Private Transmissions Through Time

[Lysander von Ascania]

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To: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From : Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
Subject : Hello from Kor’Ethyr Academy!

Hey Sibylla!

Okay okay, I know— this email is wayyy overdue, and I’m probably the galaxy’s worst pen pal, but hear me out: settling down on Korriban has been its own crazy journey!

So, I’ve got a roommate now. He’s actually not completely terrible, which is, like, surprising. The only time he's not brooding is when he's asleep. But at least he doesn't snore. It's the little wins, you know?

Then there’s this one Zabrak kid. Let’s just say we’re not exactly on friendly terms. It all started with him staring at me, and I might have let a little comment slip. Next thing you know, words were exchanged, and it escalated into a full blown confrontation that kinda sorta pulled in other students and even the faculty. But yeah, I’m pretty sure we’re totally locked in a rivalry now. Honestly, part of me thinks he’s just jealous that my hair game is stronger than his. Who knows?

Oh, and the sand! It’s everywhere. I swear it defies physics by getting into my eyes somehow even when I’m indoors! Sometimes.. I wonder if Korriban has it out for me personally.

I’ve also started exploring a bit whenever I get some free time. The landscapes here are harsh and much different than Naboo, but still kind of beautiful in their own way.

I keep wondering how you're doing and what's new in Theed? Any interesting speeches or debates in the Senate lately? And I definitely need some of your snark to survive this place. Quips, jokes, maybe some life advice.. I’ll take anything! I guess you could say I kind of miss it.

Can’t wait to hear back from you.

Best,
Lysander

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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To : Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
From: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
Subject: Re: Hello from Kor'Ethyr Academy!

Hello Lysander,

You know, for a self proclaimed terrible pen pal, I think you're doing a much better job than some others I could name (Cassian... but we won't talk about him). Korriban's been an interesting choice for you for self-exploration, though I find it hard to imagine a place where the sand gets in your eyes, even indoors. I've never been to a desert world, much less one whose composition spurs conspiracy theories regarding its attempts to attack me...

May I perhaps recommend a set of goggles and a hat?

As for your roommate, I'm glad to hear he's not completely unbearable, although I must admit, your little 'rivalry' with your other companion sounds... extremely familiar. A Zabrak in particular? How very on brand. However, I do think you should hold on to the one-up you've got with your hair game. Let him stew in his own jealousy as he clearly doesn't understand the delicate artistry that goes into the perfect coif.

As for your question about Theed... well, it is complicated, although I am pleased to relay that I am working as an intern with Senator Sarn of Enarch. As a brief overview, Enarc was the first world to join the Royal Republic and still has ties to the Trade Federation and Droid Manufacturing. My father is the Ambassador of Naboo for Enarc, and he has been working closely with the Senator in the transition to coming over under the sovereignty of Naboo.

Yes, I realize that this makes it seem as if my appointment was based on nepotism, but I assure you I have worked hard for my placement. So far, I've been familiarizing myself with the new systems that have entered the Royal Republic's sovereignty. It's..an interesting shift from domestic affairs in the Junior Representatives. I'll be assisting Senator Sarn in the upcoming session regarding humanitarian work with the Confederacy and the Foundation. I've my concerns with both, especially in the wake of the State of Emergency set by the Assembly. A discussion for later, I suppose, or else this will get too lengthy to read.

And life advice? From me? Goodness, perhaps this self-discovery excursion has had an effect on you. However, take this sage bit of advice...remember, sand is good for exfoliating, not for self-reflection. Try not to lose yourself in the dunes. Or worse, get sand in places where it's hard to get out.

Also, you still owe me a sandwich and dessert; or will I have to wait until after your next midlife crisis sabbatical is complete?

Take care of yourself out there. Just don't get into too many more rivalries. The galaxy's already a complicated place without adding more.

Regards,

Sibylla

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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To: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From : Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
Subject : Re: Hello from Kor’Ethyr Academy!

Sibylla,

Surely this must be a different Cassian— because the one I'm most familiar with is in a league of his own.

Your suggestion for the hat and goggles have been noted— they could without a doubt add a bit of character to my new all black wardrobe. Speaking of, please tell me you’ve said goodbye to the orange phase. Maybe a color that's less.. blinding? Don't make me plan an intervention!

I suppose you've seen right through me. It's my specialty. At least it keeps things interesting. And don’t worry! The golden mane is sacred. So, I've got the hair game on lock; he's just going to have to deal with it.

Congrats on landing the internship with Senator Sarn! Who knows where this could take you. Let them talk about family influence and privilege all they want; your results will speak for themselves. Their opinions are irrelevant; it changes nothing. Personally, I would guess that your achievements are well deserved.

Enarc's complexities do sound like quite the challenge, but I'm confident you'll help begin piecing it all together. On a side note, the state of emergency sounds a bit concerning to me. I believe there might have been alternative solutions that weren't as.. drastic?

Suure, I'll just keep the sand for skincare! With wisdom like yours, I may just survive these ‘dunes’ after all.

Making that sandwich and getting your dessert is my top priority when I return to Naboo. Think I can snag a spot on your calendar?

I do hope amidst the chaos of politics and bureaucracy, it brings more insight rather than frustration. As for rivalries, I’ll try harder to not spark further incidents. I can't make any guarantees, though. Where's the fun in that?

But honestly, Korriban has tested me in ways I hadn't anticipated, both internally and externally. But maybe that's exactly what I need right now— a challenge to push my limits, offer more growth, and reveal new things I might not have discovered otherwise.

Lastly, the weeds of politics don’t scare me. If you ever need someone to bounce ideas off or vent about it, I’m all ears (or eyes, I guess).

Best,
Lysander

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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To : Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
Subject: Re: Re: Hello from Kor’Ethyr Academy!

Lysander,

Oh, which Cassian are you referring to? Let's compare notes. I'm sure mine is more prone to disapproving chidings than yours.

I'll take your notes on my color palette under advisement. The orange stays, though. Someone in this exchange has to maintain some vibrancy, and Shiraya knows it isn't going to be the brooding monk on Korriban.

I do appreciate the offer to lend an ear for my political grievances, and most assuredly, I'll hold you to that... I've been musing on it and while the State of Emergency is not ideal, it has at least provided a temporary buffer against what could have been utter chaos. Do I believe alternative solutions were possible? Absolutely. But I also understand that in times of instability, sometimes the lesser evil is a bit of enforced order over complete uncertainty. With any luck, it won't last long. We still have democratic principles to uphold, after all.

How would Ukatis handle a similar situation?

And while we're on the subject of political entanglements, yes, the internship with Senator Sarn has been exciting; we had a particularly charged assembly with the Royal Republic, the Confederacy, and the Foundation, which, admittedly, isn't a government entity or alliance of worlds, but a humanitarian movement. We were there to discuss the situation with the refugee crisis, but it turned into a potential alliance discourse.

I'll provide updates as matters conclude, but what are your thoughts on that? I am concerned about stepping into an alliance so soon during the transition of entry of several worlds and systems into the Royal Republic that do not have the same culture or loyalty to the Royal Republic as those from Naboo. I fear that there may be more than a few clashes of perspectives, and an alliance so soon might be fuel to a fire.

Either way, the whispers about privilege and nepotism are predictable, but frankly, I have neither the time nor the patience to entertain people whose greatest accomplishment is throwing stones from the sidelines. Results will speak for themselves, and they will be my response.

Now, on to more pressing matters: my calendar is exceptionally full, but I suppose I can pencil you in for that sandwich and dessert. However, if you return from your sabbatical speaking exclusively in cryptic philosophical musings about self-discovery, I will cancel our lunch and refer you to Cassian for a reality check. Consider that your one and only warning.

