Faction [TSC] SHADOW OVER AZBRIAN | Heroes vs. Villains

[Ceria Kesyk]

SHADOW OVER AZBRIAN​

Villains: Corvin Sarre | Seela Leini | Chali Sooto
Heroes: Rylen Grace | Petra Noll | Lucan Mecetti

​

Following the Devastation of Abregado-rae, Tyrant Squadron hounded the embattled Mythic Fleet until they disappeared in the galactic north, somewhere beyond Noquivzor. While Sith scouts ascertained the enemy’s final whereabouts, Vice Admiral Ceria Kesyk turned her fist south.

The Tyranny, unshackled from repairs above Foerost, tore open the fabric between life and death, traversing the Netherworld alone…

…It arrived at the edge of Azbrian amid a cacophony of clockwork and the permeating dread at the verge of the Field of Blades.

“This is Vice Admiral Kesyk--" Her voice came over the speakers.

“Listen well. Because unlike our enemies, I am not intent on repetition. We have arrived over Azbrian, an agricultural world. A neutral world, at the edge of Republic space. They pose no threat to our Covenant, nor have they broken accord with us in any way… but like Abregado-rae, they fear us, and that fear will turn them to the Republic for help.”

Klaxons blared across the dreadnought. Officers shouted their orders. Marines, pilots, and Sith troopers readied themselves. Hangar doors parted. Batteries turned ominously in the direction of the world.

“And we must remind Azbrian… as we remind the Republic… that our momentary distraction with the Kestran armada does not mean we’ve turned a blind eye to the South.”

Enemy defense platforms awoke near the approach.

“Our Empress has noticed their incursions.

“Frego.

“Alderaan.

“Kattada.

“They claim to be the champions of peace.”

Kesyk grinned.

“But no… We want them to be a nation of war.”

All flight decks gave the order to sortie. The defense flotilla responded in kind, sending squadrons out to meet them.

“My order is singular: Burn their fields. Destroy their defenses. Leave them starving, desperate, but clinging to life.”

She disconnected her comms and turned to a bridge officer. “Let’s poke the rancor, shall we?”

Unlike Abregado-rae, the Netheric Gate was closed as soon as the Tyranny exited the rift. And no other capital ships arrived behind it. But momentarily, all minds would feel the horror - the violent glory - of what awaits those who die in Darkness.

This thread is open to more writers. Just ask first!​

​

 

[Rylen Grace]

Mooks: Corvin Sarre | Seela Leini | Chali Sooto Ceria Kesyk
Studs: Petra Noll | Lucan Mecetti

Rylen and Petra had a guest pilot with them today. A noble or a prince? Rylen lost track. He'd fist bumped the bro before they'd all gotten into their fighters from the carrier. At least Rylen was finally well again. That illness around Thyferra had kicked his green arse. And he felt no small amount of guilt about missing the battle, especially with the loss. Defeats and victories didn't stop for the Rogue squadron, though.

If anything, they were being pushed harder.

Today was an easy day. A nice way to smooth back into things. Just a routine flight practice mission just outside THR space. Azbrian was a world much like the one he'd grown up on. And he couldn't help but let his light blue eyes linger on the landscape below as his x-wing took a sweep over the farmland. Green country. He could almost smell the fresh veg.

Goblin, his BB-8 unit chittered in his ear. "I swear Gobs, she did not. You've got your circuits fried. NO WAY Petra visited us in sickbay. For feth's sake." That got a razzle. A light smirk togged at one corner of his mouth as he switched to open comms between Lucan and Petra.

"Oi, Wrench and Rogue One. What ya reckon? One more sweep and we're good to go - ," Goblin buzzed in his ear as his ship readouts popped off. "Whoa-chit! This was supposed to be an EASY DAY. Am I sick again and hallucinating or you mates seeing this too?"

Rylen glanced up. Catching that shadow of the SSD in space that had just arrived. They had more than one incoming.

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Hangar Bay, Star Dreadnought Tyranny - Azbrian System
Call Sign: Fragile Dancer
Mission Objective:

• Destroy agricultural complexes and grain silos on Azbrian.
• Destroy Azbrian orbital defenses.

