Private Thrantin: Iron Sharpens Iron

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound​

From what Lysander knew of its history, Thrantin was not one of those planets known to be kind. That truth became even more apparent when his boots touched the surface just one day before. A planet engineered rather than born, so to speak. Long ago it had trained Republic scouts, and later Imperials. Much like Desevro, the landscape offered only harsh lessons.

The Covenant’s operations had been sliding quietly into place across the Tapani Sector, each piece settling where it belonged. Influence infiltrated.

His pursuit was fueled partly by their demand.. and partly because it aligned with his own gut instincts. Impossible to ignore. The place was abandoned just enough to avoid scrutiny. Plenty of old facilities were scattered across the unforgiving terrain. Honest in its cruelty.. just like the Sith themselves.

Those high-gravity zones bleeding into the peaks.. perfect.

0500 arrived as it always did.

The sky was still dark when Lysander descended the freighter's ramp, cold air nipping at any skin left exposed. Draped in obsidian fabric as always, a hooded sweatshirt and fitted athletic pants sculpted a lithe frame. Running shoes whispered against the ground. Beneath the layers, the curved hilt of his lightsaber rested.

Coming to a stop near the edge of the ship, his breath bloomed like mist. Shoulders rolled as he planted both feet into the frozen ground. The preparation began at his ankles, rotating them in slow circles, feeling the tightness slowly give way. Next came his calves, a stretch that sent an ache through the sinew.. a reminder of the previous day’s training. His hamstrings followed, also in protest. Since arriving in the Outer Rim years ago, constant soreness became part of his daily rhythm.

With palms braced against his thighs, he bent forward, spine lengthening in a stretch that could've been ritualistic. His breath remained steady, no different than when preparing for battle. Straightening, he rotated his neck to each side. In one hand, he held a bottle, draining it with one final long pull before setting it aside near the ramp. Exhaling slowly through the nose, emerald gaze drifting toward the mountains in the distance. The hood was tugged forward, shielding most of his youthful visage.

It wasn't much different than back home. The intention never shifted.

What remained to be seen was how the Covenant's newest shadow would hold up when put through the trenches.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Thrantin made its presence known the moment Acier off the ramp. Its gravity pressed down, testing posture, balance, breath. Ace paused just beyond the landing struts, settling into frost-bitten ground scarred by old track lines and half-buried durasteel seams. The terrain looked engineered. He could feel it too, this planet hadn't been made to nurture life.​

​

He exhaled slowly, then rolled his shoulders once, letting the stiffness bleed out. Fingers flexed at his sides, his prosthetic answering with a faint, almost imperceptible hum. He started at his ankles, lifting one foot, rotating it carefully before switching. Calves followed with measured stretches.​

​

Ace dropped into a low crouch, palms braced against his knees as he rocked his weight forward and back, testing how the gravity pulled at his center. A faint ache sparked in his thighs. Good. Information.​

​

When he straightened, he twisted at the waist, spine cracking softly beneath the layers of his attire. Neck next, slow arcs, chin dipping, head tilting from side to side until the cold air burned his lungs just enough to sharpen his focus.​

​

Only then did his attention fully shift. Lysander stood ahead, also warming up near the edge of the freighter's shadow. His movements were clean, runner precise, ritual in their repetition. Someone who respected routine. Someone who understood endurance as a language. Ace didn't stare, but he watched all the same, cataloguing posture, breathing, economy of motion.​

​

Ace stepped closer to the open ground. He rolled his wrists, then clasped his hands behind his head and stretched upward, letting the gravity bite down harder before releasing. The Force moved with him, threading through muscle and breath, compensating where the planet tried to cheat him.​

​

"Figures you'd pick a place like this." Ace said quietly at last, voice even, unhurried. Not a challenge. An observation.​

​

His gaze drifted toward the distant peaks where old facilities lay half-buried beneath ice and stone. Structures built to break scouts, soldiers, survivors alike. Then he settled into a ready stance, weight balanced, breath steady.​

​

"You guys love stress testing the newcomers, huh?" ​

​

Lysander von Ascania ​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound​

Lysander’s hearing regisered the crunch of frost under boots. Hooking one ankle behind him, he balanced easily on the ground while stretching his quadriceps. Acier lingered in his periphery. A corner of his mouth twitched at the comment. Then, releasing the stretch, he switched legs. Ukatis surfaced through his thoughts, then the scourge of Chandrila. Different environments with that same underlying vibe. Pressure didn’t always change who someone was, but it could certainly remove the ability to pretend otherwise. Perhaps today, he’d come to understand the man a little better. Or at least strip away a layer or two.

Inhaling through the nose, he exhaled before turning to meet the presence. “Maybe.. or maybe it's just a good place to come when you need the rest of the galaxy to stop lying to you. I stopped thinking of it as testing a long time ago. That would imply passing or failing..”

There was no edge to his words. “Sectors like this got a way of cushioning people, making them believe they’re stronger and faster than they really are. Perhaps even more disciplined..”

Acier stayed within his regard a moment more. “But places like this don’t allow that illusion to survive for long. People think training is always about adding techniques. Personally, I'd argue a lot of times it’s the opposite. You just gotta strip the entire process down until your mind stops trying to negotiate with itself. When there’s fewer choices, it becomes easier to realize which ones were never serving you.”

The teen's focus drifted briefly toward some of the structures nearby. Most of them were designed for what he spoke of now.

Before their descent onto Chandrila, he too had spoken a truth.. that he wasn’t searching for followers. From his first steps on his homeworld he’d been tribal at heart, only needing the ones that could be relied upon. “Titles don’t matter here. Neither does how you see yourself. The gravity doesn’t care.. neither does the cold. Whatever’s left at the end of that is usually closer to the truth.”

