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.​

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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.​

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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.​

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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.​

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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.​

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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.​

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

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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.​

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

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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
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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.”