Allies: Corvin Sarre Chali Sooto
Enemies: Rylen Grace Petra Noll Lucan Mecetti

​

Seela Leini strode into the Tyranny’s hangar bay at a blistering pace for her small stature, face mask cradled beneath her left arm as she maneuvered her way through the bustling throng of technicians, droids, spacecrew, pilots, and officers. Behind her were two other Kainite pilots—Baron-Knights of the Fighter Barony—who she had been assigned to fly with in the same squadron. She was not their superior. They were Barons, after all. However, her experience as a veteran of the Third Imperial Civil War and as an elite starfighter ace with over forty confirmed kills on her record, saw her situated in an informal mentor role, to assist in the field training of the newest generation of Baron-Knights.

Once she was clear of the crowd, Seela came to a sudden halt, her boots clicking against the deck plating as she turned around to face the two Barons. There was one thing that she had to say, which had not been mentioned in the pre-mission briefing.

“You both heard the Vice Admiral,” she began. “Our objectives are to destroy the enemy’s fields and defenses. However, we must not allow any singular or minor distractions to draw us away from those goals.” Her blue-hued eyes moved between the two Barons, holding each one’s gaze in turn. “If we are to dogfight, we will force the enemy to engage us while we are flying above or around critical mission objectives, not meaningless empty space.” She stated.

“Do both of you understand?”

After receiving their affirmatives, Seela nodded and climbed into her starfighter—a Mk. II Sythra ultralight starfighter-interceptor. The canopy sealed above her with a soft hiss as she ran the pre-flight checks, before transmitting her nominal status to mission control. From there, her craft’s twin coaxium-pulse detonation engines came to life with a rhythmic, staccato roar. The bass-heavy thumps of the engines vibrated against her ear cones, overlaid by the high-frequency whine of the superconducting coils spooling up to full power.

“Fragile Dancer, you are cleared for takeoff,” came the calm, feminine voice of a flight controller from the hangar’s mission control tower.

Almost immediately, Seela’s Sythra leapt from the hangar bay floor before surging out into the void on engines of blue-white fire!

Spoiler: Loadout

Craft: Sythra-class Ultralight Starfighter-Interceptor Mk. II

• Status
  
  • Shields: 100%
  • Hull: 100%
  • Structure: 100%
• Armament
  
  • Light Cannon Hardpoint (4) - Mid-Span Wing Blister Fairings
    
    • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II
    • FAE/SW-19 Light Linear Motor Autocannon
      
      • Ammunition Load Pattern
        
        • Smart Shrapnel → Armor Penetrator → Ion Disruption → Smart Shrapnel
    • FAE/SW-19 Light Linear Motor Autocannon
      
      • Ammunition Load Pattern
        
        • Smart Shrapnel → Armor Penetrator → Ion Disruption → Smart Shrapnel
    • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II
  • Light Ordnance Hardpoint (8)
    
    • FAE/WH-05-S3 Universal Missile - Iadrium Warhead (8)
• Pilot Equipment
  
  • FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
  • KCP-4 - Kainate Combat Pistol Model Four
    
    • Attachments
      
      • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Ammunition
      
      • FAE/AM-01-S1 Energy Weapon Cartridge (4)

 

[Chali Sooto]

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

Chali had been listening. Mostly. The Pantoran sat strapped into her fighter, gloved fingers drumming an uneven rhythm against the controls while Seela spoke. Her helmet concealed the expression that slowly crept across her features, but thankfully it couldn't conceal the occasional roll of golden eyes. The briefing had been clear. The Admiral's orders had been clearer. Burn the agricultural infrastructure. Break the orbital defenses. Leave Azbrian hungry enough to remember who had done it. Simple.

Seela's addition wasn't exactly complicated either. Don't get distracted. That was where Chali's fingers stopped drumming. She glanced across the hangar toward the other fighters, lingering for a moment upon Corvin's. Maybe he needed that particular reminder. Chali certainly didn't. She had been raised among the Kainate. Fighter Barons weren't simply nobles who happened to know which end of a starfighter pointed forward. Flying was part of the culture she had been born into, and she had endured enough instructors explaining tactics to her that she could practically hear their voices joining Seela's.