Even standing there, the cold seeped in. But it didn’t feel like an intrusion.. just part of the baseline. “I don’t always do this to become something new,” another breath, “I do it to make sure nothing unnecessary has crept back in."

Thoughts, unbidden as ever, rose to his mind. The Light loved to circle the same lesson without touching them. Failures that were always rationalized one way or another.. a pattern he wanted no part of; for when you did see them, they became nearly impossible to unsee.

"There won’t be anyone to tell you you’re improving. If you need an affirmation, that just means you’re not finished.”

It wasn't doctrine speaking.. just the way Lysander had come to see the galaxy, shaped by constant repetition.

With a rotation of his torso, and then again, more of the stiffness gave way. Finally, he turned, taking the first steps of the run. "Let's get after it."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace listened without interrupting. Not because he was being deferential, but because nothing Lysander said needed correcting.

He shifted his stance as the other man spoke, planting one foot firmly while the other swung forward and back in a controlled arc. Hip loosening, range measured, momentum checked before it could get sloppy. He switched legs after a few repetitions, breath staying even the entire time - slow in through the nose, steady out through the mouth.

Lysander mentioned people mistaking training as simply adding techniques. That it was more about stripping it to where you didn't need to think. To calculate.

"You're talking about what's left when thinking stops helping." He stated calmly, staring ahead.

Ace found himself partially agreeing with Lysander. For a long time, technique was merely a foundation for him, and it was instinct that aided him in fights. Survival. After Atrisia, though? After Ravoch had dismantled him, took his arm? Everything changed.

"Instinct's kept me alive." He added, flexing the gloved hand that covered his prosthetic. "But I learned the hard way that if instinct's the only thing you got... means you waited too long to strip everything else away."

Ace brought his right arm across his chest and hooked it in place with his left, drawing the shoulder in until the tension surfaced. He held it there for a slow breath, then another, letting the joint settle under the planet's heavier pull before releasing and switching sides. The sleeve over his left arm creased as the prosthetic rotated smoothly through the motion, calibrating.

His dark eyes flicked over to Lysander once more. Now, he went on about titles, how it didn't matter here. As he continued, Ace listened intently and found the words resonating with him deeply. He didn't respond verbally, but his eyes, his expression would tell the Sith Apprentice everything.

When Lysander took off, Ace followed without hesitation, matching his pace and settling in beside him. The rhythm came back quickly: footfall, breath, balance, controlled inhalations through the nose, measured releases through the mouth.

His thoughts drifted to earlier days. Before lightsabers. Before forms and sparring. Back when training meant nothing but distance and discipline. Roadwork at dawn, every morning, no shortcuts, no spectators. Miles logged before the world was awake.

Pisti hadn't let him train with his lightsaber back then. Not in the beginning. She'd given him pavement, cold air, and the understanding that if you couldn't carry your own weight for miles, you had no business carrying a weapon.

A small smile crept on his lips at the thought. Simpler times. Though, it didn't feel like it at the time. Seventeen-years-old, a bounty on his head, still figuring out who he was; the Force, his long lost mother, all of it.

After a stretch of comfortable silence, without splitting his focus on the road ahead, he spoke up and asked:

"So, your sister's a Jedi. You're Sith. But... on Ukatis, things were... normal?"

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound​

He eased into the run, cadence light, the kind of pace meant to loosen muscle just a little more before they would increase in tempo later. Breath stayed calm while allowing the body a moment to simply remember itself. Though the ground was frozen it didn’t seem like it’d punish him with resistance. The cool air reminded him of Desevro once more, sharpening his focus. Step by step, the world narrowed.

Acier’s words were still slotting into place.

“Most of us don’t learn that one cleanly. It always has this way of costing us something.. something we might’ve believed to be non-negotiable.”

Lysander bore no prosthetic limb, but there were many burns across the body that never faded, scars from the Galactic Kaggath, where Force lightning had nearly cooked him alive. There were blessings and curses alike from back then. Gratitude for one person, another being a wound that still tore open whenever remembered. At least now, it was easier to keep that chapter at a distance.

The road dripped, and he adjusted without breaking their rhythm. “Sometimes, it’s not the loss itself.. it's seeing how much of that trust was built on timing.”

A few more breaths passed before he spoke again. ”Discipline will keep us from repeating those mistakes again.”

The next question found its place within him, though there was no rush to answer. “Yeah,” the teen said wryly, “I can see how that might’ve appeared strange.”

The wind began to carve a little deeper. Lysander welcomed it. “Peace is a lie; there's no arguing against that. Doctrine is useful; it gives us structure. A way to explain ourselves when the galaxy gets too damn loud. But for me.. it’s never been the first thing I reach for.” A brief consideration, deciding how much information to spill. "Loyalty predates philosophy, if you will. Which is why family comes before all else. Always has. Before the Light, before the Dark, I try to remember who always showed up for me when things went wrong.”

That meant Cora.

“That’s why it worked there. Not really because we agreed.. just that we didn’t have to. But.. don’t let it fool you. She doesn’t approve of my journey. She never has. That’s simply the line we must walk now. Loyalty without any.. Illusion.”

And that didn’t mean the Dark’s currents failed to tug him deeper into doctrine’s undercurrents.. only that some truths were better left unspoken. Perhaps that was what drew him closer to Fatine.. the sibling that was easy in spirit, down for anything.

Soon the terrain began to rise; Thrantin was preparing to start demanding questions of them both. Lysander had a few himself, one’s that should’ve been asked long ago.

