Private Visitors to the Iron Citadel

[Korda Veydran]

Korda watches Omen leave.
Doesn't react immediately.
Then he pulls the cigar from his mouth, drops it to the stone, and crushes it out beneath his boot.

He follows.
Long strides. Not rushed. Not angry.
He catches up before the inn.

"Omen."
Not sharp.
Not loud.

Just enough to stop him.
"I said she would be acceptable to any clan."
A beat.

"She said she wanted this one."
His voice stays level.
"I did not offer her Veydran until she made that clear."
He steps closer, not towering now. Just present.

"You think I'm pressuring her."
A slow exhale.
"I understand the worry."
His jaw tightens slightly.

"But I would not send her on a mission I would not take myself."
No theatrics.
"No assignment I would not walk into first."
He taps his chest plate once.

"She has a life ahead of her."
A faint, almost humorless breath escapes him.
"I'm not even certain I'll wake up some mornings."

There's no self-pity in it. Just blunt truth.
"My way of life has cost me enough."
His voice lowers.
"Pain. Loss. Things I don't get back."

A pause.
"I can't even have offspring because of the path I chose."
He doesn't elaborate.
Doesn't need to.

"I'm not forcing her into my clan."
A firmer edge now.
"I'm not forcing her to choose."
"This is hers."
He studies Omen for a long moment.

"I love you like a brother."
The words are simple. Unadorned.
"She's acting more mature than you right now."
Not cruel.

Honest.
"You think I don't understand fear?"
His hand lifts to his helmet, clipped at his belt.
He turns it slightly so Omen can see the etched tally marks along the edge.

"I trained four Mandalorians who landed with me on Yaga Minor."
His voice doesn't waver.
"They're gone."
A beat.

"They were like children to me."
Silence stretches between them.
"They chose their path."
"I gave them every exit I could."

"I charged in first. Every time."
Another pause.
"I wish they'd made it."

No anger. Just weight.
He steps back slightly, giving Omen space.
"You need to grow up."
The words are calm.

And because they are calm, they hit harder.
"I say that because I love you."
"I'll bully you. I'll be a hard ass. I'll lift you off the ground when you call me fat."
A faint ghost of a smirk.

"But if I didn't care…"
His voice lowers.
"I'd let your anger eat you alive."

He nods once toward the direction Jett went.
"She deserves mentors who don't let fear decide for her."
A final look.

"You cool off."
"I'll be here when you're ready to talk like my brother again."
Then he turns.
And walks back toward the courtyard.

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

"No no," Jett shook her head watching Omen depart with confusion and a little irritation that he'd run off after that, "I mean I want to be a part of this clan," she said, waving her armor to indicate Omen, and Aren, and Korda. "It's not a... family... without people I know I can depend on, and not to offend, but I don't know anything about you, Korda." She huffed and then blew her matted hair out of her face, "Aren, I know you can fix this. It's not going to be hard, and I know it's my fault for not being clear. Just... if you can... talk to him. I reeeeaaally need this shower." Then she turned towards the communal baths and walked quickly, shouting as an afterthought; "Or I can do it after I shower, after because I'm not waiting!"

She hurried towards the communal showers and entered the... area? building...? It didn't matter which. The spouts convinced her she was in the right place, and after fiddling with the controls until one of them shot hot water, Jett stripped quickly out of her tanktop and undies to wash away weeks of grime. After which, she used the soap and spouts to wash out the inside of her helmet, and soak her clothes and armor, just as she would have done back home. Of course she had no stick to beat out the grime from either, so she made do with just the suds and soap... She took about an hour and a half to finish all of this, and then found a random stone to hang her clothes and armor separately, trying to give them as much open air as possible.

The towel - after using it to dry herself (she'd been taught not to use a towel until thoroughly clean) wore it as a makeshift robe, covering all the unsightly bits. Even her socks, which were a homespun fabric like cotton or wool. Whatever it was, it clearly came from an animal and was knitted together by an expert. Each one she very carefully tended to. Clothing was precious in the most remote colonies. Most mass-produced garments were out of the reach of the common farmer, so Jett knew how to keep them from tearing or falling into disuse, or stretching or losing their elasticity.

Finally after she was satisfied with her cleanliness, she returned to the courtyard to see if she could find Aren or Omen, suspecting that they would have returned by then-- or to at least see what was next for her. Training or otherwise. The shower had done wonders working the knots out of her muscles and refreshing her. She felt like she could sprint or lift or fight for an extended amount of time... though she would prefer to relax, she knew she was in for a long and brutal few weeks... or more.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't react when Korda lifted Omen. Not at first.