Annoyingly, Seela was right. That somehow made the lecture worse. Chali resisted the urge to answer with something clever when the ace asked if they understood. Seela wasn't technically her superior. Chali knew that. Corvin knew that. Seela certainly knew that. Forty-something confirmed kills, however, bought someone a little consideration even if they couldn't order a Baron-Knight around. At least until Chali had forty-something of her own.

"Understood." Perfectly respectful. Perfectly professional. Chali even managed not to sound disappointed about it. The channel closed and the young Pantoran's mouth immediately twisted into a smirk.

"Don't chase the Republic pilots," she repeated quietly to herself. "Yes, Fragile Dancer. Chali understands how objectives work."

Her hands were already moving. Whatever irritation remained disappeared beneath routine. Systems checks rolled across her displays. Power. Weapons. Shields. Engines. Flight controls. Every movement was quick without being rushed, practiced through repetition until there was little conscious thought involved. This was different from standing in some hall on Malsheem listening to someone explain what a proper daughter of her House ought to be. Different from noble obligations, expectations, titles, manners, instructors and every other little box people tried to stuff her into. The fighter didn't care who her father was. It didn't care that she would be a Baron-Knight soon enough. It only cared whether she could fly.

The launch signal flashed. Chali's grin widened. "Finally." The fighter screamed out of the Tyranny. Acceleration pressed Chali hard into her seat as the hangar vanished behind her. For those first few seconds there was nothing but engine vibration transmitted through the frame, instruments flickering across her vision and the enormous curvature of Azbrian spreading beneath her. She laughed. It wasn't especially dignified. She didn't care.

Chali rolled the fighter unnecessarily as she cleared the launch corridor, letting Azbrian spin across the canopy before snapping smoothly back onto the proper vector. There was no tactical reason for it. No advantage gained. It just felt good.

"So much better." She accelerated after Seela and Corvin, settling into formation as the tactical display began populating with contacts. Azbrian's defenders were scrambling. Fighters were coming up. Defense installations were coming online. And there—Three contacts already airborne. Chali's eyes narrowed. Republic.

Her hand shifted instinctively on the controls. The temptation was immediate. Three enemies, three Sith pilots. It practically arranged itself. She could already imagine breaking formation, turning hard toward them and finding out exactly what the Republic pilots could do.

Don't let them lure you into a pointless dogfight.

Chali exhaled sharply through her nose. "You are ruining all my fun today." She didn't turn toward them. Instead, Chali pushed the throttle forward. Her fighter descended toward Azbrian. The agricultural complexes were impossible to miss from altitude. Vast cultivated regions stretched across the landscape, interrupted by processing facilities and enormous storage complexes. Somewhere down there were people who had probably awakened expecting another ordinary day.

Chali gave them little thought. They were targets. More importantly, they were targets the Republic pilots would presumably want to remain intact. Her targeting system began resolving structures as the distance rapidly collapsed. Chali selected one of the larger grain-storage complexes and committed herself to an attack vector. If the Republic pilots wanted to fly around protecting Azbrian, she was more than happy to give them something worth protecting.

A tone announced the beginnings of a firing solution. Chali glanced once toward the Republic contacts on her display. Her grin returned. "Come on, heroes." She dropped lower. The grain silos grew steadily larger through the canopy. "Come save them." Her thumb settled over the weapons control. She wasn't chasing anyone. They could chase her.

✦ Witnessed By the Throne ✦

Seela Leini · Ceria Kesyk · Corvin Sarre · Rylen Grace · Petra Noll · Lucan Mecetti

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

 

[Corvin Sarre]

Seela Leini Ceria Kesyk Chali Sooto Rylen Grace Petra Noll Lucan Mecetti​

Corvin stood beside Chali's fighter, heels finding the deck. From what he knew, the other Kainite pilot before him had survived wars he had only studied in the archives.

Familiar words arrived. Don't lose your head chasing tails. Some version of that warning had been following him for years now. Apparently, the galaxy kept a small stock of wisdom for when it ran out of new warnings to give.

Around that time, a quick glance caught Chali watching from her cockpit. One brow lifted. Right. An audience this time. The warning came with one of those. Around him, technicians and deck crews moved. Engines whined and orders were being shouted. Organized violence in its early domestic phase. The Covenant's presence was new for Corvin in practice; in principle, the doctrine he served kept its relations with these Sith in good standing. So, the sight was less strange than it was overdue.

