Faction Spirit of Giving | The High Republic

[Elian Abrantes]

Naboo-Theed
@Open


​

Snowflakes drifted lazily through the morning light of Theed, catching on the smooth marble of fountains and the intricate railings of balconies dressed in garlands of silver and evergreen. The air carried the faint scent of roasted chestnuts, floral perfumes, and the rich spice of steaming cider from vendors scattered across the plaza. Music echoed from every direction, soft strings and bright chimes blending into the steady rhythm of the city's Life Day celebration.


Elian Abrantes trudged through it all, one hand gripping a rope and the other braced on his hip as he dragged an overburdened sleigh behind him. The thing creaked pitifully with every step, weighed down by carefully wrapped gifts, boxes of pastries, and small trinkets bearing the Abrantes crest. The droid that was meant to pull it had shorted out three blocks ago, apparently too enthusiastic in the cold, and Elian had been left with the honor of filling in.


"This," he muttered, breath misting in the chill air, "Is going to make me stronger. Character building, that's what Cassian would call it." He glanced toward the Palace in the distance, imagining his brother and sisters grin if they could see this. "Next time, I'm bringing a speeder."

Despite the effort, there was a spark of warmth in his chest that no cold could touch. Every few steps, someone waved, an old market vendor, a street performer with bright ribbons tied to her sleeves, a group of children darting past with wreaths in hand. Elian stopped every so often offering small parcels tied with shimmering burgundy and silver ribbon: a bag of sweets here, a carved wooden toy there, a sealed note with House Abrantes' crest and a simple wish for peace and hope.

"From the Abrantes estate," He'd say with an easy going smile. "And from me."

Sometimes he lingered to chat, laughing when a child tried to peek into the sleigh or when a vendor pressed a mug of cider into his hands in thanks. The cobblestone streets of Theed glittered beneath the lights strung between rooftops, and as he made his way toward the next district, he caught glimpses of others doing the same, neighbors exchanging gifts, families gathered by the fountains, musicians serenading strangers.

Life Day had that effect on Naboo. It stretched far beyond the capital, Dee'ja Peak and beyond, it resonated through every home and square, every city and meadow, a shared pulse of kindness that wove through the planet's people like a living thread.

As Elian adjusted his grip and leaned forward, hauling the sleigh around another corner, he laughed softly to himself. The strain in his arms felt lighter somehow.

"Worth it," he said aloud, more to the city than to himself. And with that, the youngest Abrantes pushed on, leaving a trail of laughter, ribbons, and snow-dusted footprints through the heart of Theed.

 

[Shade]

Snow softened the edges of Theed's streets, muting sound and movement in a way that reminded Shade faintly of Csilla—not in temperature, but in quiet. Naboo's winter lacked the bite of glacial wind, but it held a gentleness she found oddly grounding.

She stepped from between two slender archways at the edge of the plaza, her presence subtle enough that most pedestrians passed without noticing her. The only sign she'd been there long already was the faint pattern of snow not settling on the dark fabric of her coat.

She had watched him for the last several minutes—Elian Abrantes, sleeves dusted in frost, shoulders tight with effort, a sleigh packed beyond practicality dragging stubbornly behind him. He spoke to the air as though it might answer back, muttering about character building and speeders.

Shade's mouth softened at the corner. He had his brother's heart, but none of Cassian's restraint.

Only when he rounded the next turn, nearly losing the sleigh to a slippery stone, did she step forward.

The rope slipped from his hand. Shade caught it before it hit the ground.

Her grip was firm, steady, precise—effortless compared to the strain it had placed on him. She offered it back with a calm incline of her head, crimson eyes reflecting the lanternlight overhead.

"Your distribution work appears…ambitious," she said, tone even, though the faintest thread of dry amusement curved beneath it.

He blinked at her, breath misting, equal parts startled and relieved.

Shade waited until he retook the rope before she spoke softly, gaze flicking to the sleigh.

"If your goal is endurance training, you have succeeded." A beat. "If your goal is efficiency…this method is flawed." The words were blunt, but not unkind. Observation, not criticism.

Children darted past them, scattering snowflakes into the air, and one paused to wave at Elian. Shade watched the exchange, noting the brightness in the boy's face, the ease with which Elian returned the greeting.

She understood now why Cassian spoke of him the way he did.

Shade looked back at the sleigh. "I can walk with you."

Not an offer to pull it—Elian's pride didn't need that kind of help. But company? Quiet, steady, protective? That she could give.

Her gaze met his again, level and sincere.

"It seems you are not finished."

She stepped beside him, matching his pace with silent precision as they resumed down the snow-bright street.

A Chiss shadow walking beside a laughing Abrantes through the heart of Theed.

Life Day, she thought, had a strange way of showing her the parts of life she rarely allowed herself to see.

Elian Abrantes

 

[Dankaia Virkenn]

​

Location: Naboo - Theeds
Tag: Open

Dankaia's shuttle descended through the low-hanging clouds over Theeds, a city she hadn't set foot in for what felt like centuries. The skyline was pleasantly appealing with its domed buildings of glass and stone, punctuated by their spiraling spires that seemed to pierce the muted winter light. As the engines hummed down, a strange, quiet settled over her, a city alive with the rhythm of civilization in the throes of a celebration.

She wrapped her cloak tighter against the biting wind, scanning the streets below where distant figures moved like ghosts along the avenues, their breaths forming fleeting clouds that dissipated into the cold.