Her gaze followed the motion with calm, measured attention—no alarm, just assessment. She knew both of them well enough to recognize the difference between danger and… whatever this particular display was.

Still, the moment Omen's boots left the ground, her voice cut in, quiet but unmistakably firm.

"That's enough."

No heat. No challenge. Just a line drawn exactly where it needed to be. Her eyes moved from Korda to Omen as he was set back down, a brief check for injury—none, of course. Only pride.

When Jett began stripping out of her armor, Aren shifted slightly, turning just enough to give her space without making a performance of it. She accepted the towel being handed over with a small, approving nod.

"Showers are down that corridor," she said, gesturing toward the path Jett had already chosen. "Take your time." Her voice softened, barely. "You'll feel better after." And she let her go.

The energy shifted almost immediately—Omen's frustration simmering, Korda's certainty pressing back against it. Aren stepped back, not withdrawing, simply refusing to insert herself into a conflict that wasn't hers to solve. Her arms folded loosely, posture relaxed but attentive as she watched the two of them clash in their own way. She didn't interrupt. Didn't mediate. She just listened, reading tone more than words.

When Omen turned to her, clearly done, she didn't try to hold him there. Her expression gentled instead. "Take the time," she said quietly.

His kiss to her cheek was met with a light touch to his arm as he passed—steadying, not clinging. "I'll be here." And she stayed.

When Korda followed after him, Aren remained where she was, gaze drifting once toward the showers, then back to the courtyard as it settled into silence again. She didn't fill it. Didn't try to repair what wasn't hers to repair.

She simply waited.

When Jett returned—cleaner, steadier, wrapped in the towel and looking more like herself—Aren's attention shifted fully to her. A faint warmth touched her expression, something close to relief.

"Better?" she asked, gentle but sure. Her eyes swept over Jett once, not judging, just checking. A small nod followed. "Good." She stepped a little closer, present without crowding. "Omen needed a minute," she said, calm and honest. "He'll come back."

A brief pause. "And Korda… means what he says. Even when he says it badly." A flicker of dry humor softened the words.

Then her focus settled fully on Jett again. "You did a lot in a short time," she said. "Fought. Learned. Chose."

Her head tilted slightly, the gesture quiet but reassuring. "You don't have to do the next part all at once." She eased back a fraction, giving Jett room to breathe. "But when you're ready," Aren added, voice low and steady, "we'll figure out what comes next. Together."

Jett Vox Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda returns from the cobbled path a few minutes before Jett does.
Helmet in one hand. Flask in the other.
He doesn't look victorious.
He looks tired.

He takes a slow sip, then pinches the bridge of his nose as if bracing himself for a different kind of battle entirely.
When Jett steps back into the courtyard wrapped in a towel, his eyes flick up,
and immediately shift away.
Deliberate. Respectful.

"No offense taken," he says evenly.
He lifts the flask slightly.
"If anything… think of me as the uncle who supplies explosives when you need them."
A faint curl of humor touches his mouth.
"Every clan's got one."

His gaze stays fixed somewhere just over her shoulder.
"You're right," he continues. "A clan isn't numbers. It's people you trust to show up."
He rolls the helmet once in his palm.
"I never offered before you said you wanted this one."
Simple. Direct.

"You chose first."
A slow breath.
"But understand something."
His tone shifts, not heavier. Just more grounded.
"Trusting the people in front of you is the foundation. That's the fire."

A slight nod toward the space Omen had disappeared down.
"But a recognized clan banner?" His thumb taps the edge of his helmet. "That's structure."
He takes a few measured steps across the courtyard.

"A legitimate sigil means supply lines. Ammunition that isn't scavenged. Replacement parts that aren't stripped off wreckage."
"Armor maintenance done right."
"Contracts that pay enough to keep you fed through a cold season instead of gambling job to job."

He glances at her briefly, then looks away again.
"It means if you're injured, you're not alone in some ditch hoping someone comes back for you."
A beat.

"It means other clans think twice before testing you. Because you don't just answer for yourself. You answer for something established."
He shifts his weight.
"Protection isn't just standing next to someone you like."
His voice lowers slightly.

"It's having a network that answers when you call."
He gestures lightly with the helmet.
"Clan Veydran isn't large. Not yet. only me"
No pride. No apology.