"Back on Genarius, when you chose to return with the Convenant.. yeah, I've been wanting to understand what you were.. hearing in that moment. I'm not asking for the version you gave the others. I want to know the one you'd give yourself at three in the morning when there's no one to impress."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Lysander's words lingered longer than the cold. Loyalty before philosophy. Family before alignment. Ace understood that kind of line, not as an ideal, but as a lived boundary. He'd crossed plenty of ideological thresholds in his life, but some ties had always resisted being neatly sorted. The ones that survived disagreement. The ones that showed up anyway. He respected that. More than most things.

The incline was starting to make itself known now, the planet leaning back against them. Ace adjusted his stride, breath deepening but staying controlled, still through the nose. Footfalls even. He didn't look over at Lysander.

"Genarius was loud." Ace said at last. Not bitter. Just matter-of-fact.

A few strides passed before he continued.

"It came down to momentum." His gloved left hand flexed once, then stilled. "Every other option felt like stopping. Like hitting a wall."

He let the cold scrape his lungs on the exhale.

"I've survived my whole life not stopping." Ace said quietly. "Not freezing up so the galaxy can eat me alive."

The terrain pulled harder. He leaned into it, shortening his stride just enough to stay efficient.

"The Covenant wasn't an answer." He added. "It was a direction. Forward. And forward was the only thing that still made sense."

Another breath. Even. Controlled.

"So I followed the path that kept me moving. Keeps me alive."

It was a similar answer he'd given to Arris. While it wasn't the real reason why he came back. Farthest from. It wasn't a total lie either. Ace had learned how to survive long before he learned how to explain himself. When pressed, he defaulted to the same truths that had kept him alive: endurance, adaptation, motion. They were believable because they were real, just not relevant this time.

The reasoning he'd offered wasn't why he stepped into the Covenant's shadow. It was simply the version of himself he could afford to show. The rest The pattern, the intent, the risk, stayed buried where it belonged.

The terrain pitched subtly, frost thinning into rough stone. Ace adjusted his stride without thinking, cadence tightening as the ground grew less forgiving. Lysander's words echoed back to him: loyalty before philosophy. That kind of loyalty wasn't abstract. It only stayed clean until it was tested.

He drew in a breath, kept pace, and spoke.

"You said family before anything. What happens when the Covenant decides to attack Republic space again, and Cora's there? Or, they want to hit Ukatis and..."

He wanted to say her name, Fatine, but the part of him that was growing to care for her... couldn't even stomach the thought.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound
​

The incline announced itself through his shoes. Lysander decided to shorten his stride just a fraction before tightening the cadence, hips rolling forward so that he might maintain momentum. Breathing stayed nasal.. each exhale was metering like a valve. The wind continued cutting across the current rise, scraping along his jaw, going down his spin like a sharp wire. But this was nothing more than another participant; this was what honest places did, by interrupting comfort before it could begin lying to you.

There was no arguing that Genarius was loud; so loud, in fact, an entire city sank. And in truth, one of the easier operations carried out by the Covenant.

“The Dark rewards those who refuse to stagnate. That’s why it answers people like you.” Lysander’s focus was always ahead; never at Acier. “However, it’s also how some end up somewhere they didn’t mean to. Sometimes.. that just delays the reckoning. The Dark only asks whether you’re truly prepared to claim it when you do.” It might've sounded like skepticism at the man's answer, and perhaps a trace existed, but it was more about cause and effect. He left Naboo for Korriban without a single detour, and almost paid for it with his life, more than once.

The terrain rose another few degrees, just enough to pull heat into his quads and thighs. "The galaxy is rather great at generously rewarding those who move fast.. right up until it asks them to finally take account for where they ended up." He wasn't trying to preach, just noting a repeated pattern witnessed in the Outer Rim. "The Dark loves that, too. You just keep advancing, and one day you happen to wake up realizing those currents have already chosen for you."

Maybe it might have sounded strange, coming from someone fully committed to the darker arts. But Lysander had always been pragmatic. Besides, selling a lie wouldn’t change the Covenant’s trajectory; those wheels were already turning.

The hood shadowed most of his face now, drawn low. He let the silence stretch after the next question.

“Outside of Ukatis, the Republic may as well not exist to me. That place hasn’t held much weight for me in a long time. The Tapani sector will consume our attention for a while. Influence takes time. This is where we’re looking to apply pressure. A lot of real work to be done.. the Republic has larger problems approaching than us.”

The wind pulled even harder. “I serve the Covenant direction.” The words were true. “But I also don’t need to abandon the Dark to prevent unnecessary damage. It’s not as fragile as some might believe. It won’t collapse just because restraint is applied.” A humorless exhale slipped free. “Excess.. yeah, that’s just a choice people make when they don’t want to own their decisions.”

He was quiet for a few more strides. Arms began swinging tighter, so that he could conserve energy.

“Let’s take it one step further.. say we strip away that survival and adaptation. What’s actually left that you’re protecting? Because there’s always something.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace absorbed what Lysander was saying without breaking stride. His steps remained steady, breathing still controlled through the nose as the incline continued to lean into them.

Lysander talked about currents. About delay. About restraint as a choice rather than a weakness. Ace understood the logic. He even respected it... but it was still an answer that moved around the problem, not through it.

The Dark answers those who refuse to stagnate. Influence takes time. Excess is a decision. Direction without fragility. It was all clean. All just far enough from consequence to stay comfortable. But it evaded the core of his question. Whether it was deliberate? He wasn't sure.

Ace wouldn't press him on it. Not yet. First, he would answer Lysander's own question. His voice stayed even.

"When you strip it all down..." He said, breath steady despite the burn starting to bloom in his legs. "Past survival. Past adaptation." A few more strides passed. "What's left is people. Your people."

His boots crunched against a patch of loose stone, and he adjusted without looking down, cadence tightening for half a dozen steps before settling again.