I expect an update on whatever existential trials Korriban throws at you next. May they be suitably challenging but not too character building. You don't need that much growth.

Try not to get possessed,

Sibylla

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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To: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From : Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
Subject : Re: Re: Hello from Kor’Ethyr Academy!

Sibylla,

Well, the Cassian I know is the type who naturally commands respect, the kind you'd trust to lead an army into battle if you will? Think of a supporting character from a HoloDrama that has a way of stealing the spotlight and a large fanbase. He's tall, with super strong arms, and has this signature smirk everyone seems to like.

And on second thought, I think we should move on from this topic now. If this does somehow oddly turn out to be the same guy, I’ll be very honest— I truly hope he never writes to you again.

I really don’t need that kind of competition in my life, just to make sure my emails actually get a response!

Do savor that last comment; you won’t hear it twice.

A splash of orange is ok, I suppose. But if you're truly set on this whole ‘Jawa aesthetic’, then it's something I’ll just learn to accept. After all, it's your brain that has made me decide to stick around a little longer than I normally would.

I see your reasoning, and it’s certainly a valid perspective. My only concern is how often these temporary measures have a way of becoming long term. As I continue learning more about the other side of the Force, I’ve started to recently see how the Light and Dark aren’t as different as they may seem. The Light’s constant pursuit of "peace", while noble, often turns into the very reason for more conflict. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?

At least the Sith don't pretend to be something they're not. Without apology, even. That, I can at least respect.

Yes, I’m wearing all black as I write this. No, it hasn’t influenced my words tonight.

Ukatis would probably remain rooted in tradition, hierarchy, and loyalty to the crown. Sprinkle in a few practical measures, and you’d see a fine balance between unity and.. well, self-interest. Honestly, the idea of leaving too much control in the hands of the nobility would be alarming, even for me. Should a situation like that ever occur, it might even test the monarchy’s ability to hold everything together without falling apart.

That sounds like an incredible experience. It must have been fascinating to be part of such important discussions with many diverse groups involved. I hope it continues to be a rewarding and positive journey for you, and I also hope this internship continues to give you opportunities to grow your skills. And sure, I guess I’m excited for you— but you better not think that means I’ll hold back when it’s time for a real debate.

Successfully integrating these worlds into the Royal Republic should be the top priority. These new worlds will need time to adapt to our system/structure. I can’t help but feel that these external entities have potential to spark more internal conflict, as you seem to believe.

Humanitarian efforts are admirable, but again, it falls back on the Republic's stability. It sounds to me like they’re creating new dependencies that only take up both focus and resources. These new worlds also need guidance into shared culture, and vision, which will also require patience.

Dare I say it, we could actually be close to agreeing on something?

I have no idea how to process that.

You're right. The strongest criticism often comes from those who are the least invested. That's how I'd feel about anyone who dares to criticize me for what I've endured on Korriban. If they haven't stepped into the arena themselves, I don't want to hear about it.

I'm highly tempted by this proposed lunch, but the threatening overtone is a little troubling. I'll have you know my presence is a gift! Oh, forgive me for daring to contemplate the big questions. I take it you’d rather stick to things such as weather, or pod-racing stats? I knew there was nothing more to you than the endless politics of the Senate.

But no rush, pencil me in soon.

And please explain to me what you mean by not needing much growth. Are you saying I'm already flawless, like.. forged in the fires of the galaxy? Because honestly, that's what it sounds like. Feels good to be recognized.

Well, now that all of that has been addressed, I can give you a quick update!

I recently visited a planet called Valrar, where I had to track and log various Sithspawn. They were definitely more terrifying than fascinating! Even the smaller cute ones were lethal. I might have taken some pictures, but I was a bit concerned about getting too close, especially since we were only allowed to carry a field knife for protection. Obviously, I made it back in one piece!

There are three Houses at the academy, each with different paths. I joined House Derriphan, which is dedicated to scholarly arts. The other Houses focus on warriors or generalists. With that, I've swapped lightsaber drills to pursue sorcery, which happens to be offered by Derrphan's Professor-- a Neti. Yep, a big, grouchy ass sentient tree thing. I can't tell if she's disappointed in all the acolytes or just hates the entire galaxy most days. I've been seeing her around this one Sith Lord who never takes off his mask. She actually seems happy then.

Lately, my studies have been pushing me deeper into philosophy, where I’ve grappled with questions about power and sentient behavior, and then into history, exploring different lessons from ancient empires. Religion, too, has been intriguing.

Well, I guess that’s it for now!

Bogan’s Blessing,
Lysander

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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To : Lysander von Ascania <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From: Sibylla Abrantes <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
Subject:You, Me, and the Jawa Aesthetic

Lysander,

Your self-proclaimed comm charisma remains unmatched. I nearly considered not responding, just to preserve your sense of tragic romantic competition with Cassian...but alas, I’m far too charitable. Consider this mercy in literary form.

As for Cassian: yes, tall. Yes, strong. Yes, smirks like he's the hero in someone else's holo-drama. But you have the all-black wardrobe and existential angst combo working for you, so don’t fret. There's an audience for both.

You’ll be so pleased to hear I haven’t been imprisoned for slipping away during the Battle for Dee’ja Peak. No tribunal, no stern family lecture (yet), and no public scandal. The generators fell, and thankfully the reinforcements from House Abrantes and the Royal Naboo Security Forces arrived.

Naturally, Cassian now insists I have a permanent guard detail. Charming, isn’t it? I told him if I wanted to be babysat, I’d adopt a Nexu. But here we are. If we do manage to meet again, perhaps you can make use of whatever Jedi sleight-of-hand or Force misdirection you claim to be learning. Unless, of course, you're into being trailed by grim-faced security officers in ceremonial armor.

As for what I’ve been up to, aside from surviving that nearly drowning conflict, Mother has been organizing an art auction to benefit displaced communities. Mostly Nabooan pieces, some quite historic, and several were recovered after the siege of Theed. It’s the kind of affair where people smile politely while bidding a small fortune, and then try to out-charm one another in the name of philanthropy. Still, it’s a cause worth supporting. If you’re around, you should come. Consider it a break from philosophical wrestling with your sentient tree professor.

Speaking of which, Valrar? Sithspawn? A field knife?! Honestly, if I vanish for five minutes, Cassian sends a full team to recover me, and here you are making friends with murder beasts under the supervision of a barkskinned misanthrope. I’m not sure whether I’m impressed or worried. Possibly both.

So, has your desert sabbatical ended, or are you still baking yourself on Korriban like a particularly angsty pastry? I assume you’re not working on your wardrobe while there, black cloaks being the dominant theme and all. May I remind you that we still have much to discuss and clarify about the matter, but that would be best suited in person. Nonethe less, do keep me updated, will you? With luck, the next time I see you, it won’t involve another near-death experience.


Warmly (in spite of your wardrobe),

Sibylla

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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To: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From : Lysander von Ascania <l.von.ascania@ukatismail.holo>
Subject : Sand, barbells, and an invitation

Dear Sibylla,

Your emails are as refreshing as the sunrise on Naboo. Just kidding. Sort of. Guess who recently binge watched the last two seasons of Upton Manor again? So, nothing drastic has happened since returning to the Outer Rim. I've just been consumed by training and studying. The sessions have been getting more intense though. Even so, most mornings now begin with me out on a run. There’s a certain solitude about it that I really enjoy. Sure, Sith may be known for their rivalries, but this feels more like a competition with myself than others.

Without a doubt, I’m more focused here on Korriban, and see myself committed to the Kor’ethyr Academy for the foreseeable future. Still, I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss the lakes and gardens back on Naboo. Trying to bridge the gap is my biggest philosophical question lately.

