Faction We Are The World [Diarchy + Friends]

[Iandre Athlea]

The camp was a living thing — breathing, shifting, overflowing with need and exhaustion. So many threads of motion, so many voices raised and lowered, so many minor crises stitched into the air that only someone trained to read a battlefield could parse them.

Iandre had been sorting medkits with a quiet, practiced rhythm when Aknoby's minor confrontation caught the edge of her awareness. A faint ripple in the Force. The sudden spike of frustration. The headache that followed. The youths scattering. She didn't intervene — his resolution was clean and measured, and the five would remember the lesson without harboring resentment. Good. He had handled it well.

Her hands continued their work until something else tugged her full attention — the soft, uncertain voice of the teenager Judah had called over. Hesitation, shyness, fear of being noticed. A need to seem small. Hidden. She recognized it immediately.

She removed her gloves in a single, practiced motion, set them neatly aside, and stepped out from behind the table, her gait calm and steady as a metronome amidst the disorder.

She came to stand beside Judah and Caelus, her presence not imposing but unmistakably grounding — the kind of quiet authority soldiers trusted without question and civilians instinctively leaned toward.

Her gray eyes softened as she angled herself toward the teen.

"You're not in trouble," she said gently.
"And you're not required to be anything — intern or otherwise — unless you wish to be."

She dipped her head slightly, acknowledging their timid posture without making a spectacle of it.

"This isn't an interrogation. We want to make sure you're safe."

Then she turned to Judah, her tone still soft but with the crisp clarity of an officer accustomed to making quick assessments.

"She's alone. Displaced, most likely. No signs of coercion or escort."
A small glance at Caelus, a flicker of approval at his gentle approach.
"Let's not overwhelm her."

Iandre shifted subtly, creating a small pocket of space — an opening that invited the kid to breathe, to settle, to choose how close or distant to be.

Only then did she speak to them again, voice warm and steady.

"What's your name?"
"And what brings you to this part of the camp?"

She didn't push. Didn't pry.
Just offered a rope — thin, soft, and held lightly — ready to catch if they reached for it.

Solon Rey Caelus Vire // NIHIL Judah Dashiell

 

[Solon Rey]

Objective: Find Comfortable new spot
Location: Ithor
Outfit: Raggedy Casual Clothes
Alias: Freia Kaella
Tags: Judah Dashiell | Iandre Athlea | Caelus Vire // NIHIL

As I asked what the first man required of her, a second walked up. Younger, part of the group that the first man was speaking to I assumed, though I could not say I could have picked out his face from before this moment. A third person was standing close by and my nerves suddenly grew. Why was I getting so much attention?

The second younger man inquired if this was a matter of intake. I suppose that might have been the case. No one had come and taken any information from me since I arrived on Ithor. I image that some sort of registration would be required to figure out who would be willing to take me in if anyone. What such an intake routine would involve, however I had no clue. The offered help would probably be quite beneficial for me. Since I don't have much experience doing things for myself. I gave a quick nod to the younger man before the elder expanded upon the questions.

Before I could answer the further questioning, I saw two mirror images in the distance amongst the refugees ( Ceres & Enel Kira ). I hadn't seen anyone so young being part of the refugee efforts, but I hadn't met many people at all who were to be honest. Perhaps I would be able to speak to them later. For now, I needed to answer the questions posed to me. "Um…" I started nervously. I guess those twin girls must be interns, I definitely am not one. " Um…" I repeated as I looked at the younger man I was asked if I knew. I shook my head at that. That should suffice, right?

The woman behind the older guy must have sensed my nerves. She jumped in with comforting words. I am not in trouble. That was quite the statement. I am faking my identity and running from the occupiers of my home. I would certainly define that as trouble, but I am pretty sure she meant that none of them were looking to do anything to me.

"Displaced," I finally said locking eyes with the first man, before turning a thankful smile to the woman. "I am Freia…Freia Kaella. I am from Coruscant, level 3597. I need a new home."