Then, against the grey wash of the sky, the first snow began to fall. Tiny crystalline flakes danced in the air, catching the light and scattering it like fractured starlight, each one a spark of memory from a past life. Dankaia tilted her head back, letting the flakes settle on her hair and shoulders, marveling at the delicate, alien geometry of each frozen shard. For a moment, the weight of years, battles, and loss lifted, replaced by a quiet awe: the city, the snow, the fleeting purity of something untouched by conflict brushed her cybernetic heart. Even the harsh angles of the spires seemed softened under the snowfall, and Dankaia allowed herself a rare, unguarded smile.

Dankaia moved through the streets of Theeds with measured steps, but another small, uncharacteristic smile tugged at her lips as she further observed the city come alive in quiet celebration. Children tumbled through the snow, their laughter sharp and joyous in the crisp air, scarves flaring like bursts of color against the white.

Some tossed snowballs with reckless joy, others built intricate snow sculptures that glimmered with a dusting of frost. The sight was almost surreal after all she had endured over the years, and Dankaia felt the brief warmth of something long-dormant stir within her chest, a fragile ember of nostalgia and wonder that the galaxy's chaos had rarely permitted.

Alongside the playful chaos, shy romances unfolded in quiet corners: couples exchanging glances over steaming mugs of spiced beverages, hands brushing tentatively as if testing the gravity of newfound attachments. Life Day decorations strung along the streets shone in vibrant blues, greens, and golds, shimmering like veins of light through the falling snow. The banners fluttered above the crowd, reflecting in icy puddles, and for a moment, the world felt stitched together by hope rather than torn apart by duty or danger. Dankaia let her gaze linger on the small, tender scenes, bending down to replicate her own snowball.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Cybernetics / Bionics
  • Left Hand
  • Cybernetic Brain Chip
  • Cybernetic Heart
  • Cybernetic Spine
  • Cybernetic Rib Cage
  • Cybernetic Limb
• Weapon(s)
  • Lightsaber

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Shade
​

For a moment, Elian thought the rope had simply slipped because his gloves were slick with frost. The sleigh jolted, half-tilted on the uneven cobblestone, and he let out a muttered curse under his breath, something about faulty knots and impossible angles. But before the sound had even faded, the rope didn't hit the ground.

Someone had caught it. He turned sharply, breath puffing in the cold, and found himself staring into the cool, unblinking gaze of a figure who hadn't been there a heartbeat ago.

Shade.

Of course it was her. Calm as the snowfall, deliberate as a blade drawn in silence. The lanternlight cut faint reflections along the edge of her dark coat, and the faintest shimmer of frost clung to her hair like it feared to melt. She stood there holding the rope like it weighed nothing at all.

Elian blinked, then gave a small, somewhat sheepish grin, straightening his shoulders as if that might restore some dignity to the sight she'd just witnessed.

"Well," he said, voice low but touched with laughter, "you have impeccable timing."

He took the rope back from her. "Thanks!" His grin widened, though there was genuine gratitude behind it. "Didn't think I'd see you out in this weather."

When she commented on his "ambitious" endeavor, his laugh came soft and easy, carried off by the wind. "Ambitious is a kind word. Foolish might be closer to the truth." He gave the sleigh a small tug, testing the weight, then added with mock solemnity, "But I told myself this would build character. Cassian's been a terrible influence."

At her final words he nodded once, grateful without saying so. "I'd like that," he said simply. "It's easier to make an adventure of it with company."

And so, as they started forward again, he found the sleigh felt lighter, not because the weight had changed, but because something in the air had. Theed's lights glimmered ahead, warm and golden, and for the first time that day, Elian felt the quiet joy of Life Day settle fully around him.

"So...." Elian laughed as he looked over to her. "Why are you out on this weather?"

 

[Shade]

Shade accepted the rope only long enough to steady it, her grip firm and precise before she returned it to him without ceremony. The sleigh settled back into place, runners biting into the snow instead of skidding uselessly across the stone. She didn't comment on the mishap itself—there was no need. Elian's sheepish grin said enough.

The faintest hint of a smile touched her expression at his remark about timing, restrained but genuine, there and gone like breath in the cold.

"Timing is a matter of attention," she replied evenly. "Not luck."

She fell into step beside him as they started forward again, her pace unhurried, boots crunching softly through the thin layer of snow. The city around them felt… different. Not hostile. Not watchful. Lanternlight reflected off glass and stone alike, softening Theed's sharp elegance into something almost intimate. Shade's gaze moved across it all with quiet awareness—not assessing threats, but observing moments.

When he asked about the weather, she tipped her head slightly, eyes lifting to the drifting snow. For a moment, she watched it fall.

"Csilla had storms that erase sound," she said at last, voice calm, thoughtful. "Snow here does something else. It slows people down."

Her gaze returned to him, the lanternlight catching faintly in her eyes.

"I wanted to see what that looked like."

At the mention of Cassian, she let out a soft exhale—close enough to amusement that someone who knew her well would recognize it for what it was. "He does encourage…ambitious decisions," she said dryly. "Usually with good intentions."

They walked a few steps more, the sleigh runners leaving uneven tracks behind them. Shade's attention lingered briefly on a group of children racing past, laughter sharp and bright against the cold. She didn't comment—but she noticed.

"Life Day isn't observed this way where I grew up," she continued, quieter now. "It was symbolic. Restrained." A pause. "This feels…lived."

She matched his pace as he adjusted the rope again, then turned her head slightly toward him.

"And you?" she asked. "Dragging a sleigh through Theed in snowfall suggests either optimism…" A beat. "…or stubborn refusal to be sensible." There was no judgment in it. Only curiosity—and something warmer beneath.

"I am glad I ran into you," she added after a moment, voice steady, sincere. "Company suits this kind of night."

The lights ahead glowed warmer as they moved on together, the sleigh creaking softly between them, Life Day unfolding not as a ceremony—but as something shared.

Elian Abrantes