Oh, the relief! I'm beyond grateful we can put the matter of Cassian to rest. However, I do appreciate the acknowledgement for my individuality, and even more so that I don’t need to overthink every detail of comparison. Trailing in his shadow sounds awful. Back to the topic of wardrobes, it might sound simple, but it’s so much more than wearing all black! There’s an art to it! Don't worry, I can teach you when the time is appropriate. Plus, I’ve been told my hair makes the darker shades really pop out. But then again, the same students have said my hair looks big…like clouds, and full of secrets? Whatever that means?

I’ll certainly give it my best for the charity event. Luckily, the academy’s undead guards do not mirror Cassian’s strictness one bit! Just a raised eyebrow here and there.

As far as the social realm goes, I guess you could say I've forged an alliance with an acolyte named Naamino through iron; we train at the gym several nights a week. We're not exactly close, but it keeps me grounded in ambition and growth one rep at a time rather than hedonistic pursuits.

Speaking of, the same guy dropped some news earlier. There’s a metal concert coming up here on Korriban next week. Any chance I could convince you to join? I know it's short notice, but it might offer a break from your own duties and provide a solid excuse to go shopping for something to join our all black aesthetic. Plus, he and a few others have grown quite curious about you; yes, I was caught reading one of your emails mid-lecture recently.

Pondering the Force,
Lysander

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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To : Lysander von Ascania <L.von.Ascania@UkatisMail.holo>
From: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
Subject: Notes from a Galaxy Slightly More on Fire

Dear Lysander,

I apologize for my delay in response. Things have been hectic in response to the Steller Convergence, but I will discuss more later. I suppose I should be flattered that you've been reading my letters during lectures. Either your professors are very forgiving, or they've resigned themselves to the fact that some students will never not be dramatic. I do hope I'm making a favorable impression on your cohort, even if from afar.

In any case, the quiet of your morning runs sounds enviable. Mine have been replaced by early meetings with ambassadors who consider subtle barbs a diplomatic art form and whose loyalty to the Royal Republic stretches about as far as a senator's memory during budget season.

Karlinus has been particularly... prickly. I suspect half the delegation thinks we're trying to culturally annex their cuisine. Kalinda's ambassador keeps quoting poetry, which would be charming if it weren't also veiled threats about 'winds of sovereignty' and 'waves of resistance.' And the Ropagi II senator appears to enjoy speaking only in metaphor. Yesterday he likened the Steller Convergence to 'a serpent coiled around the spires of fate.' I nodded like that meant anything.

Truthfully, though, the transition has been harder than I expected. The Convergence reshaped more than star charts; it dislodged assumptions, identities, allegiances. These systems aren't just being asked to join a new government; they're trying to make sense of what galaxy they now belong to.

I've spent more time lately listening and trying to assist Senator Sarn to the best of my abilities, but I'm beginning to see that not everyone has the luxury of adapting quickly. For all our debates and ceremonies, some people are simply trying to survive the new gravity of it all.

Which leads me to a rare moment of sincerity: what do you make of it? The Convergence, I mean. Any theories from your side of the stars? Rumors from the ruins? Any strange disturbances during those eerily silent runs of yours?

While I would be curious to attend a metal concert, I am concerned that my recently acquired guard shadow will follow me there; to which will be a direct feed to Cassian. Do you have any tips on being able to properly distract him? However, if I do come, I won't be shopping for your aesthetic. But I might consider letting you choose my earrings.

Fondly (and with precisely one raised eyebrow),

Sibylla

P.S. Your hair does look like it's full of secrets. But then, so do you. I try not to hold it against either of you. That said, and for all appearances, I am concerned, and while I’ve no doubt you’ve given it your usual brand of solemn consideration, I’d like to understand what exactly is going on. Unless, of course, you’ve taken some silent vow of monastic discretion, in which case I shall resign myself to speculation. Begrudgingly.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

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To: Sibylla Abrantes <s.i.abrantes@theednet.holo>
From : Lysander von Ascania <l.von.ascania@ukatismail.holo>
Subject : Space Blues

[ Inspo ]

Sibylla,

I keep wondering

If you stayed

Would the music have steadied you

Like a hand

Kept you near

Would it have lifted the burden of responsibility

The weight from your shoulders

Even if for just a song

Would it have allowed you to finally breathe

Without expectation

Without duty

Maybe

I could have seen you laugh

Without armor

The way I've always imagined

Not out of obligation

Not to just keep the peace

Nor for the sake of diplomacy

No demands

But instead

For once

You had nothing to carry

Would you have let the mask slip away

Even if only for a heartbeat

Or would you have looked past me

Sibylla

You always run

But

You never really leave

In my thoughts

In my messages

The spaces in-between

It always makes me wonder

And worse

It still makes me hope

Hope that someday

You won’t just come looking for me

You’ll actually stay

--Lysander

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Lysander von Ascania

Sibylla stood on the balcony, overlooking the reconstruction of the capital of Dee'ja Peak. The faint golden rays of the warm Naboo approaching sunset cast her willowy form in its dancing golden light.

She wore a light chiffon summer gown in a rainbow of colors, akin to a watercolor painting of Naboo's landscape: bright, cheerful, and youthful.

Murmurs in the past few months had become a reality, and in the wake of what was to come, Sibylla felt an increase of pressure that settled upon her shoulders and within her breast. However, the impending political path she was elected to pursue did not evoke the same nervous energy that rereading Lysander's comm message did.

Pearly white teeth would nibble on the fullness of her lower lip as Siyblla gave a sigh, raising her head from the tablet screen up towards the descending golden sphere of Naboo's sun.

Lysander could wax lyrical when he wanted to, and lately, that tendency had been becoming more and more evident in the drafts of ballads he had shared.

Normally, Sibylla would have retorted quickly with a humorous but satirlycal friendly quip that the blonde teenager was stepping into his Nobleman Bard era.

However, when one reads between the lines, things weren’t as wittily quippy anymore.

Although they hadn't seen each other recently, the months of correspondence, shared thoughts, concerns, and playful banter had made Sibylla increasingly aware of the Ukatian teenager. He had mentioned that he had explored Korriban, a planet notorious for its connection to the Sith, in an effort to better himself. The more he shared, the more Sibylla realized that he was following a path that was counterproductive to the Jedi ascetic lifestyle she had playfully teased him about when they first met.

And while Sibylla was not personally privy to interactions with the Sith, House Abrantes had lived through Sith and Confederacy occupation in generations past. It had been a topic Sibylla had avoided to discuss over missive and wanted to have face to face, but reality and how hard it had been to actually met up was starting to frustrate her.

She wanted to hear it from his own terms, face to face, what was his goal was. What were his aspirations? What that meant for him. For his family. For his Master at the Shiraya Order. What it meant... for them.

Pragmatism told Sibylla that Lysander, while prone to charming antics and high ambitions, wasn't a fool. His mind was sharp and in conversations, gave Sibylla an inkling that he wasn't brash in the important decisions of his life.

That's why Sibylla wanted to hear him out.

Yet, on top of all that came the growing realization that it wasn't just as a friend that Sibylla wanted to know. And while she had been doing her best to place a line of demarcation behind quips and ongoing banter, Lysander's pointed commentary on her deliberate attempts at a distance and avoiding getting closer was weighing on her -- because he wasn't wrong.

While Sibylla had been trained at a young age for court life and one saturated in politics, carefully curated words, and strategic alliances… but dealing with such matters as how Lysander had become more than just a friendly pen pal correspondence and a breath of much needed amusement and relief within the tensions of her ambitions and duties was something she wasn’t used to.

She had found herself missing him more than she cared to admit.