My eyes shifted to the younger man. "If there is stuff I need to do for that I would very much like some help. I've never done this sort of thing before. My grandma always took care of things…" I let that hang out there. Grandma had been gone for over a year before the Galactic Empire popped its head in on the Core. But if they thought I was orphaned in my escape that might help me a little. At eighteen I should be able to do things on my own…SEVENTEEN! Freia is seventeen. Why couldn't Mom have just kept me the same age. Remembering I'm a girl is a drastic difference that I will surely not forget. That should be enough to throw people looking for "Solon Rey" off my track. What's a year in age really going to do?

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

I sit down on the wooden crate, the board creaking under my weight. Dust clings to my gloves and to the red fabric of my coat. Around us, the Ithor refugee camp breathes like an old wound uneven, strained, sometimes full of murmurs, sometimes swallowed by a crushing silence.

Enel drops onto the crate beside me without grace, her shoulders tense as if every sound were a threat. She hates places like this I can read it in the way her fingers tap restlessly against her knee, in the little tic that tightens her jaw from time to time. She says it's the dirt, the smell, the "atmosphere." But I know it's something else entirely. Camps like this reflect everything uncomfortable about who we are. Everything adults destroyed long before we ever had a say.

In front of us, a group of refugees cling to the thin shade of a torn tent. A child coughs dry, too dry. A woman presses a damp cloth to his forehead, though the water is already warm. Nothing here feels right: not the fragility of these people, not the violence that forced them here, not us two perfectly made twin sister in bright red coats. Two errors in a landscape of suffering.

I close my eyes for a moment. The wind carries smells of burnt soup, wet fabric, weak medicine. All of it is the result of the adults' war the conflicts we follow orders for, the decisions others make without having to face the aftermath.

Next to me, Enel groans.

"Can we please not stay too long?"

Her voice is low, but the anxiety behind it is impossible to miss. She thinks I'm trying to lecture her again. But that's not what this is. I just want her to see. To feel. To never forget what every operation leaves behind, here, hidden in the cracks.

When I open my eyes again, I catch her gaze drifting away. Someone is watching us a young person, maybe a teenager, standing at the entrance of an improvised shelter. Their eyes are too large, too dark for their tired face. They look at Enel with a strange mix of curiosity and caution. Admiration? Fear? Just a need to understand who we are?

Enel stiffens. I see the moment she decides to ignore it. She turns her head sharply, folds her arms across her chest—a gesture more defensive than dismissive.

I breathe out.

"She was looking at you, you know."

"I know," Enel mutters. "So what?"

I don't push. Not now. She's already understood, even if she refuses to admit it. Here, we aren't soldiers. We aren't weapons. Not even clones. Here, we are adults in the eyes of those hurt by adults. And that's why every glance weighs so heavily.

I let my fingers slide across the rough wood of the crate and lift my head. The camp stretches on endlessly, a maze of quiet suffering no one wants to acknowledge.

"Enel…" I murmur, without looking at her. "You're nervous because this place resembles us more than you want to believe."
"Shut up"
She doesn't answer. But her breathing shifts slower, more aware.

And in that silence, for the first time since we arrived, I think she finally starts to listen.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

From my small improvised stand a shaky table covered with crates of medicine, healing balms, and food packets I let my hands move through the familiar routine: handing out rations, giving a painkiller, checking a fever, soothing a crying child. The Ithor camp is overflowing with suffering, and yet I try to keep my voice gentle, my movements steady. People here need constancy as much as they need care.

Sunlight filters through the torn tarp above me, casting shifting shadows over tired faces. I hand a final packet to an elderly woman, then lift my eyes. And I see them. Two young women in red coats, sitting together on a crate a little ways off. Identical so perfectly identical it's unsettling. The same face, the same features, the same posture. One of them is tense, eyes darting, fingers tapping in restless little bursts. The other is more grounded, but carries a deeper weight like she's trying to hold back something invisible and heavy.

They stand out. And not just because of their coats.

No… what I feel is something else entirely.

A subtle vibration. Like a faint ripple brushing against my mind, grazing the surface of my skin. A presence that tingles through the air familiar, too familiar. The Force. Raw, unstable, young. Not controlled, but undeniably there.

Both of them. Not just one. Both.

They might be trying to hide it or they may not even know they're projecting it so strongly. But for someone like me, it's as clear as a beacon in the dark.

