K I N G
MANDALORE - ORBIT
"Though our stories differ, we are One."
The hum of the Resolute Dawn’s systems was a familiar one—steady, resolute, like the name it bore. Aether Verd stood at the center of the bridge, motionless, save for the slow curl of his gloved fingers behind his back. Outside the viewport, the stars were calm, Mandalore hanging like a sentinel in the distance. And there, just within orbital range, loomed something far less familiar: a capital warship, bristling with Imperial design and discipline—but flying no Imperial colors.
He studied it in silence.
That was the enigma of Sari’la Kandosii.
Newer to the fold, yet no stranger to war. Her name had reached him not through ceremony or self-promotion, but through action. Through victories. Through the whisper of soldiers who claimed their leader bore the steel of the old ways, even if her banners seemed born of another time. Her methods were different—but Mandalore had never been a place for sameness. Only strength. Only loyalty.
Aether turned toward the comms officer. “Open a channel. Tight-band, holographic projection only.”
A moment later, a shimmering blue image of the Mand’alor flickered into existence aboard Sari’la’s vessel, tall and unmistakable in black and crimson beskar. His voice followed—measured, but firm. The kind of voice that left no room for pretense.
“Alor Kandosii,” he said with a nod. “This is Mand'alor.”
His helmet tilted slightly, a gesture that was almost conversational—almost.
“I’d like to come aboard. Not for a debrief. Not for oversight. I want to know you. I want to see the warriors who serve with you. To understand your story—and the colors you fly in Mandalore’s name.”
A pause.
“If you’ll have me, I’ll arrive shortly via shuttle. Say the word.”
