Torvan Vizsla once wore his name like armor.
Clan Vizsla raised him to fight, to command, to endure , and for a long time he did all three without hesitation. He learned war early and well, but war is a hungry teacher. By the time Tor turned his back on the heart of the Clan, the victories had begun to feel hollow. Too many brothers were gone. Too many faces followed him into sleep. He did not leave in disgrace or anger - he left because staying meant becoming someone he no longer recognised.
Kestri was never meant to be a refuge. It was simply a place where work needed doing.
Tor arrived during the Enclave years and took a place in Kestri Hypernautics Shipyard under the Quartermaster, a woman who believed ships were living things, deserving of respect, patience, and uncompromising standards. Under her, Tor learned to trade the chaos of the battlefield for the discipline of the yards. He discovered that survival often began long before blaster fire, in reinforced hulls, balanced thrusters, and engines tuned by someone who cared enough to listen.
When the Quartermaster was killed in battle, Kestri faltered. Tor did not mourn loudly. He stepped into the empty space she left because someone had to, because ships still needed to fly and patrols still needed to hold. There was no announcement, no challenge - only work continuing where it could not afford to stop.
Years passed. Kestri burned, was scarred, and was rebuilt. Through it all, Tor remained.
Now the primary Shipwright of Kestri Hypernautics, Torvan Vizsla is a familiar figure in the yards - broad, quiet, and stained with grease and ash. He knows the weaknesses of every design that ever passed through Enclave hands, and the strengths that kept crews alive when doctrine failed them. If Tor signs off on a ship, it will fly. More importantly, it will return.
When the forge is needed, Tor answers without ceremony. He is not an Armorer by title, but his hands know beskar intimately. He shapes it the way he shapes ships - carefully, practically, and without reverence for myth. His own armor bears the marks of repeated repair, reforged rather than replaced, blue plates darkened by heat and time.
Though he no longer seeks battle, Tor has never forgotten how to wage it. When Kestri is threatened, he arms himself without hesitation and stands where he is needed. He fights with the restraint of someone who has learned the cost of excess and the precision of someone who has survived long enough to be dangerous. When the fighting ends, he returns to the yards as if war were simply another failure to be corrected.
Torvan Vizsla does not speak often of Clan Vizsla of Mandalore, nor does he need to.
His legacy is written instead in the ships that hold together under fire, the steel shaped when there is no one else to do it, and the quiet certainty that Kestri endures...because someone like Tor chose to stay.