Another heavy sigh escaped Sibylla's lips as she cast a contemplative glance back down at the glowing tablet in front of her. The intricate display flickered softly, illuminating her features as she wrestled with the dichotomy of her thoughts. How should she respond?

So here she was, and while the art of discourse was her forte, in this moment she felt a flutter of nervousness. Apprehension. Not because she was uncomfortable with Lysander; but because she was still struggling to figure out her own emotions amidst all this as well.

The irony was that she didn't know whom to turn to in order to discuss what was on her mind. To figure it out. Going to Lysander, the very subject of her thoughts, was out of the question. She certainly couldn't approach her brothers. It felt strange to confide in her mother, and honestly, in the current political landscape with the Royal Houses, she didn't view her counterparts among the Junior Representatives as close enough to discuss her feelings and their implications.

One thing was certain: she couldn't keep Lysander waiting for a reply. Especially after he had sent her a previous lyrical piece that kept her awake at night, restlessly rereading every line and attaching exaggerated meanings and wild interpretations like a lovesick teen hunting for hidden messages in a romcom.

It was disrespectful, and he deserved better. Perhaps - - as a slight ache shot through her chest no differently than the typical confused teenager would -- much better than me.

All that to say that perhaps in her hyperbolic overthinking of it all, her falacy was to continue to respond in banter and wit to his piece that summarized her as an Ewok.

You must stop that. I can't be expected to read things like this with a straight face and still pretend I'm doing anything useful today.

-- And no, before you ask, I'm not counting the trees in the forest I apparently own.

Perhaps later in hindsight, she should have been more open to discourse. To the thoughts that had tumbled and churned in her mind. To what she’d been feeling. But what does a seventeen year old girl with no previous experience in matters of the heart know of the right way to act and how honesty, especially timing, is so very, very important.

That is something that, unfortunately, is experienced in real life.

Achingly so.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes

The Kaggath is the reward. This camp is the war.

Korriban’s sun cast long shadows across the worn training mats of the training grounds. Lysander leaned against one of the stone walls, chest heaving, breath ragged. Each inhale demanded great effort. The acolyte’s muscles were burning as sweat streamed down his forehead and back, tracing the bridge of his nose, and threatening to hinder his vision.

Being the lone representative from the Kor’Ethyr Academy in the upcoming Galactic Kaggath, the weight carried felt heavier than ever.

Now, being in fight camp, his fight camp, the routine programmed by the instructor demanded two-a-days, which allowed little time to recover. Mornings consisted of grappling drills; nights turned into striking sessions, where both fists and elbows became unforgiving

Between that, he was ordered to carve time for strength and conditioning. Soreness clouded his body constantly. Fatigue was now his closest companion. But beneath the physical aches, there was something honing inside the acolyte. He found purpose in the chaos, an edge that cut through everything else like a vibrodagger, forging him into something more resilient, and stronger.

Tonight’s focus was a domain where the teen thrived, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few tricks up his sleeve. His new master had armed him with skills taken from Darth Ophidia's teachings, and a professor had gifted him with deadly tools to add to the arsenal.

The clang of leather gloves and grunts alike faded as another round of sparring ended. Lysander could taste the metallic iron in his mouth, along with the sting of fresh bruises blooming across his abdomen and ribs. Everything outside the training ground walls vanished. His social life had become nonexistent--laughter and conversation were sacrificed. All distractions were severed with the precision of a surgeon.

A small price to pay for the pursuit of victory.

But he wasn’t doing this alone. Not really. His team, being those who bled beside him, had become his tribe, bonded through suffering.

The buzzer pierced the air, a sound that now haunted his dreams. He paced back to the edge of the ring, rolling his shoulders, tightening the wraps around his wrists, his mind bracing for the violence that awaited.

Eventually, he'd lost track of the rounds. While the mats were being reset by one of the trainers, he made his way toward the gym bag in the corner. Since the zipper was already half open, he reached into and grabbed the water bottle. But that wasn't what stopped him, it was the familiar glow of a notification on his datapad. Something about it made his chest suddenly tighten, for he'd been waiting for it, hoping for it, much longer than he wanted to admit. With a shaky hand the water spilled across his face as he drank heavily. Even so, the blonde's focus was locked on the device, and seconds later, he gave in, reaching inside and sliding it out.

He stared at the message for a long moment, reading it more than once, feeling a different kind of sting now. This one was slower, heavier, and sinking. Unfortunately, there was no banter or bravado to wear as armor. Not here. The poem wasn’t the first time he’d peeled back the carefree facade most people knew him by, willingly handing over his heart, hoping that she might possibly meet him there. But she didn’t.

Instead, all he received was more distance.

Unlike the other wounds his body wore, this one didn’t bleed.

And somehow, it hurt more than all of them.

Another round was called to reset. This time, he didn't budge. A reply had already started forming, but he paused, then deleted every letter.

After days of silence, of waiting, here he was, jumping like a fool to respond. Lysander might have lacked actual experience, especially since he’d been fixated on the junior representative for so long, but he wasn’t naive. The Sith understood the art of push and pull, something he’d acquired just from watching and listening. He knew when to lean in, when to give space, when to be seen, and when to disappear.

The urge to respond too quickly would only lower his worth. Make him appear desperate. Make him seem less worth chasing.

He knew the game well, how showing interest was fine, but showing need was something entirely different. People didn’t value what was easily given. Maybe that was something his loser of a former master on Naboo failed to understand along with so many others from the Core Worlds and Mid Rim. They tried hiding behind a false illusion of strength, but Lysander had seen through that long ago.

That alone made walking away, and choosing the Outer Rim, so much easier.

Fatigue soon settled into his bones, the kind that training couldn’t cause. Lysander’s throat burned, but not from gasping between rounds. The boy’s jaw tightened.

In the background, he could hear his training partners calling out to him to resume camp. But the silence stretched—not in the room, but inside him.

Something inside shifted. Maybe it was the pain.

Or maybe, just maybe, he was finally ready to let go.

Because he knew this would be the last message sent.

Not out of anger, nor out of pride, but because he had fully embraced the dark path ahead. There were other recent confirmations, too--his sister's first and only letter, which had arrived too late to even matter. Whatever it meant, Cora now belonged to a life he was leaving behind. And the death of his rival only brought satisfaction.

This time, he typed with clarity.

>> HOLO.ENCRYPT//113M-ejj--; data=ghosted; data-uplink=secure; masking-status=active; function=security; permissions=limited;]

I don't regret saying what I did. I meant every word. I still do.

It's ok though, you don't have to run anymore.

The worst part is, I'll still miss you, even knowing how this ends.

I hope you find peace where I couldn't.

The wars to come will measure both of us. I still wish that you'll endure, even if we stand on opposite ends.

Goodbye, Sibylla.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The corridors were quiet. Too quiet.

The way they always were this time of evening in the upper floors of the Abrantes estate, long after most of the staff had retired, and the day's politics had been folded away with the linens.

Sibylla's footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone as she left the piano atrium behind. Her fingers still tingled faintly from the last lingering chord, her brother's words playing in her head.

You are allowed to want whatever you want, you just need to ask yourself is it worth it.

If I deem it worthy, then it is worth the risk.

She had almost reached the archway to her chambers when she finally unlocked the data tablet.

The screen flickered once. Then the message appeared.

Her steps faltered. Then stopped altogether.

A cold, leaden weight dropped into her stomach.

I don't regret saying what I did. I meant every word. I still do.

Her breath caught. No...

It's ok though, you don't have to run anymore.

A slow burn bloomed behind her ribs like panic crawling up from within.

The worst part is, I'll still miss you, even knowing how this ends.

