Ascending Legend
The chamber had been chosen for its quiet.
Not for grandeur, not for tradition made heavy with spectators or ceremony, but for stillness. A private hall within the Crucible, far from training yards and command floors, where the stone walls bore no banners, and the light came soft and indirect, filtered through narrow apertures that let Bastion's glow fall in pale bands across the floor. It was a place meant for reflection rather than display.
Iandre stood at its center.
She wore no armor and no finery. No insignia marked her rank, no colors proclaimed her achievements. Her attire was simple, formal in cut but unadorned, chosen not to impress but to be honest. Hands folded in front of her, spine straight, breath slow and controlled, she did not look like someone waiting to be elevated. She looked like someone who had already carried the weight and was ready to set it down or transform it.
Behind her lay years of service that had never felt theoretical. Warzones. Command decisions that had cost lives. Leadership earned not by title but by endurance. The path here had not been ceremonial. It had been lived.
Before her stood Laphisto.
Not merely her Master, but her commanding officer: the one who had shaped her not only in discipline and doctrine, but in restraint, accountability, and survival. He had seen her fail. He had seen her recover. He had trusted her with responsibility long before the title would ever reflect it. This moment was not an elevation, but a culmination shaped by his hand.
And to one side, just beyond the formal axis of the rite, stood Rellik. Not as a Diarch. Not as a political figure or symbol. Simply as himself.
As the man who had walked beside her through doubt and certainty alike. Who knew the shape of her silences and the meaning behind her resolve. Whose presence anchored rather than distracted, whose witness mattered not because of station, but because of bond. There was no distance between them born of formality, only respect for the moment.
This was how she had wanted it. No audience. No applause. No spectacle to dilute meaning. Just the two people whose belief in her had never wavered when it mattered most.
The Force in the chamber felt calm. Not expectant, not charged, but steady like a held breath that did not need release.
Iandre lifted her chin slightly, eyes forward, heart quiet. She was ready. Not to become something new, but to be named for what she had already chosen to be.
Diarch Rellik
Laphisto
Not for grandeur, not for tradition made heavy with spectators or ceremony, but for stillness. A private hall within the Crucible, far from training yards and command floors, where the stone walls bore no banners, and the light came soft and indirect, filtered through narrow apertures that let Bastion's glow fall in pale bands across the floor. It was a place meant for reflection rather than display.
Iandre stood at its center.
She wore no armor and no finery. No insignia marked her rank, no colors proclaimed her achievements. Her attire was simple, formal in cut but unadorned, chosen not to impress but to be honest. Hands folded in front of her, spine straight, breath slow and controlled, she did not look like someone waiting to be elevated. She looked like someone who had already carried the weight and was ready to set it down or transform it.
Behind her lay years of service that had never felt theoretical. Warzones. Command decisions that had cost lives. Leadership earned not by title but by endurance. The path here had not been ceremonial. It had been lived.
Before her stood Laphisto.
Not merely her Master, but her commanding officer: the one who had shaped her not only in discipline and doctrine, but in restraint, accountability, and survival. He had seen her fail. He had seen her recover. He had trusted her with responsibility long before the title would ever reflect it. This moment was not an elevation, but a culmination shaped by his hand.
And to one side, just beyond the formal axis of the rite, stood Rellik. Not as a Diarch. Not as a political figure or symbol. Simply as himself.
As the man who had walked beside her through doubt and certainty alike. Who knew the shape of her silences and the meaning behind her resolve. Whose presence anchored rather than distracted, whose witness mattered not because of station, but because of bond. There was no distance between them born of formality, only respect for the moment.
This was how she had wanted it. No audience. No applause. No spectacle to dilute meaning. Just the two people whose belief in her had never wavered when it mattered most.
The Force in the chamber felt calm. Not expectant, not charged, but steady like a held breath that did not need release.
Iandre lifted her chin slightly, eyes forward, heart quiet. She was ready. Not to become something new, but to be named for what she had already chosen to be.
Diarch Rellik
Laphisto