Yasha Cadera
Mom'alor
Silver Jedi space was a place Ambrose Vizsla promised the new Mand’alor was as dangerous as the Warlock Gate’s other side. The head of the Yalilyr, now Yasha’s personal guard, was as desperate to see her stay firmly on Mandalore as he was to see her alive. Yet, when [member="Preliat Mantis"] messaged his only daughter to let her know where he was, no force of nature, nor collection of soldiers, nor distance would halt the Wolf's daughter from her goal.
An only daughter craved her father’s affection. She craved the mighty, yet broken man who held her at birth, who grieved her during her first death, and who sobbed into her hair when at six she heaved and pulled her comatose mother’s septic body from Hell. When she was new to Mandalore, a child of no peace, her father was with her. When Aditya fled to Atrisia for ‘work’, Preliat was with Yasha, cuddling her up until she slept, smoothing her hair in her nightmares, and soothing her, when she couldn’t eat solid food, when she couldn’t understand the other children, when the universe was too large and she was too small to be in it.
After the cataclysm, the man she returned to believed her a vision of mania. He neither could, nor would, acknowledge her existence those first moments, and Yasha realized how unwell Preliat Mantis’ mind was.
How terrible a burden he bore, so his daughter could live with less fear. How horrific his face, when he admitted to his daughter Aditya was dead, and Yasha was saved by the altruistic hands of a stranger, who found one lone child and saved her. Through the Civil War, Yasha convinced herself that her father’s absence was due to his desire for her to prove she could fight on her own. That he couldn’t stand the burden. Alone, but for Mand’alor the Undying and for Kaden, but for those brief moments of seeing her father suffer, Yasha let loose her grief and anger on her fellow Mando’ade. Each death picking a prize she thought would increase her father and Ra’s pride.
Maybe then… maybe then the spell cloistering Preliat’s heart would be lifted. Maybe then her father would return to hold her, and tell her everything would be alright. Tell her that she was sufficient, that she could hold them together.
All that occurred was a further fracture, punctuated by the damned Warlock Gate. As she stood aboard her flagship, Yasha shut her eyes and listened to the echo of Preliat’s inhuman scream, when he watched his daughter reach out, and return to the Netherworld. She reminded herself daily that for her father, the fracture of Dathomir was weeks before. Scant months. The wounds were still fresh, when for his daughter, nearly eight years passed before Ember sent her back to the moment of the break, guided most of all, by her father’s gut-wrenched scream.
The Manda sent her back to this exacting time, and now on the other side of the journey, the young woman could not fathom why. When Yasha attempted to take a shuttle down to her father, Ambrose abjectly refused. The Wolf would meet his daughter upon the ship which bore her name, or they came for naught. Her slightly swelling stomach, and the life within, would be protected on the Hell Wolf. Yasha stood in her private quarters, hand brushing against the armoured growth plates designed and manufactured by her mother, yet refurbished to match her own beskar’gam.
Would Preliat Mantis set foot on a Mandalorian ship to answer his daughter’s call?
An only daughter craved her father’s affection. She craved the mighty, yet broken man who held her at birth, who grieved her during her first death, and who sobbed into her hair when at six she heaved and pulled her comatose mother’s septic body from Hell. When she was new to Mandalore, a child of no peace, her father was with her. When Aditya fled to Atrisia for ‘work’, Preliat was with Yasha, cuddling her up until she slept, smoothing her hair in her nightmares, and soothing her, when she couldn’t eat solid food, when she couldn’t understand the other children, when the universe was too large and she was too small to be in it.
After the cataclysm, the man she returned to believed her a vision of mania. He neither could, nor would, acknowledge her existence those first moments, and Yasha realized how unwell Preliat Mantis’ mind was.
How terrible a burden he bore, so his daughter could live with less fear. How horrific his face, when he admitted to his daughter Aditya was dead, and Yasha was saved by the altruistic hands of a stranger, who found one lone child and saved her. Through the Civil War, Yasha convinced herself that her father’s absence was due to his desire for her to prove she could fight on her own. That he couldn’t stand the burden. Alone, but for Mand’alor the Undying and for Kaden, but for those brief moments of seeing her father suffer, Yasha let loose her grief and anger on her fellow Mando’ade. Each death picking a prize she thought would increase her father and Ra’s pride.
Maybe then… maybe then the spell cloistering Preliat’s heart would be lifted. Maybe then her father would return to hold her, and tell her everything would be alright. Tell her that she was sufficient, that she could hold them together.
Yasha was wrong.
All that occurred was a further fracture, punctuated by the damned Warlock Gate. As she stood aboard her flagship, Yasha shut her eyes and listened to the echo of Preliat’s inhuman scream, when he watched his daughter reach out, and return to the Netherworld. She reminded herself daily that for her father, the fracture of Dathomir was weeks before. Scant months. The wounds were still fresh, when for his daughter, nearly eight years passed before Ember sent her back to the moment of the break, guided most of all, by her father’s gut-wrenched scream.
The Manda sent her back to this exacting time, and now on the other side of the journey, the young woman could not fathom why. When Yasha attempted to take a shuttle down to her father, Ambrose abjectly refused. The Wolf would meet his daughter upon the ship which bore her name, or they came for naught. Her slightly swelling stomach, and the life within, would be protected on the Hell Wolf. Yasha stood in her private quarters, hand brushing against the armoured growth plates designed and manufactured by her mother, yet refurbished to match her own beskar’gam.
Would Preliat Mantis set foot on a Mandalorian ship to answer his daughter’s call?