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 ​