I observe them a bit longer. The nervous one sharply looks away when a young refugee stares at her. Defensive. Ready to flee or to snap. The other carries a quiet, lucid sadness in her eyes. And a burden, like someone who's seen too much for her age.

I inhale slowly, reorganizing a few boxes on my table. I should stay here. There are still so many people waiting. But the Force nudges me toward them, like an invisible hand resting on my shoulder.

They are not just strangers to this camp. They are strangers to everything this place represents.

And maybe they need someone to address them not as soldiers, not as weapons… but as human beings.

I step away from my stand. Dust rises softly beneath my boots. The closer I get, the sharper the sensation becomes raw, unsettled, like twin currents identical yet pulling in opposite directions.

When I reach a respectful distance, I stop. I tilt my head slightly in greeting.

"You're not from here," I say calmly. "And… you're giving off something quite unusual."
A small smile curves my lips not one of suspicion, but of understanding.
"If you need medical care, or a warm meal… or even just someone to talk to, I can help. This is my personal comlink frequency, don't hesitate to use it, if you want a better future, than this. "

Both twins look up at me. I smile, and i return to my stand for continue help the other refugee in difficult.

 

[Judah Dashiell]

​

Immediately apologetic, Judah didn't know this girl - Freia - wasn't a part of his youth internship program. Sometimes it was difficult to tell. He wasn't keen to all youth fashions and frankly all teenagers had a disheveled air to them. He attributed it to trying to be cool amongst their peers. A small flush on his cheeks before replying.

"Sorry, I thought you were one of the ones who joined us to assist."

The girl asked if she needed to do something in order to get help. Brows furrowed and he immediately shook his head. Teenager or not this was a kid and potentially an orphan. They had mentioned a grandmother but there may be other relatives, it was difficult to tell without seemingly interrogating the kid.

"No, no. There's no need to do anything. There's organizations here to get you on your way or find another family member if you like. I'm sure Miss Athlea can assist you in your initial journey."

Solon Rey | Iandre Athlea | Caelus Vire // NIHIL​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre stepped forward the moment Judah said her name, the soft crunch of dust beneath her boots barely audible beneath the murmur of the camp. The young girl—Freia—held herself like someone who wanted to disappear into the shade of the tent wall, shoulders pulled tight, fingers curled around her sketchbook like it was the last piece of stability she owned. The Force moved around her in trembling, uncertain currents, the way it did around those who had been forced to grow up too quickly.

She lowered herself slightly so she wasn't towering over the girl, her gray eyes steady and warm, her voice gentle yet assured.

"You do not need to offer anything in return for help, Freia," she said, the words carrying the calm certainty of someone who had spent her life tending to frightened souls in warzones. "You are safe here. Truly."

She cast a brief, sweeping glance toward Judah and Caelus—not accusatory, simply acknowledging their concern—before returning her full attention to the girl in front of her. There was something fragile in Freia's posture, something that reminded her of too many faces in too many campaigns during the Clone Wars. Children displaced by decisions they never made.

"Displaced is enough," she continued softly. "You are not expected to understand procedures or to navigate this alone. That is why we're here."

She extended a gloved hand—not forcing the gesture, simply offering it, patient and open—her posture radiating an unspoken reassurance.

"My name is Iandre Athlea," she said, giving the young girl time to decide whether to accept the gesture. "I can walk you through the intake process myself. We will take it one step at a time, and nothing will happen without your understanding and consent."

She tilted her head, studying Freia's face with the gentle attentiveness of a healer rather than a soldier.

"You mentioned your grandmother," she murmured. "If you want me to help look for surviving family, I can. If you need placement with a host family or temporary guardians, I can arrange that as well. You will not be left alone in this."

For a moment, she sensed the faint ripple of unease—Freia's fear of being recognized, hunted. Iandre did not pry, but she adjusted her stance slightly so that her presence formed a quiet barrier between the girl and the camp's bustle.

The two red-coated twins remained in her peripheral vision, their Force signatures bright and young, but she did not force their involvement. She had felt their anxiety from across the field, but Freia was her focus now.

"And if you would like," she added gently, "you may stay by me until you feel comfortable. No one here will rush you."

A soft smile touched her lips—warm, steady, and meant only for the girl standing before her.

"You are safe, Freia. Truly. And whatever you need to build your new beginning, I will help you do it."