"I protect the ones I care about." Ace continued. "Not because it's convenient. Because everything else... doctrine, direction, momentum, it can be rationalized away if you try hard enough." He breathed again, controlled, "That doesn't mean I think I can save everyone. But I'd burn the galaxy to protect mine."

He told himself that last part was a lie, just to keep face. But somewhere deep down, and maybe even unbeknownst to him, it was undeniably true.

The wind cut harder as the terrain rose again. Ace leaned forward into it, loosening his shoulders, and tightening his stride. He didn't look at Lysander when he spoke next.

"When you said the Republic doesn't exist to you outside Ukatis." He recalled, just long enough to let the words land. "I believe you."

He ran a few more steps before continuing. The ground continued unevenly, demanding attention. Focus.

"But your sisters exist there." Ace went on. "They're not abstract. They're not influence or pressure or excess. Matter of fact, one of them's an active defender of something you've already written off."

His breathing deepened, but it never broke rhythm. This time, Ace finally glanced toward Lysander, his dark eyes narrowing in analysis.

"Forget the philosophical bantha shit for a second." He said without bite. "'Cause It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow, or next year. But it will happen eventually. We both know Sith and Jedi always come to blows in the end." His voice was layered with a conviction he hadn't displayed at all since joining the Covenant.

"What do you do when the Covenant finally decides its time to wipe the Republic off the map? When restraint isn't an option? When direction pulls you straight at your sister?"

Lysander talked about influence. Pressure. Time. About restraint as something that could be applied deliberately, indefinitely. Ace understood all of it. He just didn't trust it.

He'd seen it too many times in people. Swearing they'd never go that far... right up until restraint became inconvenient. Right up until pressure demanded release. Long timelines always ended the same way once fear or opportunity tipped the scale. You didn't survive by planning for the best version of people. You survived by accounting for the moment they stopped pretending.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound
​

The conviction was audible, carried in the way he said mine without bravado. Burn the galaxy? Naturally. Lysander catalogued that as well. A pretty clean declaration of loyalty, no?

People said things like that when they were trying not to admit where the line actually sat..

The threat assessment arrived automatically, stripped of sentiment. He considered what allowing that to matter might expose, and how it could be leveraged by others someday if they were careless enough to learn where the pressure points lay. Sith discipline lived here, in this kind of calculation, not in fury, but in.. calibration.

Another few strides passed.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, twin emeralds focused ahead, tracking only the rise. “People aren’t abstract. Not the ones that matter. That’s precisely why they’re dangerous to build doctrine around. But the Covenant would never frame its actions as ‘wiping the Republic off the map.’ That’s language for zealots.. not strategists.” An exhale through the nose. “Influence is quieter, even if it takes longer. And it's even kind enough to give people time to move out of the way.”

“As for my sisters,” he continued, diplomatic.. but not evasive. “Ukatis is not Republic space in any meaningful sense. It never has been. And if Cora is wise, and she is, she’ll come to understand that the Republic’s ideals have outlived their usefulness long before the Republic itself does.”

That felt more like a measured conclusion than criticism.

“Sure, she believes in protection, showing up, and standing where others won’t. Classic Jedi, no? Well, those values don’t belong exclusively to the Light, no matter how much their lot would like to pretend otherwise.”

His head finally turned just enough to acknowledge Acier.

“If a day comes where direction points toward Ukatis. Then something has already gone catastrophically fething wrong at every level worth discussing. I wouldn’t pretend I’d treat that like just another objective. I don’t plan for a future where I’m forced to choose between family and direction,” Lysander added quietly. “I plan to make sure that future never becomes the only option left.”

The incline eased slightly, the terrain offering mercy, though he imagined it wouldn’t be for long. So he adjusted, lengthening his stride this time.

“Try to understand why Ukatis ever joined the Republic in the first place. There were never many options, and even less after the Core fell. Neutrality only works when others allow it.”

Stone gave way underfoot; Lysander adjusted without ever looking down.

“What do you know of Ukatis? What do they actually offer? Beyond their people. Their land and influence, which doesn’t meaningfully extend beyond its own orbit?"

Heat continued to pool in his quads, as it did in the chest too. That wasn't to say he was angry, however.

“Now they have outsiders willing to bleed and die in its name. Not because Ukatis suddenly became stronger.. but because they were able to borrow devotion that was never truly earned. Loyalty without a drop of heritage. Sacrifice without shared history. That’s what the Republic offered them.”

The ground evened out for a stretch. “How do you argue against that? From Ukatis’ perspective, joining the Republic wasn’t foolish. It was every bit practical.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's gaze lowered, a sign of deep contemplation. Influence over annihilation. Strategy over zealotry. Restraint as doctrine, not exception. That wasn't the Covenant Ace thought he'd stepped into.

He'd believed them anarchic... unbound by hierarchy, driven by ego and appetite. A hunting pack held together by shared hatred of the Jedi and little else. But the raids he'd witnessed told a different story now. Kattada. Genarius. Chandrila. Brutal, yes, but never careless. Each strike placed where it would echo longest. Strategic barbarism was still strategy.

That mattered. Useful information.

Lysander on the other hand. He clearly wasn't a fool, nor a fanatic. He was someone who genuinely believed collapse was preventable if you stayed disciplined enough, early enough. Someone who trusted control over contingency. Someone who hadn't yet planned for the moment restraint stopped being a choice.

Ace logged it all away quietly. He didn't need to press any further. Finally centering his gaze to the path ahead, he broke the silence.

"I see." He muttered. Going silent once more for a few more strides.

His boots crunched against another seam of half-buried stone, and he shifted his weight subtly, cadence never breaking.

