Private The Dragon Teaches Fire

[Lysander von Ascania]

Srina Talon​

Droplets ran down his neck as he stood beneath Jutrand's skies. He’d arrived earlier than planned, which allowed him a moment to absorb more of a city he'd only seen but a few times now. The capital at that. Synth architecture stretched around him like a symphony in ways that reflected the storm, answering it too. Threads of gold circuitry laced the structures as though the city itself were watching.

Far ahead of time, he'd sent word to Srina, a blend of request and cautious respect; but perhaps it was the ease with which this message was received that should've unsettled him.

Since the Galactic Kaggath, reflection came whether he asked for it or not.

What he sought was access to the archives, searching for material on leadership, command, and the many questions that had arisen between his time on Desevro and the campaign now unfolding in the Tapani sector. Lysander hadn’t necessarily framed it as desperation, though it did sit closer to that than he wanted to admit. Recent victories did not lighten that load either. The Covenant asked for a ruthlessness he was learning to deliver without hesitation. Pain he understood. Learning how to pass it on, and for what purpose, was something else..

As an apprentice, he understood the value of force. Could the Sith path be followed without erasing his human foundation? He likely already knew the answer, but had chosen not to accept it, as with some other truths. For years, his instincts remained tribal, trust extended sparingly; doctrine proposed dominance.

Platinum braids lay slick, holding through his strides. He wore no cloak. Black fabric clung to his light frame. And there, on the left side of his face, a fresh scar traced his cheekbone, a reminder from the destruction of Edic Bar. If there was any elegance to still be found in him, then it was in the curved hilt clipped upon a belt. Nightstar was absent.

The presence of Praetorians and the Sepulchral pressed at his awareness; alien they may be, but no less heavy, nor dangerous, even after years among the Holy Worlds, where one might believe the truest evil resides.

Escorted to the front doors, he would step inside. Somewhere there were archives, and answers. Or maybe, just sharp questions; only time would tell. Of course, the distinction mattered to him.

And, beyond that, there was someone he'd respected since their first meeting on Brosi.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
Location: Jutrand [Palace]

____________________________________________________

She enjoyed the rain.

It fell like threads of cold glass against Jutrand's many spires, thin, silver, and seemingly unending. The constant pitter-patter made the world feel small, boxed in, and humming with closeness and seclusion. The residual effect was calming. It made existence tolerable, and she found it easier to breathe when the weight of the crown bore down on her like a thousand tons. Everyone had a breaking point. Everyone needed something to bring them back to equilibrium. The frequent heavy rain on Jutrand allowed a form of homeostasis—A cold comfort, for one undeserving.

Lysander likely did not hear her arrive.

One moment, there was only the rhythm of his boots and the whisper of rain against metallic pathways. The next, a second set of footsteps matched his stride precisely. There was no echo, no disruption, but simply a moment in which she was there and not there…Walking silently beside him.

She wore regalia rather than armor…Layered black and pearl-silver fabrics that moved like liquid shadow. It was stitched and etched with alchemical Sith runes so fine they could have been mistaken for ornamentation. They drank in the Force that swirled naturally around her in a miasma, dulling the brilliant gravity she normally created.

On Jutrand…This was enough to blur her presence. To make her seem like any other vaguely powerful noble who scurried through the rain.

On most other off-world locations, truly, it would have never held. There wasn't enough darkness for her to take refuge in. Not, when her eclipsed it just by breathing.

Her white-gold hair was worn long and smooth, an unusual style for her, as she typically had parts of it braided with a natural wave. For the day, it had been drawn back in a refined fall that left her profile bare and severe. Drops of rain glinted through it, turning it to silver wire, unbound…But still regal. It was the posture of a soldier that provided that trait, chin held high, not from her tenure as Empress but from the nature of her birth. She had been born without a drop of royal blood.

She was used to relying on her own strength to survive—And took pride in that. It created presence, the notion, that she was something other. Complete, in herself, in her imperfections.

Srina did not initially look at the youth who had come to her home to, effectively, rent tomes from her vast library. She could understand the appeal, often, having ventured to the Malsheem for the very same reason. It was a fond pastime to give the Archivists of the Kainite aneurysms while their Empress decided to sit on the floor with a little cup of tea. It was improper, protocol dictated. They didn't think she knew what they called her behind her back, "the silver dragon", as she often made a little hoard of scrolls and data pads in a random corner. It was only their fear of Darth Carnifex that kept them from stopping her. He did not take kindly to her unhappiness.