I hope you find peace where I couldn't.

Her hands began to shake.

The wars to come will measure both of us. I still wish that you'll endure, even if we stand on opposite ends.

Goodbye, Sibylla.

Sibylla's lips parted, but no sound came out. Not even a breath.

The word echoed in her mind.

Goodbye.

Once.

Twice.

Then again like a chime she couldn't silence. A bell that tolled only for her.

He was saying goodbye.

Not in the fleeting sense. Not in the kind reserved for long journeys or political postings.

No -- this was final.

She blinked hard, rereading it. Swiping back to the beginning, searching for anything she might've missed, some sliver of sarcasm or subtlety, a joke woven into sorrow. But there was nothing. Just brutal honesty wrapped in calm.

Her thumb fumbled. She nearly dropped the device as she scrambled to open the comms tab, her heart and blood pounding in her ears.

"Come on, come on..." Her voice was raw, barely a whisper.

It didn't matter what time it was or where he was. It didn't matter if the signal was scrambled, if protocol frowned upon calls at this hour or the lack of encryption -- none of it mattered. Not when the words still burned behind her eyes.

Her silence. Her delay.

Had it felt like rejection? Like abandonment?

The thought sank its claws deep into her heart, deeper than duty or decorum could reach.

She hit the holocall button, fingers trembling as the transmission request spun, searching.

"Pick up," she said, louder now, her voice breaking. "Please, pick up."

She stared at the screen, her heart slamming against her chest like a storm trying to break free.

And beneath it all, the guilt coiled and unrelenting.

This is what happens when you wait too long. When pride wins over truth.

When you think there will be more time.

"Don't let this be goodbye," she whispered to the empty corridor, her throat closing around the words.

All the while, at the edge of her hearing, as if taunting her, the piano's last note still seemed to hang in the air.

Haunting the silence she now stood in alone.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes ​

During his journey on Korriban, he’d learned that the biggest fights were not on stage.They took place far from peers or crowds, and were seldomly waged in the open. It was the voices in his head that tempted him to settle for mediocrity, to succumb to weakness. His attention flickered to a nearby clock on the wall, already calculating how much time was left until he would start the daily routine all over again. 0500 always arrived too soon, even if he should’ve been used to it by now. At an hour where many sought comforts in slumber, he honored a daily ritual, by running.

Finally, his duties at the training grounds were drawing to an end. He had, without being asked, taken it upon himself to sanitize the mats; ironic, perhaps, that even the Sith, as powerful as they so often could be, were not immune to infection. But there was purpose in it. Discipline. It echoed what had been instilled in him once upon a time on Ukatis: to never be too big or important to do the small things. Whether as an acolyte or, one day, a Sith Lord, Lysander hoped it would remain something he continued living by.

A familiar sound cut through the air while gathering his belongings. The teen’s gas tank may have been depleted, but that didn’t stop his logic from kicking in. It took him walking away for her to finally find the time to reach back. He wanted to say that didn’t mean anything, when in fact, it meant everything.

Over the years, one truth had always been consistent: Lysander was a fool under certain circumstances, and would've answered even in the middle of a war zone. Strange, wasn’t it? Unhealthy, still. To let someone hold that kind of power over him, even if given freely.

And while part of him welcomed her presence, another wished to veil her from the truth, for those who walked this path rarely understood the depths of what it truly required. The weight of his responsibilities, the darkness beginning to stain his soul.

He looked down at the screen while moving forward, the device cradled gently in his hands. But the stares that currently followed him were different from what one might find in a debate hall; now, Lysander’s reputation preceded him in these grounds, much like many others before it, a boy who now cavorted with killers. And so, it was fate that had chosen this path for the call, rather than some stuffy study, which he accepted, as the thought of politics evoked in such settings were at times endlessly tiresome.

The datapad buzzed again. Recognition, dread, and a sliver of hope coursed through him as he reached to tap the 'accept' button. Surely, he was a far cry from how she had last seen him on New Cov. Back then, he was willing to cross the stars and risk everything for an auction that held no significance to him, merely to bask in her presence for a moment that fell all too short.

Lysander blinked slowly, several drops of sweat trailing down his jawline as tension coiled around every muscle in his body; this was a constant companion in fight camp, for his limits of pain and fatigue were pushed to new heights. Now, he too felt the emotional weight of what this call could bring. Mentally, he was still in the ring, replaying each and every blow that landed, dissecting what should've been done differently.

Another bruise, like a shadow, painted skin in a black hue, for it was the evidence of recent sparring, though far from grotesque. A thin cut beneath the other eye, fresh and akin to the red sands of this world, only served to make the scar over his brow stand out more.

Every step exuded confidence and calm, amidst the encroaching darkness of an academy that was anything but forgiving; almost as if he knew the terrain here as intimately as he did his own hand.

Then came the first glimpse of the Junior Representative; as always, an unforgettable sight that stirred the depths of his being. Naturally, the shade of her dress captured him immediately, one that mirrored the precious waters of Naboo. From there it dropped to her shoulder, tracing details he had no right to remember, but did. The burn mark, until this very day, was the only time he’d successfully healed someone through the Force. Seeing them again, they unraveled thoughts buried beneath fresh wounds. Her face, with its ethereal contours, could have belonged to Vere herself, etched by Naboo's moonlight. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known struggles, but as he recalled, she had always worn them with grace.

Sibylla Abrantes was still as breathtaking as the memory he conjured so many times in his mind's eye. But her presence would further deepen the sadness within, for she seemed even further away now than ever before. With that, sorrow followed, heavy on the heart, reminding him of what may have already been lost.

It caught on his tongue, a lone syllable, born of doubt. For a second longer, he faltered.

"Sibylla."

Her name didn't leave his lips as a greeting, but as a confession. In that same exhale, Korriban, and everything else, faded away.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The transmission was taking far too long to connect.

Each second that passed sent another shard of dread burrowing deeper into her belly, twisting it in knots. Sibylla didn't even remember how she got to her chambers, only feeling as if there was an unbearable ringing in her ears with every step she took, her skirts whispering traitorously with every panicked pass she paced back and forth across the floor.

What if he didn't pick up?

What if he'd blocked her transmissions?

What if --

The thoughts spiraled in a fast and wild, chaotic mess of guilt and fear. Each what-if and maybe twisted in her belly like a nest of Fireworms, hissing, multiplying, tangling. Where her mind was once composed with decorum, it was now a traitor, each thought lashing at her with a truth she didn't want to face.

I waited too long.

She'd let the silence linger where words were needed. Let her hesitation carry weight where action was what Lysander had deserved.

The data tablet was clutched in her hands like a lifeline, and her breath trembling at her lips. There was no eloquence now. No well-timed quote or sharpened wit to save her. Only the sick certainty that Lysander von Ascania had meant that goodbye. And maybe this was the last time she would ever see him.

Then came the confirming chime, the transmission connected.

And just like that, her lungs forgot how to work.

The holofeed buzzed, flickered with static, then focused.

And there he was.

Lysander.

A sharp intake of breath she took next felt as if the air had turned to ice.

Shiraya's sake. He looked wrecked.

Her whole body locked in place, even as her heart surged forward, desperate to close the gap. Her hazel eyes raked over him. A fresh cut slashed beneath one eye. Bruises bloomed like a mottled, inky indigo stain upon his face. Sweat clung to him, carving silver trails along a sharpened jawline, turning his normally pale blonde hair into streaks of deep honey and storm ash, the strands shoved back hastily as if his fingers had only just carved a path through the tension and exhaustion. His chest rose and fell beneath his tunic, sharp with the strain of whatever punishment he had endured -- was still enduring, if his bearing said anything at all.

