Private The Roads We Choose

[Zesiro]

The shuttle descended through Kaer's endless sea of clouds, the city emerging slowly from the golden atmosphere until it seemed less like a structure and more like a dream suspended between sky and stars.

Zesiro sat quietly beside the viewport, one hand resting against the armrest as she watched the sprawling metropolis grow larger beneath them. She had reviewed reports about Kaer 1 before arriving. She knew the statistics. The population figures. The economic output. The endless lists of attractions designed to lure visitors from across Confederacy space. None of that had prepared her for the reality of it.

The city seemed alive.

Skyhooks stretched upward toward the orbital station above like silver threads connecting heaven and earth. Traffic moved between platforms in orderly streams. Sunlight reflected from towers, gardens, promenades, and observation decks that floated impossibly above the cloud layer. Somewhere below were casinos, theaters, restaurants, schools, homes, parks, and countless ordinary aspects of life that transformed a collection of structures into a community.

For reasons she could not entirely explain, she found herself smiling, not because it was beautiful, though it certainly was, nor because it was wealthy, though it clearly was that as well, but because she kept finding evidence of people actually living here.

Children would be attending school somewhere beneath those towers. Families would be eating dinner together. Workers would be finishing shifts. Friends would be meeting for drinks. Ordinary lives unfolded here every day, largely unaware of how extraordinary their surroundings truly were.

It reminded her that cities were never really built from durasteel and transparisteel. They were built by people.

As the shuttle banked toward its assigned landing platform, her gaze lingered on a residential district visible farther down the station. Parks dotted the landscape between habitation towers. Recreational complexes occupied several levels. A school complex stood near one of the larger green spaces.

Without meaning to, she found herself wondering whether Hannah would have liked growing up here, and the thought drew a quiet laugh from her; some things never changed, and even halfway across the galaxy, she was still a mother. The shuttle settled smoothly onto the platform, and moments later, Zesiro stepped into the warm air of Kaer 1, where the city greeted her with movement.

Visitors hurried toward hotels and entertainment districts. Workers moved with the confidence of people who knew exactly where they were going. Overhead, transports crossed between levels in carefully managed streams while distant music drifted from somewhere farther along the promenade.

For a moment, she simply stood there. It had been years since Muad had first decided she was family.

Years since he had adopted her in the peculiar, entirely Muad way of simply deciding something was true and refusing to entertain arguments to the contrary.

A faint smile touched her lips at the memory. Family. The word still felt strange sometimes—not unwelcome, merely unfamiliar. For most of her life, belonging had been something temporary, conditional, tied to duty or circumstance. Yet somehow Muad had ignored all of that. He had simply decided she was family and never once treated it as a question open for debate.

Adjusting the strap of her travel bag, Zesiro stepped into the flow of the city and headed toward its heart. She wasn't here as a bodyguard, a diplomat, or because anyone needed saving. For perhaps the first time in years, she had come with no purpose beyond seeing the people she cared about. It felt oddly liberating. Somewhere amid the towers and promenades was the man who had given her a place to belong when she had never expected to find one, and for once, there was no urgency in reaching him.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Location: Kaer 1, Level 66


It was the weekend. Not that any particular day meant anything to the man who leaned against the railing of the promenade suspended twenty meters above the main floor. Durasteel walkways suspended in the sky as an elaborate web which offered a great vantage point to the activities below. Couples who strolled, sightseers, even a serene jogging path softened with artificial wood planking saw moderate use on the promenade.

Typically the man would be busy elsewhere. However, he was having a leisurely day. No beskar'gam or weaponry, he was clothed in his long sleeved tan tunic and brown trousers with black boots laced tight. Only the curved kal sheathed at the small of his back was his only physical weapon. Not that the man needed any weapon.

Sleeves were pushed up his forearms to reveal the blue runes that intricately wove from his left hand to his elbow. A gift bestowed upon him from a long ago excursion with two people he loved. One, a brother in arms. The other, a woman who became his riduur. A long time ago. Both gone, somewhere in the galaxy. Still alive he hoped. But if dead, alive in his memory.

A faint scar ran from his right palm to the elbow of his right arm. Another memory of another time. A duel with a sith Master when he was yet a lowly apprentice. The man had used a shard from his own arm to climb from a sarlaac and threatened the sith Master. Oh how young he was. And foolish. Perhaps not foolish but insane, a mad man. Beskar replaced the natural bones beneath the scar. A useful replacement.