They walked in silence for several paces, her stride calibrated to his, neither leading nor following. Upon close inspection, it could be witnessed that the storm did not touch her the same way it enveloped the environment. The rain parted, save a few drops here and there, as if nature still remembered who she was beneath all the runes. "Your missive arrived intact."

Only then did her gaze shift. Cold, hawkish, and uncomfortably perceptive. Her eyes could be the cruelest thing about her, reflective, with a galaxy of secrets hidden in corrupted gold.

"I trust that travel was…Uncomplicated. I arranged for your vessel to be allowed passage with minimum inspection so as not to delay your adventure."

And it was an adventure, was it not, when a youngling (to her, at any rate) had the audacity to make requests of her without offering anything in return. It was an interesting conundrum because Srina herself didn't mind, but the Sepulchral, were less than pleased for her taking the afternoon off at the whim of a Sith they knew little about other than what was public record.

They reached the towering entrance to the Archives, and a few of the dead priests looked up at the intrusion. They floated like ghosts, creaking, and leathery…A grotesque sight. Praetorian trained nearby, and several were guarding the entrance and doing planned circuits about the building. None moved to bar their path, likely, because even with her power muted…They knew their Empress. Knew the telltale scent of jasmine and ozone—Even through the rain.

"I would ask to join you…The archives will tell you many things. Ways to fight, rule. But…They don't often offer the truth of the cost. There are items within that could drain every drop of blood from your body before you could muster a scream to protest."

She had faith that he had enough knowledge to survive some ancient curses, but others, were malicious to the point of requiring isolation. Just because a tome wasn't bound in human flesh and written in blood didn't mean it couldn't kill. Sometimes, the most innocent looking artifacts were the vilest—Preying on victims with deception. The portal opened, doors sliding, with a hydraulic woosh and her eyes slipped downward. Dark lashes brushed against pale cheeks…

"Will you have me?"

Giving him the opportunity to decline, even if it would make the Sepulchral bristle and nag. She was aware that many Sith found her unsettling, and even more aware that insinuating they required any sort of aid was also potentially insulting. Most of her court had grown used to her oddities due to proximity...

But Lysander von Ascania hadn't truly had that opportunity.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Srina Talon​

Lysander walked another three paces, maybe four, boots striking the ground as awareness lagged a step behind. Inside the palace, it was difficult to give the sensation a name. He’d felt many things since the days when Sith space had first become something like home.. battlefronts, standing within a Force nexus that encouraged violence. This was.. none of that.

It could’ve even been muscle memory propelling him forward blindly, the same that’d always drawn him toward places like this. From the Jedi Library on Coruscant to mark the beginning of Padawan years, to the vaults of House Derriphan on Korriban. But these days, most only knew him for physical prowess. There was a time when knowledge led the way. Ironic, really. Once, he’d imagined a future built around negotiation, a diplomat hopeful. Now his name traveled the Nar Shaddaa underbelly more than it ever would any senate hall. That, and it was now paired with more violence, which had a way of keeping the galaxy moving.

Rarely did hesitation grace his stride, but now a hint of it slipped in like a whisper. A tiny crease formed at the corner of his eye, vivid emerald hues sharpening as he took in more detail. With that shift, he turned to notice the edge in hers.

He fell silent for a moment longer. When his gaze drifted again, it was inward.

“I’m pleased to hear it arrived as intended. I tried to be clear without being.. intrusive. I did not wish to write with any expectation beyond understanding.” A deeper inclination followed. “The passage was smooth,” added calmly. “Your arrangements were effective, and I recognize the courtesy."

There could have been a dozen reasons why the old etiquette found its rhythm so naturally. Beneath the calm.. it was still an illusion. Recently, he had known only the scent of war and the sight of blood.

Somehow, the sound of his next words was warmer. “Thank you.”

The threshold concealed depths beyond.. a modest frame. Glancing upward, he met unusual figures.. at least, that's what they registered as to him, almost.. otherworldly in their detachment.

Stillness became its own reply, for a few seconds. “I imagine they offer plenty. Enough to keep someone occupied for a lifetime. Knowledge isn't so difficult to acquire. Understanding what to do with it.. has been. I've learned to survive what follows.”

