Relationship Status: It's Complicated
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Vigfjall
TAG:
Irina Jesart
The War Room of the Obsidian Spire was quiet. It occupied the upper level of Gerwald Lechner’s residence, sealed away from the sound and motion of Jutrand below. The chamber was plain by design. Stone walls, polished metal, and a single holotable at the center. The stillness within belonged to a predator at rest.
The Dread Wolf stood before the display, arms folded across his chest. The projection above the table cast a faint glow across his armor, illuminating the border between Sith Space and the High Republic. Dozens of red markers drifted in steady rotation, each one representing an outpost or garrison of the Second Legion. The map shimmered where the frontier brushed against the borders of the High Republic and Sith space, a bright pocket of resistance pressing against the dark. One of those signals had gone silent. Another pulsed with irregular frequency.
The Lord Commander studied the pattern without expression. Patience had not always been his weapon. It was one now, but patience could not forgive treachery. Someone within his command had opened a door that should never have existed.
The precision of the act spoke of training.
The timing spoke of intent.
The door to the chamber opened. The sound was soft, but it cut through the still air.
“Irina,” His voice carried a quiet authority that needed no weight behind it. “You are late.”
He turned to meet her. The light from the projection caught the black and gold of his armor, tracing the faint lines of wear across its surface. His gaze fixed on her with steady focus.
“There has been a breach along the frontier,” he continued. “Intelligence concerning our deployments has reached High Republic scouts operating near Naboo. Their movements have become precise. Someone within the Second Legion made that possible.”
A gesture from the Sith Lord brought new data to the holotable. Lines of script from half-deleted reports and corrupted communication trails scrolled upward. Some remained unfinished as if their author had stopped mid-sentence.
“These are fragments of what they left behind. Enough to suggest intent, but not enough to name the traitor.”
Gerwald moved slowly around the table, the faint echo of his boots the only sound in the chamber.
“You will oversee the investigation. It must remain quiet. No command officers, no internal alerts. The guilty must continue to believe they are unseen.”
He came to rest beside her, lowering his voice. The Wolf did not tower over her as he did most women. She was tall. Gerwald was not sure if it was an advantage or a weakness. It simply was, he supposed.
“You will have access to the archives, convoy records, and communication logs from the last three rotations. Begin wherever your instincts lead. Do not assume loyalty. The guilty often wear discipline as armor.”
The projection flickered as the Lord Commander’s attention returned to the map. Naboo’s soft outline glowed in pale light near the edge of the field, a reminder of what once had been his home and what now stood as the High Republic’s capital.
“This is not a command,” his voice echoed. “Find the weakness and remove it. Bring me proof of who it was, or bring me silence instead.”
A motion of his hand ended the display. The light faded, returning the chamber to its natural state.
“The Legion survives because it adapts, and now it will learn who among it still deserves to serve.”
No further instruction followed. The silence that lingered was her invitation to begin.