Whatever he'd been through… it was written all over him. In the sharpness of his features, in the bruises and scars, in the tension still coiled in his shoulders as if he were standing in the middle of a war zone. Or preparing to return to one.

Yet it was him. Unmistakably him.

"Sibylla."

It was the echo of his low husky voice cultivated by more than a few spiced laced vices that broke whatever fragile shield she had left.

It wasn't a greeting. It wasn't warm. It was raw and ragged and true, like it hurt to say. Like he still hadn't decided if saying it again would break him.

And Shiraya help her, that nearly broke her too.

Her throat closed. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

All Sibylla could do was stare.

Her hand rose, hovering just below her collarbone like she might feel him through the holofeed if she reached far enough. She wanted -- no, if she was honest with herself -- longed to close the distance. To cup his face in her hands. To trace every scar, every change, every hurt, and remind them both of who they once were before the galaxy and her stupid, foolish, silent denial tore them apart.

But there was no time for perfectly curated witty quips now. Only instinct. Only truth.

Her voice came out hoarse, raw as the crashing tide in her ribs.

"Where are you?"

Three simple words. But every syllable ached with the force of what she couldn't say. There was no recently appointed Ambassador, nor Junior Representative of Naboo, standing in that room now. No Sovereign candidate for Naboo. No daughter of House Abrantes.

There was no pride in it. No practiced cadence or mask of courtly calm.

Just Sibylla.

Just a girl, staring at the boy she should have fought harder for.

"I -- I have to see you." Her voice broke on the last word, barely audible, and she swallowed hard. Her mind had already been made up. She had accommodations on Mandalore, so traveling wouldn't be an issue. She could figure it out on the way.

That is, if Lysander let her.

"I was foolish," Sibylla whispered. The guilt clung to her like a shadow. She stepped closer to the feed, as if proximity might translate across lightyears.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out in apology, "I should have said it sooner. I should have been there sooner."

She had waited long enough.

Not another breath wasted in silence. Not again.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes
​

The acolyte’s gaze faltered, dropping to the curve of the girl’s hand resting just below her collarbone, as if tracing the distance that separated them, before lifting to meet her eyes across the holofeed. In recent weeks, he’d also come to another understanding: it was, perhaps, his own pride too, that kept space between them. Like the fables he grew up on, maybe he’d been expecting something uncomplicated, though, things were never truly so simple in their fractured galaxy.

The sting from the Tuk’ata Tears concert cut deepest of all. She had been so close, her presence felt like a promise that day, only to be cruelly pulled away. That closeness being severed ruptured something deep inside. Seeds of doubt he never once entertained took hold, questioning whether he was even worthy or deserving of someone like the Junior Representative. Her image now conjured a kaleidoscope of memories. And though left unspoken, Lysander wondered if it was fate's timing, the Naboo native crossing into his life just after he pledged to move to the Outer Rim: a poetic test, not one of strength, nor survival, but of grace. The very essence that she embodied.

When the girl’s voice became stripped of all political poise, it eased the armor from his shoulders, and erased the fatigue that clung to him. “Home..," he said, voice raw, and unguarded. "Korriban. A few minutes from the academy dorms." And when she echoed the need to see him, Lysander's breath caught in his throat. His gaze flicked away from the holofeed for a heartbeat, jaw tightening, before locking back onto her. “I want that too.”

Now, another chasm lay ahead.

He hesitated, not out of doubt, but out of fear. Fear of causing more pain, of pushing her away. “But.. I’m competing in the Galactic Kaggath this weekend.”

There was no turning back; quitting would go far beyond just one battle. It would only set him up to give up when other difficulties in life presented themselves. Youngest or not, he was prepared, armed with skill, having a solid team, and determination to match. Yet, ungrateful though it felt, without her, even the greatest fire could be reduced to embers.

Her admission left him silent. The instinct to retreat rose quickly, to rebuild his walls. But hope, unexpected and maybe even blinding, pushed him back to vulnerability.

He noticed her stepping closer on the feed; instinctively, his fingers curled tighter around the datapad, clutching it as if it carried the warmth that belonged to Sibylla, his thumb brushing the edge, as if there was a possibility that her very breath might linger upon it. The device would become a sacred altar where his spilled emotions could simply bleed.

His then steps stilled; though, not from hesitation, but from something deeper.

The real Sibylla, one without a diplomatic veil, could’ve disarmed him without even trying; she was a rare and irreplaceable gem who struck him the way a single piano key might in an empty room, her presence impossible to ignore

Quietly, he confessed. “I wasn’t waiting for an apology. I was just waiting.. for you. Even if it hurts; especially because it hurts. I didn't think you'd want to find me after I fell this far."

His lips pressed together, firm, trying to hold back more truths. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t still look for you,” he admitted, searching her through the holo’s light. “I miss you,” he whispered. And in the silence after, ache bled through the words. A murmur bloomed. “So much.”

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The moment Lysander admitted he wanted to see her too, the breath Sibylla hadn't realized she'd been holding broke from her lips in a quiet exhale of relief.

It hit her like a cascading wave, flooding her senses so fast and so hard that it made her feel weak in the knees. That tight, invisible coil of dread that had wrapped itself around her chest finally snapped, bringing with it fresh air as she found her lungs again and took a breath.

He wanted to see her too.

Then it wasn't a farewell. Not entirely. Not yet.

"Thank Shiraya," she whispered, breathless. It wasn't a prayer, but a release. A whisper of hope cutting through the dark. She hadn't realized how afraid she'd been. How desperately she'd needed something, anything, to hold onto.

And now she had it.

Her mind darted through a dozen paths at once, half formed plans unraveling before they could be sorted. She could take her shuttle, fly to Mandalore, perhaps cut through neutral sectors skirting the Blackwall. Maybe there was a corridor open just long enough to reach the Outer Rim. Just long enough to reach him.

But her spiraling thoughts were shattered when he spoke again.

Galactic Kaggath.

She blinked, confusion flickering across her features like a spark.

"Galactic what?"

The term landed heavily, unfamiliar. Yet the syllables alone sounded brutal, archaic, almost ceremonial... and somehow cruel. Still, she didn't press him. Not yet. Because then came the words.

I was just waiting.. for you

Her breath caught hard in her throat. She swayed slightly where she stood, the datapad trembling in her hands.

He'd been waiting. All this time. Despite the silence. Despite the shadows he'd fallen into. Despite thinking she might never come.

She didn't understand what he meant by falling, at least, not in the way he seemed to carry it. She'd never touched the Force. Never personally experienced the Sith. But what she did know, what she believed, was that Lysander could not have strayed so far from the boy she knew, from the one who had made her laugh, who had saved her life twice during that Mandalorian raid, who had define as truly living as finding the right balance between freedom, love, and duty. Who didn't want to be a pawn in someone else's game.

Whatever he had done, he was still him.

And that… that was enough.

Sibylla swallowed hard, her throat tight with everything she hadn't said, everything she'd locked behind diplomacy, duty, and the crushing silence of too many long nights.

"I miss you, too," she whispered, and this time, there was nothing polished about it. No carefully chosen phrasing. No calculated pause.

Just her standing in the soft glow of a holofeed, raw and trembling, with her heart finally, finally, in her hands.

"You're important to me, Lysander. Terribly so."

The words hung in the air between them, aching with all the weight of what they both hadn't dared to say.

Her thoughts drifted to a moment long ago. A conversation in the humid, wretched swamp where they traded quips and philosophies. And now, she clung to it.

“Love. Well, that would be the fuel that drives any pursuit. It brings meaning to the risks we take and the sacrifices we make. Without it, that freedom would feel rather empty.” His brow furrowed slightly, contemplating her question further. Putting everything that swirled in his heart into words wasn't an easy task. “To find the right balance between freedom, love, and duty. I guess that's how I would define living. I.. don’t want to be a pawn in someone else's game.”