Judah Dashiell Lyssara Thrynn Ceres & Enel Kira Solon Rey Caelus Vire // NIHIL

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Rellik returned the introductions with a small wave, an easy motion of two fingers, offered in equal measure to Chronicle, Sickle, and Crash.

"Good to meet all of you," he said simply, with a polite nod. He listened while she spoke, the quick, uneven breaths, the brightness that flickered and dimmed as she asked her question, the way "older days" was said. There was no probing at it, just a quiet, brief smile that acknowledged the weight.

When she asked how many people were here, the Diarch glanced over the field, rows of tents, medical stations, aid lines winding deep.
Volunteers already looked exhausted, and supply skids were still coming down from transports overhead.

"A lot," he answered honestly.

"Counts are constantly rising. More transports are inbound every few hours. Some only stop long enough to offload before jumping again." A beat, then a minor tilt of his head toward her crew's work, the crates, filters, blankets already gone.

"That's why everything feels like it's moving too fast. Everyone is scared. Taking as much as they can. And rightfully so. Hopefully we give them some comfort."

Another transport rumbled overhead, drowning a few words in engine wash. Rellik waited for it to pass before adding, a touch quieter. He didn't try to offer philosophy or empty comfort. Just the truth, given gently.

"If your supplies are thinning faster than you expected… I would happily divert some to your stock and you can do with it what you would like. It is better for the new arrivals to see multiple groups helping." The Diarch gave a big smile. Just trying to make everyone, including Glade feel good.

His attention swept the crowds again, then returned to her with the same small, steady smile as before.

"We're doing what we can. And I'm glad you're here helping with the rest."

"Oh…" His voice lowered, almost as an afterthought but no less sincere. "It's been a while since I last saw you. I hope the time between then and now has been kind."

Glade

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Caelus stayed quiet while Judah and Iandre spoke, the breeze tugging lightly at the hem of his coat. Nothing about his posture suggested authority, only attentiveness. It was hard to process for him. Both as man and machine. For he realized in some obscure way that the uncomfortable small variants in Freia's posture were similar to his.

He did not know how to approach people or how to manage the awkward moments of attention or care. He was part Rellik. Part machine. Part Killer. Yet the parts that were Caelus were slowly finding their own feet in that swath of algorithm, DNA, and life experience.

He glanced once at Iandre. Internally - "Fathers light. His love." a reflex he didn't like but couldn't quite suppress. Around dignitaries, around Senate committees, around Bastion's boardrooms, he always knew how to speak. Rhetoric, polish, courtesy, perfectly measured charm all of it available on command.

"Does she know who I am?"

Here, none of it fit.

And that made him quieter.

When he spoke again, it wasn't the voice of a Chancellor, or an operator groomed to blend into high society. It sounded… new. Almost tentative.

He breathed in, light and unsteady, like he was manually correcting posture in real time. When his hand slipped into his coat, for a moment it looked like muscle memory from a mission profile. But what emerged was only a slim personal comm card.

He paused, searching for the right phrase the way a machine searches for missing syntax. "Hey Freia, if you ever want someone to sit connect with if you go into the Diarchy's social programs you can reach out to me."

He placed it near the sketchbook

"I'm Caelus," he said, too soft to be a presentation, too plain to be a performance.

"A friend. If you'd ever want or need one."

It was real and that was new.

Judah Dashiell Iandre Athlea Solon Rey

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

Someone walks up to us and offers us a better future by giving us a comlink number? What are we supposed to do with that? Mom always told me not to approach strangers—well, that part's already a bit of a failure. As I watch her return to her humanitarian aid booth—she actually has her own booth!—I realize she's technically someone influential. I grab my datapad and run a simple reverse search in the galactic database: her profile pops up. She's not just anybody, the lady with the black hair. She's the co-leader of the Diarchy's R&D department. The Diarchy—the faction currently helping these poor people.

Enel, for her part, is swinging her legs off the edge of the cargo crate. I know exactly what that gesture means: she's buzzing with excitement and can't sit still. What would we gain from joining this woman's camp? Well… everything, really. We'd have access to resources we can't even imagine. For my inventions, that would be huge. And for Enel, maybe she'd finally have a real place to learn instead of the stupid force-lesson nonsense from our current Sith mentor. Besides, that woman's aura in the Force is overwhelming—infinitely stronger than his.