At his core, Lysander understood that some answers were unlikely to be found among shelves, no matter if they were ancient or complete. Two battles fought in the Republic’s name. Two wars under the banners of the Sith Order. Korriban’s trials, designed to strip doubt. The youngest competitor to enter the Galactic Kaggath. Edic Bar's destruction upon Genarius. And now, the Tapani Sector.. noble bloodlines reduced to ash. Millions dead.

His brow betrayed him, then the thought folded away. Something like a smile stretched over his youthful visage. "I suppose there’s a difference between courage and carelessness. I’d rather not walk in blind.” A gentle breath slipped free. “Lately, I’ve wondered if what I’m chasing doesn’t belong to a record at all. It’s possible what I’m after can not be revealed through the realm of study alone. Of course, I don't discount study.. for it's shaped much of who I am. "

Almost without thought, a turn of his torso angled him toward Srina.

“If you're willing to walk alongside me in that pursuit, I'd be glad of the company.”

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
Location: Jutrand [Palace]

____________________________________________________

Her reply was slow to coalesce.

Not because his words were difficult or hard to understand, but because gentle conversation wasn't necessarily her strong suit. The rain kept its steady hush around them, flooding the space with something she understood far more clearly. Nature. The synth state of Jutrand had always been hard for her. It was not the green hills of Eshan—Nor the arid dryness of Geonosis. It was far closer to the decay of Coruscant than she ever wanted it to be.

The young Sith Lord at her side cut quite the impression. Changed, from Brosi. Not so much that she didn't recognize him, but enough that she could tell his experiences had sanded something softer away. Not broken, not tempered, just…Different. Even the way he spoke was slightly off-kilter, but that might have had something to do with their environment.

In essence—He had changed.

Her eyes lingered on his profile while she worked through a basic assessment. Searching, without any of the cruelty or hunger that so many projected onto her. Most who came to her were ruled by uncertainty and took succor in her ability to give crystal clear directives without hesitation. The crown never seemed unsure of itself, unwavering, whether they suffered victory or defeat. The Order…Persevered.

She wasn't quite sure what this young man was looking for.

Not yet, at least.

When he turned toward her, offering a simple, unguarded invitation, her pale countenance remained empty while her head nodded in response. It was an interesting conundrum to walk paths that no one could truly share, as all of their kind were want to do, but still required some sort of presence of another. "I am at your disposal…", her response flowed like the tide, accepting, without commenting on the reason.

"I may not be able to provide the answers you seek…But I can try. The archives were not made for the faint of heart.", Srina offered, soft as always, moving past the threshold as if she owned every brick and piece of marble they crossed. Whether it was true or not, her innate sense of security would remain strong, regardless of the dead priests that lingered around them. The Sepulchral were…Not curious. They were hungry.

Vindictive.

"Depart…", she murmured, quiet, but sharp. The leathery figures floated in their direction, toward the exit, but they seemed annoyed. Their heads were bowed in servitude…But the Empress was not the Empress they chose. She had been meant to be a carrier of the royal line…Not the leader of it. It all went to hell, when Empyrean died his first death.

"But Empress…Surely, this one should have supervision among our most treasured artifacts…"

"Do I not suffice?"

They looked at each other a moment too long before simultaneously bowing their heads and leaving the archives in a single file. Srina sighed. It was always something with them. "Forgive the priests…They cling to protocol, and we are not exactly…On the best of terms. My ways are not suitable for their fanatical ideology—No matter the outcome."

She wasn't Sith or Eternalist enough for them.

Golden orbs settled on Lysander for a moment before she began walking deeper into the grand hall. It was lined with shelf after shelf and seemed endless, with items that were perhaps even older than what could be found in the Tombs of Korriban. Their ancient dead had taught her much…But she had learned more from the living.

"May I ask what it is that you seek?"

Srina did not dismiss academia because it was there that the greatest of their alchemists found a path forward. It was part of the building blocks that made Empire's untouchable bastions no matter what storm came their way. It was often strategy and intellect that won wars…Not brute strength. If that were the case, they could have rolled the Jedi decades ago.

The Light was…Weak.

The pale woman side-stepped a certain set of floor tiles, and it was clear that she expected him to do the same. He might have sensed the trap, but the last thing she wanted was to need to draw poison from him when he'd barely made landfall. "I draw less knowledge from these old tomes and more inspiration…It is the sensation of adding a million intelligent minds to my own with creative ideas and individual thought."