"And while I may not fully comprehend what you went through and what you are going through, I do know this."

"Isn't it love," Sibylla murmured quietly, "that brings meaning to the risks we take? The sacrifices we make? For the freedom we seek? Isn't that what makes all this," she gestured vaguely to the feed, the stars between them, the pain threading through every word, "... worth it?"

Her hazel gaze locked onto his, searching into them.

"And you're worth it still, Lysander. Even now. Especially now."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes
​

Motionless, he stood like a statue, his world of the past year fading into nothing. Shadows stretched beneath the infamous red glow of Korriban; yet he remained confident in solitude, unmoved by the rumors of Sith cruelty and their merciless ways. Petty crime was unheard of in this sacred place, where true challenges had to be faced to gain anything of value. The Sith did not allow for such degradation.

Darkness crept in, like mist settling over the edges of the teen's heart. As Sibylla spoke of the Kaggath he did not immediately respond, instead allowing her words to wash over him; both their weight and meaning sunk slowly into his consciousness. Overwhelmed, they needed more time than they usually did. When the first admission landed, softness graced his bruised features, revealing the boyish vulnerability. Warmth flickered in his irises, and though it were brief, it didn't make it any less real, like a flame struggling to survive in freezing temperatures.

For a moment, he no longer felt like the same person who plotted revenge and cruelly ended a rival's life recently.

His lips parted, not with any reply, but to merely draw another breath, trying to steady himself once more. There was little choice, for darker truths began whispering gently, dark tendrils entwining with embers that possessed hope. Grief over time lost. Fear of what he would become after the Kaggath, and the possibility of her watching.

But amidst it all, there was also the fear of losing whatever this connection was between them now.

Lysander's mind drifted to a familiar conversation; he remembered it as though it were yesterday, when he first met Sibylla. "I'm still fighting for all of it.. freedom, love, duty," he paused, his voice, for once, uncertain. "I just don't know the order anymore.. but I think I've known for a while what comes first. I said I believed in balance. Maybe I still do. But lately.. I've started to think one weighs more than the others."

For a moment, his gaze dropped. Yet, even as he averted his eyes, the cold composure of the Sith took command; frost would thread through his veins. And when he spoke again, there was just enough of the familiar bravado to mask what he needed to say. "The Galactic Kaggath.. think of it as a Sith trial by combat, but open to all across the galaxy. It's how we settle our truths. I'll be fine, I promise. I plan on walking out of that arena alive."

Slowly, his stare lifted, meeting the Junior Representative through the holofeed. A barely audible whisper filled the air before him. “I don’t know if I ever was any of that.. but hearing you say that.. It sure does make me want to become someone who is.”

The silence between them became palpable. Shifting slightly on one foot, his thumb idly traced the edge of the datapad once more; perhaps, this time, it was to avoid the emotions bubbling to the surface. But it was a futile attempt, and so he let them come.. raw and unfiltered. They would be a revelation of his truest feelings that could no longer be kept hidden.

"You were never just beautiful, Sibylla," he confessed, words breaking, but he steadied himself. "You were the flame that consumed me.. and I didn't want to be saved from it." The ghost of a smile twitched at his lips; it was like a muscle learning how function. The acolyte could still remember all the moments she had outwitted him. "Maybe I started falling for you the first time you bested me," he admitted, voice heavy.

"But losing to you never felt like losing." There was a brief pause, allowing the weight of the message to settle. "When I saw you at Dee’ja Peak, and then last at New Cov.. I forgot how to breathe. Your wit, your fire.. even your quiet moments, they all disarm me in ways that both scare and entice me."

Each and every syllable that spilled from his mouth was like a piece of him, being handed over, offering the one thing he'd never surrendered in any circumstance: who he was.

"I don't want the next war, or another title. I just want you in the aftermath of whatever happens next. That's all I need."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

It felt difficult for Sibylla, hard really, to take a breath with every second that passed. That twisted, hot feeling in her belly churned with concern and anxiety as she listened to Lysander's voice, every cell in her body feeling every word, every inflection, every pause that lingered a little too long.

Hazel eyes would rake over his bruised cheekbones, noting the subtle tension along his jawline, in the way he spoke. How it seemed as if a particular hardness would carve the angles of his face, deepening the shadows under his cheekbones and under his eyes, highlighting the silvery pink scar that etched his brow. It was all there, laid bare in the tiniest of betrayals of body language, a lifetime of political observation giving her a quiet, terrible clarity.

She saw it all.

So when he explained what it meant to participate in the Galactic Kaggath, she saw the seriousness in it, even if he assured her he would be okay, that he would walk out alive, her stomache couldn't help but sink into a dark, wretched pit of dread, her lungs freezing as she held her breath.

"A trial by combat?" The words slipped from her lips in sharp disbelief, her voice rising before she could temper it. Was it some sort of proving grounds like Cassian went through in the Academy? She'd heard tales regarding the ways cadets were broken down until they were but a blank canvas that could be molded into something new. Stronger. Able to endure all kinds of difficulties. Hammered into a blade that would defend the Republic.

And while Sibylla had no notion of how brutal the Sith could potentially be, even then, the wave of concern and worry could not be washed from her expression, her delicate brows drawing forward, worry painting every delicate feature of her face.

"But...for what purpose? You're already --"

She stopped herself, the rest caught behind her teeth -- Injured so much.

The very idea that this was a part of his schooling, part of a system meant to shape him, it turned her stomach. It scared her. But she held her tongue because whatever sort of protest arose in her mind was smothered under the ache in her chest and the soft soul bearing confession that followed.

Lysander von Ascania 's words crashed into her, not because of their poetry, but because they were his truth. Unvarnished. Painfully human. They were no ploy to garner any physical favors; instead, it was honest and straightforward, refreshingly so to the woman who had spent most of her life having to entertain and navigate discussions with courtiers and politicians alike whose agendas were never quite what they seemed.

Sibylla swallowed hard, feeling herself tremble faintly as she carefully cradled the data tablet, wishing she could do the same to Lysander's cheek instead. To have her be able to touch him. Gently turn him to face her. With each second that passed, her breathing quickened and the more that her mind hyperfocused on one singular truth.

She felt something for him. Deeply. Fiercely. Desperately.

Her breath caught in her throat, then Sibylla drew in a slow breath, swallowed hard, and let her lips part.

Don't think, her heart demanded. Just say it.

"Lysander," she breathed out, his name barely a whisper, yet it rang with the weight of everything she had left unsaid. She took another breath, closed her eyes, and gave herself a moment to feel it. All of it. Then opened them again, something raw behind her hazel gaze.

"You push me," she began in a quiet confession, "Push me to the brink....of sense, of silence, of every carefully curated expression. You make me feel so much it's difficult to think, to breathe."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and her tone softened, recalling months of their shared banter and quips.

"And maybe that sounds ridiculous...we barely got to see each other, but between the comm messages, texts, and... everything else, I felt like we got to know each other."

She paused, drew in another breath, and with it let go of every barrier she had clung to like armor.

"You make me laugh. You make me feel like I'm not my just my title. Not my House. Not a hundred expectations hanging around my shoulders." she admitted, her voice breaking," With you I am just… me. And though it terrifies me beyond reason… I find that I want more of that. With you."

The final words came steadier, the fire in her spine lit now not by fear, but by choice.