Throughout the remainder of that moment, Seela commanded his attention. "Sounds simple enough." No mirth softened the sentence. "Understood."

With his helmet tucked under one arm, Corvin turned away and walked over to the Banshee that awaited him. Nearing the fighter, two gloved fingers ran along the edge of the hull in a slow drag; a touch caught somewhere between affection and habit. Once inside, a harness locked across his chest. Then came the neurocrown. Less dramatic than outsiders imagined was the fitting of it; there was no mystical union there. Corvin considered that sort of poetry suspicious, perhaps a romantic lie for those who'd never worn one.

Ahead, the first Sythra launched.

"Blackstar to control." Fingers slowly curled around the yoke. "Ready."

The fighter lifted from the floor and gathered speed, and then the Banshee slipped free into the void. Course was adjusted with a small roll, and position was taken just off Fragile Dancer's wing. Chali's vector told him enough; she was clearly volunteering for bait duty.

 

[Petra Noll]

WRENCH

ROGUE SQUADRON // FLIGHT OPERATIONS

PETRA NOLL

LIEUTENANT // ROGUE EIGHT // BB-7K "PATCH"

♫ KILL ME - HAYLEY WILLIAMS

LOCATION: COCKPIT, T-91 VIGILANT TIME: VARIES

A routine patrol.

What was that, these days? The High Republic was bordered on all sides with unfriendly faces, in Petra's opinion. Bloodthirsty Sith Zealots, the Kainate cult, proud butchers, and that was to say nothing of the Mandalorians. History taught that those in beskar were not to be trusted, and she had no reason to doubt history.

And yet the patrol had been more or less uneventful, and they were preparing for a final sweep and return to the nest when Rylen Grace gave an exclamation. "It's a little late in the day to play the 'I'm sick' card again, Grace," Petra said dryly before Patch put the sensor readouts on screen. "Oh stang, what the kriff is that thing?" she gasped and chinned over to her private frequency with her astromech as he squealed at her. "I know it's a big-ass ship, Patch. I need more, don't I?"

//BB-7K//ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: SCANNING...
//BB-7K//REPORT: DEVELOPING...
//BB-7K//REPORT: SUPER STAR DESTROYER CLASS VESSEL. UNKNOWN DRIVE SIGNATURE.
//BB-7K//REPORT: HIGH-OUTPUT SENSOR EMISSIONS DETECTED; ASSUME PATROL HAS BEEN OBSERVED.
//BB-7K//REPORT: STARFIGHTERS LAUNCHING. CALCULATING INTERCEPT...
//BB-7K//REPORT: STARFIGHTERS ARE NOT MOVING TO INTERCEPT. TRACKING.

"Keep it coming. Get as much information as you can on that thing. Command will want to know. And send that over to Grace and the Jedi." She chinned back over to the full channel. "Patch is scanning. There are starfighters in the sky, but they seem to be heading for the surface. Not specifically at us -- yet. But if they're coming down here, that... that can't be good."

She glanced up at her canopy, where Grace was flying point. He was ranking Rogue on this mission. "Orders, Eight?"

FLIGHT RECORD // ACTIVE

INTERACTING WITH

Rylen Grace • Lucan Mecetti • Chali Sooto • Corvin Sarre • Seela Leini • Ceria Kesyk

 

[Lucan Mecetti]

Mooks: Corvin Sarre | Seela Leini | Chali Sooto | Ceria Kesyk
Studs: Petra Noll | Rylen Grace
Equipment: Horizonblade

Milk runs were supposed to be calm, quiet and relaxed.

It is why Lucan was assigned to one as he became more familiar with the High Republic and did his best to integrate. It was hard, of course. His personal Jedi style was more that of a Corellian roughshod wackoo than a Tapani noble. The latter would have fit right in with the High Republic, dominated by the noble intrigue stemming from Naboo and beyond.

The former... well, let's just say that there was a reason he had to get as far away as possible from Naboo as possible for a week or two.

Complimenting the fiance of a high-strung Duke apparently didn't go over well.