"Much of who we are has been lost to the ages…I try to remember as much as I can."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Srina Talon​

Lysander was never one to crave affirmations, but he did appreciate clarity more than many things. Truthfully, he had not expected a reply at all, even if their first meeting was cordial.. at least as he remembered it. Then again, such an expectation may have even been influenced by time spent within the Covenant. His position within that cutthroat ecosystem could’ve been another reason for some uncertainties. Sure, he was useful.. but not indispensable. Trusted enough to train others, permitted to instruct, which was.. pleasant.

So.. her answer eased something nonetheless. The need to interpret.. fell away, or so he hoped. A stubborn little emotion that wasn't ready to let go.

“If anything, I tend to leave with more questions than I arrived with. I suppose that’s the price of looking too closely.. depending on the subject.” The tension at his mouth eased. “I appreciate that.” From experience.. effort was always attractive, whatever it was spent on.

He let the last part pass without comment, for better or worse, and fell into step behind her. Another undead drew his eye; Korriban should have made him accustomed to such things.. but no matter how often one crossed paths with them.. something about it always felt wrong.

Those careful lines of etiquette loosened. The blonde’s mouth curved. “If it helps.. I’ve never been great at inspiring confidence in gatekeepers.” A small pause. “That sounds exhausting. I could see why that might be complicated for you.”

Emerald traced the architecture in slower passes. A small shift in the air told him she was watching, as though it pressed against his consciousness. But Lysander didn't answer immediately, navigating through familiar channels. Introspection was his nature. Only during those restless days among the Mid Rim was that awareness something he wanted to drown out.

“I’ve spent a long time surviving. I’m trying to figure out.. well, understand what comes after that, what’s left once that stops being the goal.” The words registered as awkward in their honesty, as they definitely sounded much better in his head. Well, deception was never his forte.. despite every harsh lesson the Sith taught or beat into him, lying and manipulation were forever the weakest tools in his arsenal.

Footsteps mirrored her own, an adjustment made in motion.. a stone left untouched. The rest of her message settled, stirring beneath the surface.. and so, the crease in a brow deepened. "I think I like that idea.. letting others fill in the gaps instead of pretending we've got everything figured out."

His gaze drifted elsewhere. Then, slowly, his focus shifted back. There was so much left unsaid, layers of meaning waiting to be unraveled.. but he wondered, was it wise to unravel it all at once? Some things, he knew.. deserved patience.

“Sometimes, Lady Talon, I wonder whether the way I fight is the same way I’m meant to live. I’ve been guiding a group of the acolytes back on Desevro under the academy’s.. structure. An offensive on Edic Bar was.. successful. We achieved what we set out to do.. and I learned a great deal from it.”

First in, last out.

Since then, he also spent time sharpening a few more of their shadows, Acier among them, who was showing great promise..

Laying claim to Pelagon and its neighbors had been a success; surely she’d heard the news.

He was there on Woostri when Srina appeared, nearly destroying the planet, and again on Brosi when Imperials became fertilizer. He later stood here on Jutrand after the battle over Atrisia. That night had been more than a grand feast and waltzing the night away with a violet Togruta; he still remembered her speech as the Empress, when Mandalorians were present too.

“I'd value any insight you're willing to part with.”

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
Location: Jutrand [Palace]

____________________________________________________

Srina did not hurry Lysander, but she didn't slow her pace for him either. She had every faith he could keep up in the old, but almost sterile, setting. As leathery and grotesque as the Sepulchral had been, the Archives themselves were pristine and without a speck of dust. She let the boy speak, pausing only to pick up a powered glow-lantern so that she could see the spines of the books more clearly. She stopped at one row and pulled one free…Her finger ran along the spine, but when she opened it—It started to scream.

Her hand snapped it closed.

"Wrong one."

The simple explanation wasn't much of one, but the carefree way she began to leaf through the sections would show, rather easily, that she wasn't concerned. She spent a lot of time here, and although she hadn't read everything, there were many, many sleepless nights filled with runes and the writing of those that had come before. She wanted to learn from them, so she didn't repeat their mistakes…Not copy them, in their entirety. That was why she found the Death Star III so laughable...Surely, the Faithless could do better. She had done better. "I think I understand…"

" Darth Empyrean and I used to debate about that a long time ago. About, what comes after."

It was then, before the Sith Order, before Eternalism, that her beloved had asked her for a family. She had been hesitant. The one thing she had failed at, utterly, by the evidence of her lost unborn was motherhood. She believed herself to be ill-suited for it, but Empyrean had vehemently disagreed. He had been correct, in a way. She became a mother for all rather than the two children she'd born him. "Your decisions moving forward become a much more private affair. You don't start or stop surviving all at once. You just wake up one day and realize you've been making decisions, all this time, that assume you will still be alive tomorrow."