"I want to meet you after the Kaggath," she added, more firmly this time, surely he would be okay. He had to be. "Because there is so much I still need to say. And I mean to say it properly, with you before me. Not like this. Not half a galaxy apart."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes
​

A tremor possessed the acolyte’s fingertips as the grip tightened on the electronic device; it was a gesture meant to steady himself against the myriad of emotions settling deep into his skin. Even though a cool breeze swept across the vacant streets, goosebumps had already risen along his arms; these, like syllables buried beneath the surface, mingled with the flutter in his stomach; this, was akin to what he often felt before intense sparring sessions, and when he’d been thrown into the chaos upon the fractured planet of Woostri.

Next, his breath caught, stuttering at the Junior Representative’s confession. Warmth blossomed across the teen’s chest; it was tender, but undeniable. Tension eased from his jaw, something he hadn’t noticed until her truth softened him. His body felt weightless then, as though the gravity of Korriban shifted beneath the leather boots. All the messages he’d sent, all the unsent words in his Draft box, suddenly made sense; they carried purpose.

The protectiveness, fiercer than ever, continued swelling inside. He was no stranger to pride; his confidence could rival an entire battalion of acolytes, but once aware that Sibylla truly believed in him, it carried a new depth that he could hardly fathom.

A dangerous thought echoed through his mind.

If I lose in the Kaggath, at least I’ll have known this.

He fell silent, only wishing to bask in the girl’s honesty. Bruised, bloodstained, far from his best appearance.. and even farther from the version of himself he wished to be, yet in her eyes, in her desire, he found something new.

Glory was hollow now.. meaningless if she were waiting for him on the other side.

The girl's words stripped the air from his lungs, shattering any pretense of elegance or bravado, leaving him raw and exposed. His heart hammered rapidly, pounding as if he were stepping into the arena. The scar that traced over his brow crinkled; though, not from pain, but from joy that was impossible to contain.

“Sibylla, I think I—” His voice broke, faltering in a way he hadn't anticipated. The truest sentence caught in his throat, alive as it may be, for he found himself fearing death for the first time ever.

Each word unfurled slowly, delicate as silk. “You say I helped you forget your House. You helped me forget my.. performance. You being just you? That’s everything I didn’t know I was fighting for.”

With vulnerability laid before him, he chose to draw strength from it, at least to the best of his ability. “I’m going to win this thing. I have to.. I don’t mind bleeding if it means I’ll find you afterward.”

The teen's posture shifted towards the device, a rather desperate attempt to bridge the space between them through the holofeed. One hand lifted, running through his hair slowly; it was not out of vanity, but to grasp something.. tangible.

From there, his gaze lowered, lingering on her lips, daring to memorize them; it wasn't out of longing, but something softer. For so long, he always wondered how her mouth curved when she smiled behind the mask. However it may appear, Lysander knew for certain he wanted that to be the last imprint should Kaggath swallow him whole. Something to carry into the fire.

After several beats, his focus climbed, latching onto her expression. The same fingers traced behind his head, threading through blonde strands before settling; no doubt, this was a familiar gesture, one often used right before dropping something clever. Normally, he would've conjured some ridiculous quip to make others laugh. He'd always been good at that. But now? Nothing clever sparked.

Still, it didn't stop him from wanting to evoke a precious gift.

Instead, Lysander offered the only thing he had left to give besides his heart.. a fragile smirk. Not the loth-cat approved smugness that was armor, nor the charming type that was weaponized when trying to evade trouble. It was bare, genuine, hopeful even.

The stanzas he’d long rehearsed in moments of solitude begged to be spoken aloud, but words faltered on the boy’s tongue.

“Ruusan,” he said, voice cracking, a new ache beneath his ribs. “That is where the Kaggath will be hosted.”

In theory, severing the transmission should have been simple. Pressing a single button. But her presence on the other side of the screen held him in a grip he never knew he needed until now. So he stayed, unable to find the right words to express how much her words meant to him, how much he wanted to share about his life here, to hear how life in the Mid Rim was treating her while so far away.

There was a tightening behind his eyes, not tears, but a pressure he could barely contain.

“I.. I don’t think I know how to end this call.” A modest attempt to weave humor into his voice followed. “Pretty sure this damn thing is malfunctioning!”

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

There were a thousand thoughts that raced through Sibylla's mind, each one vying for space, for breath, for order. But at that moment, all Sibylla could do was fix her gaze on the holofeed, hyperfocused on Lysander von Ascania ‘s every move, from the twitch of a brow to the subtle shift in his jaw, to the way his green eyes flickered when he wasn't quite sure how to express what he felt.

She felt her breath hitch again as her eyes took him in once more when he paused and fell deep in thought.

In the time that she had delayed in answering -- no, even further back before then, before the concert and their quips, what had he held back? What had he been going through? What had he shielded her from seeing?

Korriban, Ukatis, and whatever had come in between then. What had hammered him so? Tested him?

How close did I come to losing him before I ever had the chance to say what mattered?

Each second that passed sealed her decision to meet with him. All the more so when he told her that just being herself had given him something to fight for, making him want to win. To find her afterward.

It was the sort of confession that only made it abundantly clear that she needed to be purposeful. To show Lysander how much he meant to her. That he was important. Important to carve out with him and only him. Time to see him. To speak with him. Not across wires and holograms, but face-to-face. Real.

Swallowing hard, Sibylla did her best to try and blink away the shimmer that filled her eyes, lowering her gaze as she gathered her own bearing, unable to help how the crash of emotions swept over her. It was new, it was different, and while it was overwhelming, she didn't want to ignore it any longer.

Hazel eyes rose again, managing to catch him as bruised fingers came up to thread locks of damp blonde hair back. But it wasn't that act that struck her.

It was the smile. That fragile, real smirk that curved at the corner of his mouth, hesitant but hopeful. For her.

That alone undid her completely.

Unable to help it, Sibylla's lips curved into a shy smile that was equal parts in relief as it was in mirroring the genuine affection in her eyes.

"Ruusan it is," she confirmed, more certain of this than anything else before.

And then perhaps because the weight of emotion finally tipped too far, or perhaps because of the gentle absurdity of such a fragile, precious moment, Sibylla couldn't help but give a quiet laugh. It was a melodic sound that released her tension, soft but real, bubbling from her chest as if it had been waiting for the chance to escape.

Her gaze dropped slightly again, a quiet, bashful thing, and that ghost of a smile flashed a hint of white of pearly white teeth that softened the edges of her face.

Without quite realizing it, she shifted, the whisper of her dress swishing before settling down onto the softness of her bed. The datapad adjusted as she moved, catching more of her now in a way Lysander hadn't seen her before. Her slender form stretched out on her belly, the soft curve of her bare shoulders relaxed in a way she never allowed them to be in the Assembly chambers. The light from the holofeed cast a soft blue glow over the linens and her loose, wavy hair, illuminating the truth of what she was finally letting herself feel.

She didn't want this to end.

Didn't want to let go of the moment. Not yet. Not when the twin moons were rising through the arched windows above into the velvet indigo sky and the night outside whispered of things unspoken.

"Well..." she murmured in a sincere, but slightly playful tone, matching his intent to weave abit of that familiar humor into their conversation, "we could talk until your powercell gives out."

"But, if that's not possible... then I suppose I could disconnect." Her tone dipped with reluctant humor, but her eyes betrayed the truth, the hesitation and ache she felt to not lose this connection.

Her fingers brushed over the edge of the screen as if she could touch his hand through it.

"Only if you promise to call me back when you can," she said, quieter now, nibbling on the fullness of her lower lip. A tell she normally kept at bay, left bare for him to see. "Or keep messaging me. I just… I want to keep hearing from you. To see you. To know you're okay."

And maybe then, maybe, she could finally sleep, to rest, just long enough to breathe, until she could reach him on Ruusan.