"So, you don't plan for failure. That's what you're saying, right?" He asked, recalling Lysander's earlier words. "You really believe you'll always get to decide?"

The wind tugged at his jacket. He leaned into it without breaking pace, vocalizing a contemplative hum.

"That mindset's why I don't trust institutions." Ace added, tone flat. "They think they're in control. 'Till they aren't. Look how quickly the Alliance fell apart after Coruscant."

The stone scraped beneath his feet; Ace adjusted quickly.

"But... I get it. You wanna make sure the worst option never becomes the only one left." He nodded once, more to himself than Lysander. "It's smart."

He glanced over briefly this time.

"I'll just say this. Maybe it's our different life experiences, but... where I grew up? You had to plan for the worst option as the only one. If you wanted to live another day."

Then he faced forward again, letting the run carry them on.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound
​

His running shoes continued whispering along that pale and unforgiving ground. Every single footfall returned what was given to it. The rhythm lived in the hips, rotations that kept the legs cycling as they were meant to. Arms were tucked close to conserve heat and energy.

This run had never been about distance. This was to test the man running alongside him; though, that wasn’t to say the test was born of doubt. You couldn’t bluff conditioning, nor could one posture through poor breath control. Terrain like this told the truth before the mind had a chance to say otherwise.

He continued to absorb the message. There was at least one similarity that stood out clearly.. they were both high functioning under stress. Questions came as they did, and they were welcomed, ones that offered clarity rather than unnecessary reassurance.

The flat stretch was ending, and the next incline wasn’t so sudden either. Thrantin’s cold tightened at the hamstrings; it was then he felt the first real warmth begin to pool. Just proper engagement..

Then, he found himself quiet for a time, letting his mind pass through layers of thought. Fighting rings surfaced in the minds eye.

Acier struck him as one of those from unstable gyms. Fighters that knew survival before having any structure. Sharpened by necessity instead of proper guidance. Indeed, most of those didn’t flinch when things got tough and were plenty capable of surviving knockout exchanges.

Those types could be terrifying when conflict arrived. But without it? They were vulnerable.

Lysander worked differently in the ring, a result from years of instruction. Controlling distance, tempo, winning without needing the knockout. He loved making someone exhaust themselves by chasing an opening that never existed.

Regardless.. different methods.. but the same pursuit.

The moment passed, then another. His voice emerged calmly. “I plan for failure all the time.”

Green eyes found Acier; the corner of his mouth tugged upward.

“I don’t plan with surrender in mind.”

His focus found the shared path again. “If I plan for the worst, truly believing it's inevitable, then I’ll begin telling myself I’m being realistic. And before I know it, I'm letting the outcome decide for me. You feel me?”

Breath deepened into something more honest. A pull along his calves, then along the hips. A strong core kept everything aligned properly. The cold no longer felt external.

An adjustment in the conversation’s direction would serve them both.

“You’re already dangerous. Hard to put down from what I’ve seen at the academy. That kind of natural talent has a way of scaring some of the best fighters because you don’t move the way you’re supposed to.” A slower exhale through the nose. “But.. those fighters always cap out early, because they don’t have a structure that lets them grow.”

Some of the worst habits were nearly impossible to see from the inside; that was why Lysander would keep an eye from outside the circle as well.

“Think of Chandrila as the opening bell, the place where that growth began. I didn't do that as any favor. Winning ugly works, yeah.. but you need someone to teach you how to stay good.”

He let that sit for a few strides.

“The Covenant’s got a strong stable. Plenty of younger fighters. Hungry ones that like to push pace and test you without trying to take your head off every session. You’ll benefit from being in that mix. Give it time, let the training do what it’s meant to do, and just let everything accumulate.”

Sure, it might've sounded like only hand to hand combat, but that same discipline carried over into every other part of life. The pursuit of mastery, whatever one chose to apply it to.

"Iron doesn't sharpen itself. After this warm up, you'll fight me."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace kept pace, breath steady, legs burning now in a way that felt earned. He didn't argue the point. Didn't bristle either. Ace simply smirked, nodded once and huffed through his nose.

"Yeah." He said. "I feel you."

He truly did. Because he understood the difference Lysander was talking about. Between planning for what could go wrong and letting that expectation hollow you out. Between preparing for impact and flinching before it ever came. Ace had lived most of his life in that space.

His stride shifted as the terrain continued to change, Ace rolling through his feet more deliberately now, loosening his shoulders as he shook out one arm, then the other.

Then Lysander spoke about Ace being dangerous. About being hard to put down. About naturally talented fighters capping out early without structure.

Ace didn't scoff at it. Internally, he agreed. Atrisia flashed through his mind again. He survived fight after fight on grit, stubbornness, and raw ability. By refusing to fall. It had worked. Right up until it didn't. Right up until he met someone who didn't need to outlast him… just outclass him.

"Before I lost my arm." Ace said, breath steady despite the weight behind the words, "I thought I was invincible. Thought my blood and my 'destiny' made me unbeatable."

A short laugh slipped out, sharp and self-aware.

"Life's got a brutal way of correcting that."

The path leveled briefly and Ace lengthened his stride, exhaling slow through his nose as his pace settled again.

"Since then, I've been working on it." He went on. "How I fight. How I approach the fight." His jaw tightened, and he gave a small shake of his head, like he was stuffing something bitter back where it belonged. "I'm never letting myself be that vulnerable again."

Ace kept running, matching Lysander stride for stride, accepting that, despite not truly being loyal to the Covenant, whatever structure they had to offer, whatever pressure and discipline it could apply, he would take it. Not to belong. To be better.

Then Lysander brought up the prospect of fighting him after the warm up. Of course.