The Horizonblade was more ship than Lucan was used to. Pleasure yachts and racing skiffs were one thing, but this one was armed to the teeth and made his old enclave fighter look like a pazaak toy. Every time he touched the controls, it banked like the sensitivity was upped to infinity, as if the fighter could sense his anxiety and was having none of it.

He was about to run some commentary right back to Grace, a man to his heart (fist bumps and all), when he felt dread in his core. Eyes wide he ripped his gaze away from the sensory array and instead Lucan looked up.

It was like an explosion of colors and screaming emotions. All wrong. Evil. It made his mouth dry and his veins fill with dread.

"No..." Lucan whispered tightly as the shape of it became clear. It filled his cockpit even from a distance, it came alone, because it didn't believe it needed anything more.

"Oi, Wrench and Rogue One. What ya reckon? One more sweep and we're good to go - ," Goblin buzzed in his ear as his ship readouts popped off. "Whoa-chit! This was supposed to be an EASY DAY. Am I sick again and hallucinating or you mates seeing this too?"

"I am seeing it, Rogue Eight." Trying to keep the fear out of his voice. It felt like an infection. Not wholly from him. No, something about that ship was forcing the nightmare on him. Rogue Thirteen was sending her sensory data to them. He scanned it briefly, but the main takeaway from it was: they were royally fucked.

"Orders?"

They'd have to come soon, because Lucan could already see the sprawl of fighters unleash from the Tyranny.

Like a hive of evil insects, locusts, coming to devour everything in its sights.

 

[Rylen Grace]

Mooks: Corvin Sarre | Seela Leini | Chali Sooto Ceria Kesyk
Studs: Petra Noll | Lucan Mecetti

"It's a little late in the day to play the 'I'm sick' card again, Grace," Petra said dryly

Rylen's smirk ticked upward a notch even as Goblin beeped and booped for the both of them. The BB-8 unit was just grumpy from being separated from Patch. Rylen guessed they had some kind of droid language exchange between them already. Childhood droid besties. Kriff's sake.

Sky-grey-blue eyes tracked those fighters.

Hands pushing down on the x-wing's controls before he answered Petra's question. His body making a decision before his mind could catch up.

"Orders, Eight?"

"Orders?"

"Engage." Maybe it was because those TIES were about to attach a place too close to his home. A reminder. Maybe it was because that protective instinct roared up in the Mirialian. Maybe it was because he felt cocky after that breakfast burrito he inhaled and he wanted a chance to show off.

Probably the former.

He knew this was against what Command probably wanted to happen. They weren't in High Republic Space. Command would want them to observe and report back. Getting the hell outta dodge. Rylen knew by giving the order, responsibility fell on his shoulders alone. He'd take the brunt of the consequences from the uppers. The thrashing sure to come his way after this. But none of that was on his mind.

His back pressed against the seat as the accelerators roared. His fighter cutting through the sky like a hot-sharp knife through soft lard. His eyes were on a fighter that did a few rolls. Chali Sooto

"Someone likes to show off," cocky-smirk curled back on the corner of his mouth. Then he grimaced as he saw where they were headed. He spoke to his squad. "They're gonna open on the Ag Center. Engage! Watch out for those civvies. Let's give 'em hell." Eye caught a somewhat erratic flight pattern from Lucan Mecetti . He didn't have time to focus on it more as his weapons array came up, trying to get a lock on that TIE. Sensors beeped as they fought for alignment.

This fighter was good. Slippery. Hearing the lock confirmed, he launched a torpedo.

 

[Seela Leini]

Location: Hangar Bay, Star Dreadnought Tyranny - Azbrian System
Call Sign: Fragile Dancer
Mission Objective:

• Destroy agricultural complexes and grain silos on Azbrian.
• Destroy Azbrian orbital defenses.

Allies: Corvin Sarre Chali Sooto
Enemies: Rylen Grace Petra Noll Lucan Mecetti

It was a dead sprint to the surface. Seela drove her machine in formation with Chali’s, while periodically letting off the throttle to ensure that she did not leave Blackstar too far behind. His Banshee was slower, but it had the heavier missile armament, able to carry sixteen standard small craft-sized missiles into battle. In turn, her and Chali’s Sythras could only carry a maximum of eight light missiles each. Even so, Seela had made sure to arm her craft with explosive-incendiary Iadrium warheads, so that she could destroy ground targets while also starting fires in the process, and engage starships when the need arose.