"But it's structured. Accounted. Supplied. kinda, I got a person for the supplies"
His gaze steadies.
"When I say you train under my banner for a month, that isn't symbolism."
A pause.

"It means access. Resources. Standards."
Then, softer:
"It means your growth isn't limited to what three people can carry on their backs."
He exhales slowly.

"As for Omen…"
A faint shake of his head.
"Love him like a brother."

Another sip from the flask.
"But he ought to set a better example."

His thumb brushes the tally marks scored into the helmet's edge.
"I trained four Mandalorians who landed with me on Yaga Minor."
His voice doesn't waver.
"They're gone."

A quiet beat.
"They chose the path. I gave them every out I could. I charged first. Always."
He lifts his eyes to her again.
"You won't be sent anywhere I wouldn't go myself."

Firm.
"You've got a lot of life ahead of you."
A faint shrug.

"Some mornings I'm not convinced I do."
No self-pity. Just wear.
"This life costs."
He straightens slightly.

"I'm not forcing you into Clan Veydran."
Clear.

"You stand under my banner for a month, you train. You learn what it demands."
Another measured pause.
"At the end of that month, you walk if you want."
His voice steadies into something unmistakable.

"That choice is yours. Not mine. Not Omen's."
A faint, tired smirk.
"And for what it's worth… you're acting more like an adult than he is right now."
He slips the flask back to his belt.

"So."
A small nod of approval.
"You cleaned up."

He steps back into command without pressure.
"Get dressed."
Then, even and certain:
"When you're ready… we start light drills."
A brief beat.
"Under the banner."

Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade Jett Vox

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen wouldn't have fought as much as he did if he actually knew what Korda's grand plan was before he had sprung it on them. Now it seemed like he had been invited to a person he wanted to protect, being snatched from him with no notice. And it was clear now that it was going to happen, whether he liked it or not.

When Korda came after him, he didn't say anything as he listened before rubbing his temples, looking more tired than he should have been, even after the long flight here. Omen's head was spinning after that confrontation, and he just wanted it to stop. "She's 16 Korda... She doesn't have the experience to know what she is signing up for as part of your Clan. But I never said she shouldn't do this to her; I just meant she shouldn't make a split-second decision about something while the Used Speeder salesman's right there, smiling imposingly, right next to you. Ones, who knows, I might even want to join." At the mention of Korda sending her on a mission that he wouldn't take on himself, Omen looked unimpressed. "Okay, so that means you want to lead her into insanity then." Something that didn't make the Clone feel any better about her chances of getting out alive.

At least Korda wasn't blind either, and Omen gave an appreciative nod of understanding. Guess it was time to share his point of view. "I fought for the GA, the Jedi, and the Enclave for a long time... And sure, I had some good memories out of it and met some good people. I also got my business torched by people who should have been my Vod and a long prison stint when I finally broke. I almost committed suicide, and I would have missed out on finding Aren, Jett, and you if it had been successful. Mistakes tend to be repeated from generation to generation. Just trying to make sure she doesn't make them too." The point was made. Yes, there would be a cost. There always was. Omen just wanted to figure out if it's a cost Jett really wanted to pay.

An inquisitive eyebrow shot up, and half a smirk appeared on his face at the "Love you like a brother" line. "First time anyone has ever said that to me, so thanks. And you're probably right. Then again, I'm only an angry young teen mad at the world, so I don't know better, do I?" Who knew his age would give him plausible deniability? But Korda was at least somewhat right; he should have probably just kept his mouth shut and talked to Jett in private instead of reacting right away, even though the Clone thought he was doing the sensible thing in the moment. " I'll help her and you as much as I can, no matter what. I'll even settle for calling you big boned instead of the F word. Acceptable?" In his mind, he was hoping Korda would see this as him trying to compromise. He also knew that once Korda got going, he was hard to stop.

Whether Korda accepted or not, Omen didn't come back with him. He was a little tired of people running over him before he said his unpopular opinion, and then saying he was the fly in the ointment. So, he did what he usually did: either shut down completely or go somewhere else for a bit to try to get his mind straight. The Clone would come back for dinner whenever that was being had or whenever enough time had pass he felt he could reintroduce himself without getting his hand slapped. Besides, he wondered if this place could get his favorite entertainment programs, and now was the right time to find out.

Jett Vox , Aren D'Shade , Korda Veydran