"Fine." Ace said.

Even if he was a little tired. He'd fought Ravoch on the Death Star for twenty straight minutes. Fighting when the odds were against him was like breathing for him. Not easy, just... used to it.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound ​

The path dipped and rose in waves as the incline continued. It disrupted the autopilot rhythm he’d just begun to fall into, but was still able to absorb Acier’s message all the same. His body became aware of the shock being absorbed through the calves, which rolled through his ankles. Cool air brushed from the back of his throat. Through every motion, his diaphragm was engaged, shoulders relaxed. Warmth spread across his feet, now with deeper engagement in his glutes and hips.

“Yeah,” the teen said after a moment. “I can imagine you don’t pay that price and walk away unsure of what it cost you.. and you don’t sound like someone still trying to talk themselves out of it. I don’t think you’re wrong for having believed it, though. When nothing has truly pushed your limits, the body has a way of filling in those gaps with confidence.”

Aside from Acier’s words, he could also hear the man’s steps. That alone allowed to gauge how he was holding. So far, everything was going as anticipated.

“There was a time when I believed something very similar about myself. I thought I was unbeatable, because I hadn’t been proven wrong yet.”

Korriban surfaced.

“I arrived in the Outer Rim thinking discipline and whatnot might carry me. Just like it had with everything else up until then.”

A humorless curve touched his mouth, gone before it could fully register. “Yeah, Korriban disagreed.. not just once either. Repeatedly. It tested that theory until it broke. Sometimes during lightsaber instruction, sometimes with Teras Kasai. Other times it was simpler than that. Someone faster. Someone stronger. Or someone angrier who simply didn’t care.”

Another half a dozen strides.

“I lost count of how many times I hit the ground believing I’d already accounted for every variable. At one point, it stopped feeling a lesson more like conditioning. I didn’t get to argue against it. It was beaten out of me.”

Sweat cooled along his spine. He adjusted his arm swing tighter, conserving heat. The run was slowly settling into its purpose.

“Even if I didn't come away stronger, I would’ve come away honest if nothing else. Everything breaks eventually. I suppose the difference is how we choose to rebuild ourselves afterward. At least now, everything comes from a place that’s real.”

The wind came sharper; it tore across the slope like it might peel him right off the mountain. In the distance he could see the summit coming into view.

Thrantin finally dropped the act. Lysander followed suit.

“There was another consequence I didn’t anticipate in the beginning. Once that illusion was gone,” he continued, “the support attached to it and everything built on it was gone as well. People don’t always back you.. they back the version of you that fits into their expectations. By then, the system reminded me that it was nothing personal."

Another stretch of silence followed. “From that point forward. I planned as though I was the only constant in the entire fething equation.” He exhaled through his nose. “If something succeeded, it was because I carried it all the way through. If it failed, that was because there was no one else to blame. That kind of thinking.. it’s not healthy in the way people like to pretend. But it sure is functional. And once you learn to operate that way, you don’t really unlearn it.”

The terrain stripped away anything unnecessary. Lysander didn’t slow. “That’s the thing about relying on yourself. It works, even if it’s the only tool in the arsenal. Progress keeps happening, sure. But it changes the higher you climb. You stop wanting to share it. It narrows, and you realize company becomes a choice. You stop letting just anyone keep pace.”

He kept his head level, refusing to look down. "Everyone pays. The timing just varies. At least paying early strips the illusion quicker. Use that as advantage."

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace let the silence stretch after Lysander finished, out of respect. His gaze stayed forward, unfixed, like he was watching something distant rather than the path in front of them.

"I know exactly what you're saying." Ace said finally.

He didn't elaborate right away. What Lysander described wasn't unfamiliar, the moment when confidence stopped being belief and started being liability. When the illusion didn't just crack, but took everything built on top of it with it. People. Expectations. All of it contingent on a version of you that no longer existed.

"Guess it's a trial all fighters have to go through." He said. "Grit only buys you time. Skill decides what happens after."

He didn't say it like it was a statement, but more like a hypothesis. A thought that had turned into words. He rolled his shoulder once, slow, deliberate. Not loosening up. Resetting.

"The part about being the only constant?" Ace went on. "That's survival math. People like me learn it young... but it's not exclusive."

Ace's way of validating Lysander's experiences. Seeing him as more than the Covenant's Golden Boy. More than a Noble. After that, another quiet stretch passed.

"And you're right. It's something you can't unlearn." He added. "I realized relying on people is useful, nice even. But... at the end of it all. It's always going to be you against the galaxy."

Ace glanced sideways this time, not to challenge, just to acknowledge. He stayed quiet after that, letting Lysander's words, and his own, settle where they belonged.

From this one run, Ace had learned a lot about Lysander through words. But when it came time to fight, he anticipated uncovering more about him in other ways.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound​

The trail tightened, far less forgiving now, the kind of grade that was on stand by to punish inefficiency. Naturally, his body adjusted without thinking. Breathing now came through the nose for two, and out through the mouth for three. It didn’t matter how it felt; it was just sustainable. The gravity pressed harder; Thrantin was turning out to be one hell of an engineer. The burn crept upward from his calves and into the hamstrings.

The survival math reference clicked. He had always liked numbers. People could lie about a great many things, but those were honest in their own way. Ace's words stayed with him, not echoing, just present. One more thing keeping time beside the sound of their shoes striking the ground.

Lysander turned his head, meeting Ace’s glance long enough to acknowledge it, then looked ahead again.

He hadn’t really meant to go that far. But a little touch of humor before settling back into the run felt like a logical compromise. “Grit was the door opening. It got me inside, but it didn't do a damn thing for me once all the furniture started flying.”