She had indeed heard the news of the conquests that he had taken part in. The Empress had eyes and ears all over the galaxy, but none so accurate within the Sith Covenant, their Lord of War. Mercy was never shy in recounting bloody battles and achievements. Though…Perhaps she offered fewer instances where she did not fight, not out of deception, but because it painted a soft picture of a brutal warrior. Mercy only liked for Srina to see her draped in strength and victory...Not a peaceful resolution. "Things like Edic Bar and Pelagon…They are successes. That is true…But they teach our younger generation how easy it is to keep saying "yes" to the next "necessary" thing. Eventually, you stop questioning the destruction you cause. You stop questioning orders—And eventually, they may call you the Dread King."

The corner of her mouth twitched, not a smile, but something that was almost wry. She did not speak of his actions in either of those locations, but her own experience, which had earned her the moniker of the Dread Queen long before she'd been anywhere near the Throne of the Sith. If he wasn't aware of the title, it might have gone over his head…But if he was, some part of him might have picked up the self-deprecation. The white-haired woman grew silent for a moment before plucking a small paperback from a low shelf. It could almost fit in the palm of her hand. "Here...Take it with you on your next mission. Read it on the way."

It wouldn't look like much at first, a book of thoughts, jumbled and chaotic. Poetry in the old tongue…But poetry, was never just poetry in the old tongue. It didn't even matter if he didn't know how to read it. The book...Would provide.

"I take no pleasure from worlds I've cracked. Do you know why that is?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Srina Talon​

By now, he’d already walked through archives across the breadth of the galaxy. Some were by grand design, others improvised, a few were even half forgotten. What made this one remarkable was that it wasn’t a place one simply happened upon by chance. Or if they did.. he was positive they wouldn't leave with their life intact. Who knew what other horrors lurked within, waiting for unsuspecting victims?

When a light shifted, the teen’s senses sharpened, and a myriad of emotions surged through him. Awe, more than surprise. And then, something he rarely felt in recent times.. nostalgia.

Even with that calm composure, the sharp sound suddenly cutting through the air jolted Lysander off balance. Being on another inward drift, it was fractured immediately. So, his breath hitched, and whatever thoughts were once gathered were postponed.. if they would ever come back at all, really. That was.. undeniably a first. An archive that answered back. Just one of those little reminders that accepting her invitation had been the right decision.

The next name that fell from Srina was not one you forgot. “He must have known you well.” Curiosity crept in. Lysander’s expression pinched before softening. “I mean.. to ask that, when he did. Did he see something different than you.. or the same thing?”

Being routine oriented and driven wasn't just a habit.. this was a way of life. None of that was tied to blind hope. Just commitment to be prepared. Showing up each day was non-negotiable. If he didn't bet on himself, who would? The odds in any scenario were irrelevant. “I don’t recall when that began exactly. There are choices I’ve made recently that don’t make sense if I assume I’m disposable.” The admission was calm, lacking emotion. “I train the others with the expectation they’ll outgrow me. Some things even sit because I assume I’ll have time to come back and fix them. But.. you’re right. I didn’t notice when I started planning like I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Not the best habit to form in the Outer Rim..

Mid-sentence, he too realized that saying it aloud shifted his perspective. Just having somewhere for it to land, outside his own thoughts. That, and the fact that she didn't hurry him.

“At Edic Bar, speed was the main thing that mattered. Pelagon was about.. control. Both made sense, and neither really asked me to think past the moment.”

“.. and I didn’t,” Lysander admitted. Shoulders rose in reflex. “I knew what needed doing.”

He scanned a handful of shelves, almost every title foreign, which wasn’t much of a surprise. His attention slowly returned to her hand as she spoke. The book was received with caution.. as much as he wanted to trust she wouldn’t pass him anything prone to screaming, cursing, or other ways to ruin someone.

Fingers closed around the spine, opening it partway, a thumb tracing edges of the pages. “It’s been a long time since I’ve held something like this. Thank you.”

It reminded him of Ukatis. Many joked about their lack of technology, how far behind they were in some respects, but there had always been something beautiful in that simplicity. Of course, they had holotexts and the like; they weren't that disconnected.

What followed may have slipped out by her instructions with the gift, little more than a whisper.