I don't know what she did to get where she is, but one thing's certain: she wasn't wrong about us. I stare at her comlink frequency, stunned. An opportunity like this… maybe we will join the Diarchy after all.

"Hey, Enel? What do you think about this?"

In an instant, she snatches the datapad from my hands to look for herself. Her eyes go wide. You can practically read the "Wow, that's awesome!" on her face. She practically throws the datapad back at me, and I barely catch it before it hits the ground.

We eventually decide to get in line to approach her booth like everyone else. I wait with my arms crossed while Enel fidgets nonstop. The woman keeps handing out medicine and food rations.

"You think she'll give us some food? I'm starving!"

"Just ask her. Enel."

For once, I don't have a Plan B. I just intend to drop off our résumé and try to join the Diarchy.

Diarch Rellik Lyssara Thrynn

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

Eventually, I see them fall into line with the others. It makes me smile looks like the seed I planted has finally taken root. I hear one of them mention food, and the other respond that she should just ask. Without making a fuss about it, I prepare a small portion of food for the hungry one between two refugees, set it aside for her, then continue handing out drinks, food, and medicine. My crates are nearly empty, actually; I've already helped quite a lot of people today.

Good news for the people of Ithor my stand must have done a lot of good. It's needed in these difficult times. When the twins' turn comes, I look at them with a smile and slide the small packet toward the one who asked for something to eat, as if to tell her to help herself. I treat them as refugees, because technically, that's what they are.

"So then, tell me what can I do to help you?"

I stretch a little, yawning behind my stand, but I keep a watchful, attentive eye on their every move. Now that they're in front of me, I take the opportunity to analyze them more deeply through the Force. One feels calm like water, the other restless like fire, both with a relatively equal level of sensitivity.

It's hard to tell them apart precisely. No matter how closely I look at the small details, it all comes down to their attitude like yin and yang. These twins, if they aren't clones, have truly caught my attention.

My one and only goal in offering them a better future is simply to help them progress and let them grow into their own choices. Nothing more. That's what a good mentor would do: guide without judging too harshly, advise rather than dictate. After all, I already succeeded with @Nyva Shei—training her and turning her into an autonomous Diarchy agent. Why wouldn't I be able to do the same with these two? They look rather frail, but appearances can be deceiving. And in any case, they make me smile.

My gaze turns toward the one on the right, who seems to be seeking answers to her questions.

Ceres & Enel Kira Diarch Rellik

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

Enel doesn't waste a second. The moment the small packet slides toward us, she grabs it like a predator catching prey. The wrapper cracks under her fingers, and she starts eating fast too fast as if someone might snatch it away from her. I watch her swallow bite after bite, legs swinging in the air, and despite everything… seeing her so natural calms me a little. Me? I can't do the same.I stand still, rigid, my heart beating a bit too quickly.

When Lyssara speaks to me, all the tension I'd been holding down rushes back at once. Her voice isn't harsh, isn't threatening, but it still hits me like a weight I wasn't prepared to carry. What am I supposed to answer What can I say?

Enel pauses just long enough to nudge me with her elbow.

"I, huh.... I want"
"Come on… tell her. Look i have my food! And it's really delicious, you miss something!"

She got a point, the lady give to she a free food meal. I lower my eyes. She can just eat her ration and smile. But what I have in mind… it's different. Something I never imagined saying to someone this important. A sentence I tossed to Enel in the line earlier, almost jokingly, even though deep down… I meant it. I take a deep breath. My hands shake a little. I'm scared of saying something wrong, of sounding stupid, of asking for too much.

I finally lift my head. I have no idea how she'll react. No idea if this is inappropriate, ridiculous, or just naive. But I say it anyway.

"We… would like to join the Diarchy. In the R&D sector, this is our CV, i hope he can be good, i want bring my sister with me! "

My voice is a bit weaker than I expected.But the words are out. And nothing absolutely nothing can take that moment back. I deposite on the stand, my document who resume, what i create, what i do, and i am relieved to have dared to ask. Enel, for her part, devours her food packet and gorges herself as usual; I don't do what I'm doing next to her, even though I'm literally playing out our future.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

The document lands on the edge of my booth. I lower my eyes and take it between my fingers. The document is simple, with no particular formatting. Mostly notes about small devices, homemade prototypes, attempts at crafting weapons. Nothing academic, nothing official. Just the things she actually built.