He smiled at the last bit. “Fighting the galaxy’s fine. I think I like those odds too. I’m just done doing it blind. Kinda prefer knowing where the hits are coming from these days.”

Letting the silence take him after was easy, especially as the summit drew closer. Lungs were being put to work as his legs continued driving. Admittedly, opening up, even this much, came with a cost. It threatened to bring out memories he tried keeping locked away. The Mid Rim was a quieter kind of damage. Strange, really, that it had cut deeper than any Sith ever had. You’d think after a couple years they were done doing their work, but somehow they always found a way to hurt.

Luckily, he had the perfect solution for all that. Besides, it was time to get locked in. Both hands came up just long enough to flick a few short jabs, shoulders rolling with those motions. Lysander slipped his head once to the left, sent another jab out on instinct, then slipped to the right. He kept it simple, one and two punch rhythms during the long stretches, as the first hint of fatigue crept in. That was also the point though, pure neurology, sport specific fatigue training.

Sith might say peace was a lie, but in these movements, these moments.. it felt like he was home.

More time passed without either of them speaking.

Eventually, the summit came up beneath his shoes, and he allowed a second to take in the view. Sweat gathered along his brows. He rolled his shoulders once more and kept moving. Footwork followed, moving into a pivot of the lead foot. A check hook was thrown through the air, followed by a straight cross that snapped right back to guard after.

He flowed into it without thinking, familiar combinations stitching themselves together. He was curious to see how Acier would perform, but not concerned with his style. Not yet.. footwork would answer that soon enough, to give an idea of where his fight IQ was.

And well.. a fighter who didn’t move their head much while shadowboxing rarely did during the real thing.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

The quiet stretched, but it wasn't reflective anymore. Something in the air had changed and the talking had run its course. Whatever they'd been unpacking on the way up was set aside without ceremony as the summit opened beneath them and the space turned functional.

Ace noticed it the second Lysander's movement changed. Not the punches themselves, but the intent behind them. The way philosophy gave way to preparation. Assessment replacing conversation. This wasn't thinking anymore, this was setup.

Ace slowed to a stop a few paces back and let Lysander work. He didn't raise his hands in answer. Instead, he dropped into a low stretch, one knee bent, the other leg extended as he rocked his weight back and forth, testing the ground. He rolled his neck once, then again, slower. Fingers flexed. The gloved left hand tightened briefly, then relaxed, calibrating.

His eyes stayed on Lysander the whole time. The pivot, the recovery, the head movement. Lead foot forward on the right. Rear hand on the left. Southpaw. Ace blinked once, then gave a faint huff through his nose..

He'd fought against orthodox fighters his entire life. Every street scrap. Every spar. Every real duel. He'd adjusted, adapted, survived. But he'd never actually gone head-to-head with another southpaw. This… would be new.

He straightened, dusting his hands together once before resting them loosely at his sides. A faint, crooked smirk rose.

"I'm not giving you a free read before we spar." His tone stayed light, almost conversational. "Kinda defeats the point."

His gaze flicked briefly to Lysander's feet, then back up.

"When we start." He said, "You'll figure me out the honest way."

Ace stayed where he was, loose but ready, letting Lysander keep moving until he was ready.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound​

Even noise would recede into something functional. The arithmetic of footing, breath, and even the wind, simplified. Lysander’s mental space cleared. And it wasn’t because tension was vanishing; it simply resolved into something usable, a reflection of honing his craft day after day.

Acier’s words weren’t a surprise. They settled right back into survival, into adaptation by instinct, but there was still an honesty there that wouldn’t be ignored. Another simpe combination flew out, a simple jab, cross, hook. Sweat was cooling along his temples as his head slipped once, before he slowed and eventually stopped. Then he turned fully toward the former Jedi.

The green in his gaze was thoughtful. “It’s not about that,” Lysander said calmly. “A solid structure is capable of surviving judgement and isn’t afraid to fail. A good jab will always remain a good jab, no matter how many times it’s been seen.”

True in the way things were only true once illusion was stripped away. He lifted his hands again, to punctuate the point.

A smirk of his own dared to surface, but the sincerity underneath it held. “If being read is enough to break me,” he continued, “then I deserve whatever follows. Simple as that.”

Short-term, it was clever. Long-term, it was fragile. A conclusion was there, but he wouldn’t speak the words into existence. There was no point.

Denying information worked when the goal was not to lose. That made perfect sense for someone steeped in Jedi methods. Their track record from the Core Worlds and beyond spoke for itself. Numbers didn’t lie. They were honest. More honest than Jedi ever were with themselves, preaching peace while never managing to find it internally.

Growth demanded the opposite.

The willingness to be seen failing so the failure could be corrected instead of protected. Whether Acier skipped shadowboxing out of intent or instinct didn’t matter either. The blonde clocked those absences too. Neuromuscular warm up.. incomplete. Technical rehearsal deferred.. postponed for an illusion of control.

Though, this was also because the Sith found himself trying to slip into that leadership space. Whatever people chose to call Lysander, or whatever Mid Rim sob stories carried his name, they couldn’t deny that he was real about his business. He didn’t hide behind comfort.

“There's no point on avoiding exposure. I guess that’s the part I’m interested in breaking first. You need to build tolerance to being seen.. to having your timing, your balance, your habits tested while someone’s watching closely.”

A few steps pulled him closer. “Because that’s where the ceiling is at. Don’t worry about protecting your identity. Let yourself be seen because it’ll teach you what truly belongs to you. A lot of people mistake that for confidence, but it’s just honesty. You don’t have to abandon the survival instinct, but don’t let it make every decision.”