“Coruscant..”

His thumb slid another page forward before closing it and looking up. “If I had to answer, I’d guess that you just get used to it, or because destruction answers one question and creates a dozen more.”

Of course, that fit exactly into something he’d already said earlier. “That’s still me thinking from the outside. I suspect the real answer is not so obvious.. would you tell me?"

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania
Location: Jutrand [Palace]

____________________________________________________

The pale woman watched this young man with surprising patience. It wasn't overly indulgent or clinical, but she remained present in the words he offered. A soft feature in the background, not the main story. The screaming book had already been settled back on the shelf, sulking no doubt, but she let the lantern's light drift while she listened…

At the mention of Darth Empyrean , her fingers paused. Just for a moment.

"He knew me well enough to ask…", she responded, quiet, but with a mote of fondness that was also full of heartache. There was a moment that lasted less than the beat of her heart where a swell of loneliness that was deeper than the space between stars made itself known. Loss. Pain. "And poorly enough to think, I had ever considered anything but war. Fighting…Was the only life I had ever known. I moved from one battle to the next, pausing barely to rest, and then returned to the field…It was the reason…"

Her eyes flickered away.

"It was the reason I arrived to witness his death, too late. Because I could not see."

She couldn't see a way out of the life they had chosen, without, not with all the blood on their hands. The pale Echani had agreed to try and start a family but even then…She'd been hesitant. Because of her failure as a mother, the first time, and because of how many enemies they had in the galaxy. That only compounded when the Jedi Grand Master of that era took his life and stole her Maliphant away…And gave her Darth Empyrean. But by then, it was too late.

Srina had already been with child. Two, to be precise.

She resumed walking with the fabric of her long dress rustling ever so softly at her ankles. It would be several long moments before she started speaking again, only, to pull another book from the shelf and hand it to Lysander. This one had no name, no title, but it looked fairly frightening to compared to the small and innocuous tome she had presented to him first.

"My husband didn't see anything different than I did when we spoke of the future. He had already decided that it was worth pressing forward regardless."

The admission about his prior missions did not surprise her. If anything, it confirmed what she had already suspected. "That is…How it begins. We get comfortable in the new order, not with hope, but with…", she paused, frowning, looking for the word she wanted, "Logistics."

"We stop building exits. We leave things unfinished because we assume we'll be around to return to them. It's not silly optimism…It's inertia shifting direction. Take training others, for example…"

"Is it humility? Or is it insurance? Eventually…Those we teach will outgrow us. The part you missed is that likely…You're planning on being there when they do."

At places like Edic Bar and Pelagon. Her eyes narrowed faintly. Not at him…But because operations like that didn't require soldiers to think past the moment. It rewarded decisiveness and obedience but, she had her own memories of it, having come to this world as a warrior of Eshan. A soldier, like none other. She knew exactly what it was like to given orders and never question whether they were right or wrong. "We are not often taught how to live with what comes after…That part is…Outsourced."

Usually, to more violence, a bottle, or a penniless gutter.

She noticed how carefully he examined the first book she had presented. "You won't hurt it…It won't hurt you. Not like that.", the words would probably be a cold comfort. It was power in written form, but all power, came with a price. This…Srina simply believed he could endure. She nodded her head when he mentioned Coruscant, offering, a ghostly smile. It was meant to be reassuring…But it was likely, empty, a little off. Human but not…

"I will be with you on Coruscant."

But…That was off topic. She pivoted, back to his original answer to her question.

"You offer a philosopher's answer…Which isn't wrong. It just isn't quite right, either."

Very few people in the galaxy were able to "get used to" leaving complete chaos in their wake. Even if they found the act simple, because they could, it still had a profound effect that could hardly be measured. "I take no pleasure in bringing planets to destruction…Because pleasure requires distance. The ability to look at things through frosted glass and pretend that it is another life, another world. I've never had the luxury of distance."

A light sigh but…Her words flowed on, soft but honest. Echoing in the vaulted ceilings…Carrying all over the archives.

"Every world I crack becomes something I must carry. Politically, strategically, and personally. Ruin does not put an end to responsibility…It multiplies it."

Srina glanced back at Lysander as the conversation became full circle and she worked her way back toward the upcoming war with the Faithless. "Coruscant won't be about getting used to anything. You shouldn't. It's about accepting consequences, whatever they may be. I indeed wish for Coruscant to burn. Not out of revenge…But because it has become the center of everything I despise. As long as it stands untouched, suffering stays abstract, because the bad things only ever happen elsewhere…Even if it's rotten to the core."