With the translation into atmosphere, Seela switched her fighter to atmospheric mode. The active airflow management system spooled to life, miniaturized tractor-pressor projectors cleaning the flow of the air around her craft via to effectively remove drag from the aerodynamic equation. Blistering speed—many times the speed of sound—was the result, which those on the ground would perceive as a soft, distant rumble rather than the violent earsplitting crack of a typical sonic boom.

“Coming into range of the first agricultural complex,” Seela said over the squadron's comms, her voice airy and melodic as she processed the data feed streaming into her awareness. The range indicator ticked down to below 170 kilometers away from the complex, placing her comfortably within her missiles’ range envelope. In that, she was quite content to lob missiles from far outside visual range. She didn’t intend to initiate strafing attacks until after she had expended her missiles.

By then, she expected the complex to already be consumed by flames.

“Readying Iadrium missiles, coordinates set on the complex,” she continued. “Positive lock tone! Firing!” Seela sang out as she reached for the missile activation system with her mind and pulled the neural trigger. A pair of missiles surged forth from her craft’s underwing hardpoints, before streaking ahead toward the complex just over 160 kilometers away.

It was then that she felt a pulse register in her awareness through the Ghost Link. Her eyes flicked toward the sensor feed in her HUD. Unidentified aerial contacts were on the approach, and were already initiating target locks!

“Bandits, incoming!” Seela called out. Her ear cones twitched as the missile approaching warning system screamed an alert. The missile was tracking Chali’s craft, but she knew that more would come.

Seela immediately decided to take pre-emptive defensive measures. She called the Glamour refraction field projection and gravitic lensing systems to life with a thought, and activated the mirage swarm. Suddenly, a full squadron of false Sythras appeared around Seela and Chali’s fighters, each returning coherent, believable sensor profiles across nearly all spectra that were nearly identical to the real craft. The enemy pilots would find their senses and sensors beset by a ghost squadron born of warped light, shadow, radiation, heat, and gravity, slicing through the air like a ravenous murder of crows!

Spoiler: Loadout

Craft: Sythra-class Ultralight Starfighter-Interceptor Mk. II

• Status
  
  • Shields: 100%
  • Hull: 100%
  • Structure: 100%
• Armament
  
  • Light Cannon Hardpoint (4) - Mid-Span Wing Blister Fairings
    
    • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II
    • FAE/SW-19 Light Linear Motor Autocannon
      
      • Ammunition Load Pattern
        
        • Smart Shrapnel → Armor Penetrator → Ion Disruption → Smart Shrapnel
    • FAE/SW-19 Light Linear Motor Autocannon
      
      • Ammunition Load Pattern
        
        • Smart Shrapnel → Armor Penetrator → Ion Disruption → Smart Shrapnel
    • FAE/SW-08 Light Beam Cannon Mk. II
  • Light Ordnance Hardpoint (8)
    
    • FAE/WH-05-S3 Universal Missile - Iadrium Warhead (8)
• Pilot Equipment
  
  • FAE/A-09 Anti-G Suit
  • KCP-4 - Kainate Combat Pistol Model Four
    
    • Attachments
      
      • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
    • Ammunition
      
      • FAE/AM-01-S1 Energy Weapon Cartridge (4)

 

[Chali Sooto]

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

The first warning tone made Chali's grin widen. The second made her sit a little straighter. "Oh, you actually came." Apparently the heroes of the Republic weren't content to watch. Good.

Seela's warning came across the comms almost simultaneously, confirming what Chali's own sensors were already telling her. Three bandits closing fast. Her displays rapidly resolved vectors, speeds and probable intercept paths while the agricultural complex continued swelling beneath the nose of her fighter.

Then one particular warning demanded her attention. Weapons lock. Chali's eyes flicked toward the threat indicator. Incoming. For her. "Mine." There was unmistakable satisfaction in the single word. The missile warning began shrieking through the cockpit. Chali laughed. "I think he likes me."

Amusement didn't stop her hands from moving. The Pantoran immediately adjusted her vector, resisting the much stronger instinct to wrench the fighter around and meet her attacker head-on. Defensive systems came ready beneath her fingers. Her eyes jumped between the threat display, terrain and rapidly closing agricultural complex.