The next time his hands rose, he planted his feet and rolled his shoulders, feeling relaxed.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace didn't move at all when Lysander finished, or rush to answer. Folding his arms, Ace's attention stayed on Lysander's hands, the ease with which they returned to center.

He shrugged once. "You're not wrong." He said "Good jab's a good jab."

Ace paused, briefly glancing away and further pondering on what Lysander had said a little more. Deserving to lose if simply being read was enough, he strongly agreed. However, this wasn't what that

"The first time someone faces you is the only time they don't know what gets through the pressure. After that, they adjust. I don't give that up early." A faint, dry edge crept in. "It's respect for how fast people learn."

On Bonadan, the first fight was always the most dangerous one. It was usually the last. You didn't get second reads or long adjustments. You won by knowing more than the other person did, and by making sure they knew as little about you as possible.

Maybe that was survival math. Maybe it was instinct burned in too deep to unlearn. Either way, it had kept him alive. Even when it failed. Even when he lost. It had carried him far enough to keep learning.

At the part about exposure. Lysander believing that Ace didn't want to be seen. The blonde-haired teen was... partially right, a younger version of himself didn't like to be seen. And yeah, it was survival instincts. But now? It was simply strategy. Especially now that he was deep within the Covenant.

Ace's eyes found Lysander's emerald gaze, brows curving.

"And... nah, it isn't avoidance." He added. "I've been seen. Been corrected. Dismantled in front of people who knew exactly what they were doing."

He exhaled slowly, more memory than breath.

"I just choose when to be seen. Feel me?"

In his eyes, it wasn't a disagreement so much as a difference. Maybe Lysander built tolerance by being watched because that worked for him. Ace had built his by enduring while people were wrong about him. Different pressure. Same end.

Instinct didn't make his decisions. It just vetoed the bad ones.

After a stretch of silence, after Lysander had gave the greenlight, Ace lifted his hands. Left tight to his cheek, right loose and probing. His right foot settled forward, left anchoring behind him.

"Watch out for my left." He warned. "It's made of beskar."

Ace didn't rush. He stepped in behind a probing jab, not thrown to land so much as to occupy space. Another followed, heavier this time, aimed at the guard, testing the response. His feet stayed quiet. Balanced. Close enough now that the distance itself became the threat.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Acier Moonbound ​

Lysander wasn’t really curious about searching for tells when he spoke; rather, he simply observed what was. Where some might have felt tension in those words, he felt only ease. Agreement wasn’t necessary. In truth, many around them so easily fell into such patterns, so a different form of understanding was not only rare.. but welcome.

Southpaw versus southpaw. Well, that would change the entire conversation. Different lanes and traps. Lead feet competing for the same slice of space only a pugilist might understand. Lysander's own stance adjusted. Of course, he wasn't so foolish to square up. The teen's lead shoulder rolled forward just enough to create a smaller target, chin tucked right behind it. His weight was distributed lightly through the hips, and the rear heel barely kissed the ground; he was ready to slip or pivot.

“That’s fair. I might even respect the beskar.”

Internally, there wasn’t any drama.

“But if it keeps living in my lane..” his chin dipped a few more degrees, eyes locked forward, “.. Imma break it anyway.”

Yeah. It wasn’t the first time some absurd chit left his mouth in moments like this. Crazier still, a lightsaber wouldn’t even cut through it. But there was nothing wrong with sharpening belief before the blood followed.

No bell or buzzer, only the mutual understanding that it was time to work.

He wouldn’t bite on the first jab, watching as it left Acier’s shoulder. The lead foot slid half a step to the right, outside of their shared line, hips turning as well. The rest of his body followed as the strike brushed the air where he’d been only a second earlier. But the second, he let that one touch his guard, nothing more than a soft parry where he could gauge the potential power behind it.

An immediate response would not follow, choosing to just let the rhythm finish. Then, he moved. The first jab snapped high, not thrown with malice, not even with real intent. He just wanted to lift Acier’s guard possibly. His head moved along with it, staying off the line as to shun any invite for a counter. Knees flexed for the second, launching another jab for the body, sailing just beneath where he estimated an elbow might be.

There wasn't any desire for spectacle or scoring points, just an entire language of touch and response waiting to be spoken, as they were just getting started.

The left hand never drifted, parked tight by his jaw, ready to answer.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Thrantin

Equipment:
Training Gear| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace felt the second jab land on guard and noted the difference immediately. Lysander didn't meet it with force. A read, not a block.

Then the response came. High jab first. Clean. Purposeful. Meant to lift his eyes, not crack his skull. Ace rolled with it rather than slipping hard, letting the punch skim past his lead shoulder as his head drifted just off center. He didn't counter. Not yet. He clocked the head movement more than the jab itself: efficient, disciplined, no ego in it.

The body jab followed. Ace saw the knees flex before the hand even moved. His right elbow tucked tight to his ribs, cutting off the opening as his torso braced. The jab slipped beneath his arm and scraped past instead of driving into him.

And through all of it, Ace had clocked that Lysander's left never left home. That changed things, if slightly.

The ashen-haired teen stepped in behind a feint, not with the jab, but with his shoulders. A subtle dip that suggested another probe high. Then his real jab followed, heavier this time, not snapping but posting against the guard to occupy and make the space uncomfortable.

He stayed there just long enough for Lysander to feel the weight, then slid half a step to his own outside, reclaiming the lane Lysander had used earlier. It was quiet pressure.

Ace's left stayed tight to his cheek as he moved. His right hovered loose and ready, eyes flicking once more to Lysander's lead shoulder. He didn't throw again right away. He just stayed close enough that distance itself started doing the work, letting Lysander know this wasn't going to be about speed or flash.

This was going to be about who could live in the pocket longer.

And Ace had built a life there.

Lysander von Ascania​