She turned her focus back toward the books…Not minding, if he knew her thoughts on the matter. Srina was the Sith Empress for a reason, and that didn't include kindness. She was practical in an almost painful way that most would find without morals and completely inhuman. That she would sacrifice an entire planet just to make the Core remember what it felt like to bleed…To remind them, from their ivory sky towers, that they are just as fallible as anyone else. It would be a hard lesson, especially for the Light…But necessary.

"I am afraid that it is time that the Faithless learn fear, bold as they were, with their multi-pronged attack. This is cause and effect, Lysander. While most covet Coruscant…I do not. I do not wish to claim it. Merely, to turn it to ash."

Not for pleasure. For pragmatism, for practicality.

A heretical balancing of the scales.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Srina Talon
​

The lantern's light would stretch over the rows of shelves. For Lysander, more than just dust free stone, it felt like there were so many secrets within reach now. His posture was a bit more relaxed as her voice weaved through the room.. uninterrupted. Though his mind might've been buzzing with growing questions, they were at least stacking gently.. rather than pressing him. That kept him patient, and made the willingness to listen and be wholly present in the moment far easier.

There were a handful of words that caught in his throat, fragments of an encounter he couldn't decipher just yet. So, for the time being, silence felt appropriate. That wasn’t to say it was something he didn’t wish to circle back on. When an appropriate time allowed for it. Soon, perhaps.

Another book proved colder than anticipated.. not in temperature.. but in its very essence. Of course, that alone might've dared him to open it had he'd been elsewhere. Instead, he just shifted it against his side. An inclination of the head followed in response.

The scar on his cheekbone prickled, and Lysander touched it without thinking.. thumb grazing along the ridge. He’d always told himself sharpening others was necessary so that the Covenant would not be dull. Which.. he still believed, but beneath that, there was more.

A phantom sensation lingered. “That’s true. I’ve tried to build futures that assumed I would still be standing in them. Maybe that is fear.. of being absent when the harvest comes, or of being forgotten in the aftermath. I should accept that others will walk through them without me.. and that what comes after belongs to them alone.. not to me.”

One of the easiest things to notice in his reaction was that he didn't deny anything Srina was saying. Edic Bar didn’t benefit from clarity. He'd spent many meditation sessions reflecting on that one specifically. Pelagon didn’t really require it. A massacre. Both just required.. execution. "If the cost is always handled elsewhere, you never learn how to carry it properly. I'm still unraveling that truth.. rather than stacking more weight blindly upon it."

He believed Coruscant, in ways he hadn’t anticipated, would prove his gravest challenge yet. This time, the enemy wasn’t the Jedi.. a foe he would've relished in vanquishing. No, the true test lay in facing others like them.. Sith. A war against those with the same ruthlessness.

Lysander’s expression remained neutral, but behind those piercing emerald eyes.. something sharpened. “You’re speaking from a place I haven’t reached. I’ve stood in the wreckage. I’ve walked away from it many times. But I’ve always treated what came after as something that belonged to the past. I think it’s easier.. that way. Nothing ever followed me forward.. as if that was enough to have done my part.”

Slowly, his head angled to the side. “I don’t have that skill yet.. but I want to learn.. to be taught.”

Every war he walked into, every clash survived.. none carried the weight of what was brewing in the Core. Nothing had ever felt more personal. “Coruscant will carry the taste of revenge, for me. To see it burn would be to see the galaxy remember that even the highest citadel is capable of crumbling. That memory would be justice.. in its own way. We are the breakers of illusion, after all. When the Faithless learn fear, they will learn it from us.”

Weight shifted through him, one heel drawing back as the other pressed forward. “You've already given me more guidance than I could have hoped for. I know asking for more is no small request. But when we reach that.. threshold, if you would allow it.. I would ask again. Not from doubt, but because you see truths I might otherwise overlook.”

A taste like bile crept up as he spoke, syllables leaving notes of discomfort in their wake.. weakness.. even if they echoed with sincerity. The teen’s expression pressed into a thin line before relaxing. "There is no apprentice within their ranks who surpasses me. I will prove it when steel meets fire. Any faith you place in me would be honored, Lady Talon."

Unconventional as his speech may be for one who dabbled in the dark arts, he was certain she had already seen through him.

"Allow me to carve my place in its ashes."