That's more than enough.

I flip through it a bit more. There's real thought behind these little projects. Resourcefulness. Curiosity. I recognize this kind of beginning. It's exactly how I started. I look up. The calmer of the two is watching me standing straight, but clearly nervous. The other is already finishing her food packet. I can't blame them. They're hungry, cold, scared… and even so, they came to see me.

I set the résumé down. I don't need to read any further to make my decision. I reach for the administrative stamp sitting beside my camp records. A simple tool, but one that changes lives in a place like this. I press the seal onto the corner of the document; the ink marks it cleanly, officially accepted.

Then I slide the stamped résumé back toward them.

"Welcome inside the Diarchy in the R&D sector. You and your sister, needed to follow me on bastion, the capital of the Diarchy. Come on to my personnal ship, the solar spectrum."

Nothing more. Nothing less. But for the moment, i can't leave this place, i need to finish to distribute this food and medkit help. So, i less the twin free time for the moment, and i re back to the other refugees, they leave the The line of people—I arranged for them to meet at my personal ship, the Solal Spectrum. I assume they'll head there to wait. If there's a code of honor in the Diarchy, it's that we extend a helping hand to anyone who sincerely asks for it, and in the case of these girls, I believe they were sincere. I saw them give a warm loaf of bread to a homeless person earlier; it was admirable. They're also willing to help.

 

[Glade]

"You do a lot," Glade's voice dipped into tender struck memories as if they were data fragments drifting way too loose for her to save. "More than most." She was starting to learn that about the Diarchy, on the odd jobs they'd tangled through together.

She rested her elbow on her hoverchair's console, shoulders slouched in that casual, but wired way. "Life moves kinda fast." Where she came from, that was truth. Lives were short, loud, and over too fast. Refugees, she'd learned, "remind us where we come from, y'know?"

She smiled, warm and a bit frayed around the edges. Sickle, beside her, looked even more determined to hand out what little they had left.

Glade's chair took a few soft glides forward toward the Diarch, voice brightening as she leaned in. "Well… if you're really offerin', we'd take it. No chains or debts, just shared hands." Before she could elaborate, Chronicle cut in with his usual efficiency, "What Glade means, Diarch, is we'd accept the redistribution. Politely." He stepped back again, terse but respectful, his version of being gentlemanly toward Rellik in the formality.

Had life been... Glade bobbed her head, a tiny, wavering nod, kind? Kind of. Maybe. "Yep," she answered, brightness in static smiles, like a glitchy neon sign trying to tell a lie. "Thanks for askin'." More jobs. runs, and danger. Too many faces gone missing between docking bays and back-alley deals. A rogue's life, written in scars.

"And you?" she asked softer, tilting her head with that same sentimental spark she held to. "Time treatin' you decent… or just runnin' ya through slicers like the rest of us?" In the chaos around them, her voice stayed warm, trying to light up a small space with hope.

Diarch Rellik

 

[Solon Rey]

Objective: Find Comfortable new spot
Location: Ithor
Outfit: Raggedy Casual Clothes
Alias: Freia Kaella
Tags: Judah Dashiell | Iandre Athlea | Caelus Vire // NIHIL

The first one to approach me seemed a bit embarrassed after I stated that I was a refugee rather than an intern helping with things. I gave him a smile and a nod of my head before looking at my clothing. I didn't think it was something that mark me as not desperate enough. Then I gave a sigh, what is desperate enough? Technically I needn't be a refugee. With my trust I could find a transport and a new place to live for a time. But using those accounts and my real name might gather attention. Especially since I was pretty sure my mom won't be held back by GA regulations she was probably doing a lot to work against the Galactic Empire on Coruscant.

"Once I finish paperwork I will be happy to lend a hand where possible," I say to Mr. Dashiell. I do feel a bit guilty taking charity, but I needed to be sure I was safe before I could figure out how to use the assets at my disposal. Mr. Dashiell mentioned Ms. Athlea would be able to be of aid. So I turned my attention to her.

