interior is untouched."

Only then did she turn her head slightly to meet the older woman's visor—not with the sharpness of rank or reprimand, but with the steady acknowledgment of one soldier recognizing another.

"Keep your rifle low, not raised," she advised, her tone gentle yet confident, "and stay close. If anything had forced its way through, the ground would show it. Scorch marks. Scoring. Heat signatures. We're seeing none of that."

Cora nodded, and Iandre moved forward again, her cloak brushing against thin veils of frost-mist that curled from the walls. The Force stirred in slow, cool spirals around her, tugging faintly at her awareness like distant fingers drawing her deeper into the structure.

A subtle pressure lived here. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Waiting.

She sent out a quiet pulse of the Force, letting it ripple along stone and crystal. No movement. No predatory hunger. No panic or residue of violence. And yet something old and coiled rested further ahead, like a secret suspended in ice, unawake but not absent.

"Good," Iandre murmured as Cora kept precise pace with her. A simple word, offered without condescension or false praise—just truth.

The shift in Cora's posture was small but unmistakable; tension eased, her breath steadied, and the fear of being evaluated began to dissolve.

Iandre continued deeper into the Spire, its dim corridors stretching into a lattice of shadow and muted blue light, and her voice softened with a quiet certainty earned through her own trials.

"This place has unsettled seasoned knights," she said, her tone low but steady. "Your instincts are sound. Trust them."

Ahead, the corridor narrowed, and a chill deeper than simple cold settled around them.

Whatever waited in the heart of the Frozen Spire would test them both—and Iandre, young in years but tempered by war, healing, and the strange patience of survival, stepped forward without a single tremor of doubt.

Cora