Private Through Flame and Oath

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Mandalorian Fortress
R O O N
Aether Verd Aurelian Veruna

The air on Roon shimmered with heat and promise. From the elevated terraces of the forge complex within the Mandalorian Fortress, the rhythmic shuffle of clan members echoed faintly from below, a living heartbeat of the clans gathering for what would soon become a historic moment: the lighting of a new War Forge.

Sibylla stood beside one of the great braziers that framed the ceremonial grounds. The warm light of the flames highlighted the bronze embroidery on her cream dress, secured at the waist by a thick Mandalorian belt gifted by one of the Elders she deeply respected. Bronze cuffs encircled her wrists, each etched with faint clan sigils given in friendship. The only visible marks of her interim station as Queen of Naboo were the slender gold circlet resting upon her brow and the dark maroon stain of the Scar of Remembrance that colored her lower lip.

The rich length of her chestnut hair was pulled back in a soft ponytail with loose tendrils framing her face, stirred gently in the evening breeze. The garnet earrings that swayed at her ears caught the glow of the braziers, flickering like small embers when she turned her head. She looked every bit the blend of Nabooan grace and Mandalorian respect she had worked so hard to embody.

And yet, the title of Queen still felt strange on her shoulders. Interim or not, it carried a weight she had thought she could step back from. In the wake of Kalantha's kidnapping and the Magistre's death, it was Aurelian who bore that mantle as interim High Chancellor with the same composure he had briefly worn as Naboo's King. Meanwhile, she now held the throne as expected of the Voice, along with the responsibility of being the Republic's Ambassador to the Mandalorian Empire. It was dizzying at times, how quickly the galaxy could shift around a single heartbeat.

Still, she told herself, this was good.

They had spent the past few days on Roon together, seeing to the final preparations for the joint session between the High Republic and the Mandalorian Empire. The discussions had been open, the receptions warm, with the undercurrent of coexisting diplomacy lingering. Tonight, though, the forge would take precedence. The lighting of a War Forge was not merely a ceremony of creation; it was a declaration of endurance, of unity between the clans, and of Mandalore's ability to forge its own destiny anew.

Sibylla drew in a slow breath, her hazel eyes tracing the swirl of banners and the movement of spectators settling into their places. She had seen many ceremonies in her life, but there was something different here. Something new and if she were honest in the light of the experience with Set and Vere and their lore, could understand the Mandalorian's ties to their culture because of it.

A soft smile touched her lips, the kind that reached her eyes and warmed them from within with golden fire. She folded her hands in front of her and let the moment breathe.

As the flames of the braziers danced higher, Sibylla waited for Mand'alor Aether Verd to begin the ceremony to ignite the War Forge. She anticipated Aurelian joining her side and wondered what new chapter would be forged in the glow of Mandalore's fire.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Roon
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd

Aurelian appeared behind her, moving like a shadow caught in sunlight. His tunic, black silk and open at the throat, was far too elegant for Mandalorian ground. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, showing a glint of his tanned skin.

He bumped her shoulder lightly, a grin flickering across his mouth as he stood beside her. For a moment, he simply watched with her: the banners, the sparks climbing into the evening haze, the forge masters making their final preparations.

Then he leaned in, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Do you want to trade places yet?" he murmured. "Saving the Republic is exhausting work. I much prefer the title of King." That familiar, lazy mischief colored his tone, always just a step away from sincerity. "Though I admit," he added, glancing at her circlet, "calling you Queen has its charms."

He lingered on the thought, then softened, almost imperceptibly. "You look lovely by the way."

The silence stretched, humming with the forge's deep rhythm, before he tilted his head toward the towering, unlit structure. "So tell me," he said, a hint of impatience in his voice, "what exactly is this spectacle of theirs? A new way to test our patience before supper?"

​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORIAN FORTRESS, ROON

The fortress at Roon had grown swiftly in recent months. Its terraces and foundries no longer echoed with the hum of mere preparation, but with the thunder of rebirth. In the wake of the Diarchy’s betrayal and the Galactic Empire’s global declaration of war, the Mandalorian Empire had turned its gaze inward and upward. Every wall, every armory, every forge had been reinforced in anticipation of the fire to come. And tonight, beneath the vast banners of crimson and gold, that vigilance would take form. The War Forge stood at the center of it all, a colossal structure of black beskar that loomed like a sleeping titan, waiting to breathe flame.

Before it stood the Mand’alor.

Aether’s armor caught the light of the ceremonial braziers, its charcoal sheen broken by the crimson cloak that flowed from his shoulders. The fire painted the plates in shifting tones, like veins of lava running through iron. He stood silent for a long moment, letting the murmur of the crowd rise and fall until it was time.

Then he raised his fist. The sound across the terrace died at once, replaced by the crackle of the flames. Aether reached into the nearest brazier and drew forth a torch, its head wreathed in living fire. The heat licked across his gauntlet as he lifted it high above his head. His visor swept across the gathered assembly: the lines of armored warriors, the banners of countless clans, and at the edge of the platform, the Nabooan delegation, Queen Sibylla and the Chancellor, Aurelian Veruna. He gave them each a nod before speaking.

His voice carried like rolling thunder. “Our people are no stranger to war,” he began. “It is the fire that molds us. The hammer that shapes us. It is our god, our heart, our Way. The lighting of this War Forge is not the birth of industry, it is the renewal of faith. Each strike of steel, each breath of flame, is a prayer to Kad Ha’rangir, God of War. May He be pleased. May our ancestors in the Manda be pleased. And may we fight with ferocity and die with honor.”

His fist came down upon his chestplate with a resounding crack. A thousand warriors followed suit. The courtyard rang with the roar of metal upon metal, a living heartbeat that reverberated through the forge itself. Then Aether turned.

He lowered the torch into the fuel channel that snaked toward the massive structure. The line ignited in a swift, brilliant surge that raced toward the heart of the forge. A moment later, the War Forge came alive. Fire surged through its inner vents, climbing until it roared through the topmost vents in a geyser of light. The air trembled. It was as if a Mythosaur had awakened beneath their feet and screamed its defiance to the heavens.

The Mandalorians erupted in cheers.

Aether turned back to them, raising his fist once more. “For Mandalore!”

The answer thundered back, voices joined in fierce unity, a chant that filled the sky with conviction. For Mandalore. For Mandalore. For Mandalore.

When the echoes finally subsided, Aether replaced the torch in its brazier. The celebration began to shift into motion. Warriors and artisans moved toward their stations. Some carried shards of ruined beskar’gam, remnants of fallen kin, to be reforged into armor for new warriors. Others prepared molds and tongs to receive the molten metal that would soon pour from the Forge’s blazing heart. The rhythm of Mandalore resumed, purposeful and alive.

Through it all, one truth was made plain: Mandalore was ready to fight.

As the noise softened into the steady hum of labor, Aether removed his helm and turned toward the guests of Naboo. The firelight caught the gold in his eyes as he approached, expression calm yet warm.

“Your Majesties,” he greeted, inclining his head. “Welcome once more to Roon. Much has changed since our last meeting.” His gaze moved between them, a flicker of curiosity and quiet respect behind it. “Tell me, how are you faring, in these days of Chaos?”​

Sibylla Abrantes , Aurelian Veruna