Iandre assured me that I need not give anything for their help. That made me feel a little bit better but did not alleviate all of my guilt. Iandre again said it was not my responsibility to know what was required as far as the process of starting the process of whatever was to come after Ithor and introduced herself officially. I took a deep breath when she offered to help find family.

"Grandma was the last of my immediate family. She…um…she became one with the Force during the Empire's occupation…" I replied. Thankfully Grandma was dead before the Empire sunk their claws into the Core again, but that wasn't what Freia's records stated. I was an only child, but my parents were still alive and kicking. Every time I stated otherwise I wondered if they would be happy that I was staying safe, or disappointed I wasn't more like them. "I may have extended family out there, but I wouldn't even recognize them. I am nearly eighteen. If that is the age of adulthood wherever I am going I wouldn't want to take a guardian from a younger being who needs it more. Someone to check in on me from time to time would probably be good enough. I need to learn to do things for myself." the last bit was very true. Even as Solon I had always been dependent on others for the basics in life.

"Thank you for all of your help Iandre…Ms. Athlea. I would very much like to stay with you for the time being. After I'm all set perhaps we can lend a hand together."

At this time the other man stepped forward. Younger than Mr. Dashiell, maybe also younger than Iandre. He looked a bit unsure of himself, perhaps learning how to take on the responsibilities of seeing after others. I smiled at him as something was placed by my sketchbook. I waited to look at the item until I could do it without other eyes upon me. "Freia," I repeated timidly as he gave his name. There was probably a bit of guilt in lying once again in my tone. "I don't think anyone can have enough friends in the galaxy. Especially not folks from the Core who don't care for the Empire." I gave a warm smile. "What's the first step for intake?" I asked with a slight sigh, doubting the process would be quick or easy.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Freia's words carried that familiar blend of courage and exhaustion—the kind she'd seen in countless refugees, young and old, across too many worlds. But something in this girl's voice, in the way she held herself even while trying to seem small, stirred a quiet resolve in Iandre.

She stepped a little closer, softening her posture so Freia didn't feel crowded or scrutinized. The snowy breeze tugged at the hem of her formal grey coat, stirring the silver embroidery at the cuffs. "First things first," she said gently, her tone warm and steady. "You don't owe anyone an apology for needing help. That's what we're here for. And you don't need to worry about taking resources from anyone who needs it more. You're here. You're displaced. That is enough."

Judah and Caelus were both listening—the former with quiet concern, the latter with that tentative earnestness still settling into his voice. Iandre offered each of them a brief nod, acknowledging their roles without interrupting the space she was creating for Freia.

When the girl spoke of her grandmother, the hesitation, the grief—real or protective—landed gently in the Force like a pebble dropped into deep water. Iandre didn't pry at the ripples.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said softly, sincerity threading through every syllable. "Who you have, or don't have, will never disqualify you from belonging somewhere safe." Freia's insistence on adulthood earned a faint, approving smile. "Learning to do things on your own doesn't mean doing them alone."

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Caelus, who still looked like someone trying to navigate emotions he hadn't been programmed to understand—but whose offering of friendship had been nothing less than genuine. "Caelus's offer is a good one," she added gently. "Taking support isn't weakness. It's wisdom."

At Freia's final question, Iandre's smile warmed.

"The first step," she explained, "is verifying your name and where you came from. Not to interrogate you—just so the intake team can confirm you're not missing or wanted by the Empire, and so they know who to contact if needed." She gestured toward the closest administrative tent, the one with two ERN staff already waving new arrivals to station tables.

"After that, we look at housing options, medical checks, and which support programs fit your needs. I'll stay with you through every step. You won't be navigating this alone." She paused—just long enough to let the promise settle. "And when you're settled?" A gentle tilt of her head. "I would like that very much—helping others together."

Then, turning slightly toward Judah and Caelus, still including Freia in the moment: "Let's take her through intake now. The sooner she's registered, the sooner she can exhale." Her touch rested lightly on Freia's shoulder—not steering, simply reassuring. "Come. We'll walk it step by step."

Judah Dashiell Solon Rey Caelus Vire // NIHIL