He smirked at the nostalgia which infected him that morning. The years and adventures left their telltale marks on his body, and on his mind. Madness birthed blood and war for decades. For a long time he was a weapon, a rabid Loth wolf. Until he realized that he and his ilk were merely pawns for the Sith. Tools and weapons to be utilized in their search for power and conquest.

The collar of his shirt flapped in the cold air exiting the climate control ducts above which revealed part of a brand on his upper chest. Another mark, this one of the Mandragora as the shaman of Doashim. Another tale of his search for kin. Another time decades ago. Even still he felt the power of Doashim as it whispered at the back of his mind. It could take a number with the other voices back there.

More decades passed, more manipulation by those in power who sought to use him, and others like him, in the power struggle of the galaxy. Until he found his family, his aliit. He became mando'ade and forged his own misfit clan. Clan Farr. That was when the mad man decided it was time to build rather than destroy. Family, friends, a home, a future.

The Siskeen System.

Over the decades he chose to stop playing the game of conquest, though a warmonger he remained, and chose to build. The lines blurred between affiliations and became clearer to what really mattered. The ties that bind us. He could allow the galaxy to define who and what he was or he could tell the galaxy to go to hell and choose what defined him.

Being Muad Dib, the mad master, he chose the more difficult path. He chose the road of his own making.

He chose his aliit, his clan, his friends, and his home over the squabbles of political hierarchy, government borders, war mandates, and the unrest of super powers. It was an easy decision to make though not always an easy one to walk. But walk it he did.

Hands pushed away from the railing of where he leaned and he began to stroll along. Yes, even Muad Dib could take a stroll at times. Visitors to Kaer 1 passed him, dressed in various styles of clothing of dozens of systems throughout the galaxy and gave a brief nod of greeting as their paths crossed. Some wondered at his glowing blue eyes. Most continued on their way without thought to the man who appeared average enough to their sight.

Siskeeni citizens, employees, and other personnel who knew his identity would offer a salute, a free smile, or in the case of a cathar family would stop for brief small talk. As the family moved along their youngest, a daughter dressed in a shimmering blue dress, ran back and tugged on his arm. He squatted before the small child to look into her cat eyes.

“I want you to have this. My da and I made it. It's you.”

He reached out and took the wooden figure from the palms of her furred hands and looked at it. A small wooden figure, most likely carved with her own claws, peeked up at him. It was a cathar, mane flying wild. Dressed in armor with a buy’ce under one arm, the only color on the mahogany stained figure were its bright blue eyes. He grinned, his own eyes glowing brighter for a moment.

“Thank you little one. I shall cherish this. Wait, what is that behind your ear?”

His left hand reached out, the runes faintly shimmered, and he brought out a gem the size of his thumb. The child took it hesitantly in awe.

“It's a crystal, like what the Knights of Aegis use in their lightsabers. If you stare into it long enough you will see your reflection, but who you want to be. Now scram and listen to your parents.”

He put a little growl in his words but his smile softened his countenance. With a lurch forward she hugged him then scampered back to her parents who waited and watched quietly. Muad rose and gave them a little nod as the family moved on, the little girl's high pitched voice telling them she talked to the Lion of Kaer, just one of many monikers he earned over his long life.

Knees popped as he rose and continued on aimlessly as he looked at the wooden figure. Another memento of past exploits. He slipped the figure into his pocket and ordered a cup of hot caf from one of the vendors on the promenade before taking a place at the railing once again.

Below was the entrance of one of the interactive museums on this level. Stories, artifacts, and holograms told the tale of 900 years earlier. The rise and fall of The Empire along with the fall of the Old Republic, Resistance, and rise of the New Republic. He found a perverse pleasure of the history lesson of Order 66 playing out on level 66. Families exited with children showing off things bought in the Gift shop. Old x-wings, toy lightsabers, and ancient insignia on a plethora of clothing.

Life continued. It always did, one way or another. The most important part was making every moment count. That was a lesson he learned many, many years ago. Sometimes that meant enjoying the quiet moments and never taking loved ones for granted. A small smirk creased his lips as he sipped from the cup, enjoying
the warmth as it dispersed across his body.

Zesiro