Then Seela did something considerably more interesting. One Sythra became many. False contacts erupted across Chali's sensors as the Mirage Swarm took shape around them. For the briefest moment even Chali's eyes widened behind her visor. She knew perfectly well what the system did. Knowing something from briefings and watching an entire squadron of fighters seemingly materialize around you while a torpedo screamed toward your exhaust were two different things. "Oh, that's pretty."

There would be time to appreciate it later. Chali rolled into the swarm. Not the pointless flourish she'd performed after launch. This roll was tight and deliberate, accompanied by a change in altitude and vector intended to make her movement harder to distinguish among Seela's ghosts. She refused to simply trust that the deception would solve the problem for her. Her thumb hovered over her own countermeasures while she kept enough speed to maneuver if the missile somehow maintained the correct track.

The screaming warning hadn't frightened her. Not exactly. It had sharpened everything. The cockpit suddenly felt smaller. The controls lighter beneath her fingers. Every movement outside the canopy seemed slower despite the enormous speed at which they were descending.

This was it. Not exercises. Not instructors inventing scenarios and knowing precisely how they would end. Not another lecture about what a Baron-Knight was supposed to become. Someone out there was actually trying to kill her. Chali felt more alive than she had in months.

Her gaze dropped briefly toward the agricultural complex. She could turn now. The Republic fighters were coming down after them. One had already committed ordnance to Chali. She could pull hard, climb back into him and see exactly who had decided she was worth shooting first.

Don't let them lure you into a pointless dogfight.

Chali's jaw tightened. Damn Seela. The veteran's advice had been annoying when Chali already knew it. It was considerably more annoying when Chali actually wanted to ignore it. She kept descending.

Ahead, streaks from Seela's incendiary missiles were already racing toward the surface. Chali adjusted her targeting solution away from their projected impact points. No sense wasting ordnance burning something Fragile Dancer was already going to burn. Another cluster of storage silos came onto her display.

Lock. "There you are." Chali depressed the weapons control. Her own ordnance dropped free before igniting and racing ahead, aimed toward a separate portion of the sprawling agricultural center. Whatever happened behind her, she wasn't going to let Seela or Corvin say she'd forgotten why they were here the moment somebody shot at her. Especially Corvin. She could practically imagine the look. No. The Republic wanted her attention? They could work for it.

Chali pushed the throttle forward again, driving deeper toward the surface while the Mirage signatures danced around her. The agricultural complex was no longer some distant arrangement of shapes. Individual structures were becoming visible now. Silos. Processing buildings. Transportation infrastructure. Tiny vehicles that looked almost stationary from this altitude.

People were down there somewhere too. Chali knew that. It didn't change the target. Her attention returned to the tactical display. The system had recorded the missile's original approach vector. Chali brought it up, working backward from the incoming trajectory while the fighter continued its descent. One of those three contacts had fired first.

There. An X-wing. Chali stared at the contact for another second. "Found you." Her hand tightened around the control stick. Turn. The impulse came so naturally that she had already begun imagining the maneuver. Break away from the Mirage Swarm. Pull around. Meet him nose-to-nose. Find out whether he'd fired from confidence or because launching a torpedo at someone already pointed away from him was the bravest thing he could manage. She wanted to know.

Chali glanced toward Seela's fighter. Then toward the targets below. Her fighter stayed on course. "Nope." The word sounded almost as though she were arguing with herself. "You wanted me." Her eyes returned to the X-wing contact. "You can catch me."

She dropped lower. Smoke was beginning to rise ahead as the first attacks reached Azbrian. Chali drove toward it rather than away, bringing the agricultural structures between herself and the increasingly distant safety of open sky. She wasn't chasing the X-wing. She wasn't abandoning the objective. She was doing exactly what Seela had told her. For now.

The thought brought the grin back to Chali's face as she watched the Republic contact behind her. She had found her hero. Now she wanted to see if he could keep up.

✦ Witnessed By the Throne ✦

Seela Leini · Ceria Kesyk · Corvin Sarre · Rylen Grace · Petra Noll · Lucan Mecetti

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