Private Will You Stand? || Torva

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

The wind swept through shattered arches, carrying with it the scent of scorched parchment and the distant sounds of construction. Once, the library had been a monument to knowledge and culture. Now, it was a hollowed shell: scarred by flame, yet standing. It was here, among the blackened stone and broken shelves, that the Mand'alor returned.

Only weeks had passed since firebreathers crawled across Ketaris, razing cities in service of Yuuzhan Vong cruelty. Only weeks since Mandalorian warriors stood firm and turned the tide, putting down beasts that threatened to reduce the planet to ash. In the aftermath, aid had arrived swiftly. Camps were raised. Roads cleared. Food distributed. What remained of the population was brought into the fold of the Empire. Life, impossibly, began again.

And yet… not all returned to life as it was. Not all were content to rebuild and move on.

Some had questions. Others bore a hunger that did not come from empty bellies. They had seen something in the warriors who fought for them. Something worth understanding. Perhaps even joining.

Aether Verd did not come with a retinue of politicians or a parade of glory. Only the gold-clad Supercommandos stood beside him, silent sentinels at the threshold as he stepped into the ruined hall. He moved without ceremony to the center of the space, where stone had collapsed inward and left behind a single broken pillar. That was his seat. Nothing elevated. Nothing distant. Just another body in the circle, though the mantle on his shoulders was heavy.

His visor scanned the faces around him, each one marked by survival, some still wrapped in bandages, others clutching datapads or makeshift spears. They had been mustered in the shadow of ruin, and it was from that shadow he now spoke.

“I heard you were curious,” he said plainly, his voice low but steady. “Some of you want to know what it means to be Mandalorian. Others want to know what to expect as part of this Empire you’ve been welcomed into.”

He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on his thighs, posture open. “So I came. Not to give you orders. Not to drown you in slogans. I came to listen. To answer. To understand who among you would stand with us...not because you owe us, but because you choose to.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full of invitation.​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

It had been several weeks since the Burning of Ketaris.

In the aftermath, what remained of the people were gathered together to help rebuild their home, or try to. But for some…there was no home to rebuild. No family to connect with, to try and pick up the pieces. Ketaris just…wasn’t the same now, for some.

Some like Torva Vikar.

She was the last living member of her entire family - wiped out in a moment of terror and fire. In fact, the entire section of the city that Torva and her family had been living in had been reduced to ash. It would take years to rebuild…and so much had been lost, that rebuilding seemed nigh impossible. Some folks were eager to try, and accepted whatever aid and help they could get from the new powers that be.

Torva didn’t know anything about the Mandalorians; she saw them fight off the firebreathers with her own eyes, drive the creatures back and save her homeworld from total annihilation. They were too late to help save her family, and while there was some anger and bitterness left within her from that, she was smart enough to know that it wasn’t their fault that her family was gone. They did everything they could and while yes, many lost their lives…many more had been saved. Torva was thankful for that, though it didn’t dampen the pain of grief she still felt.

Her mother and father, gone. Her brother and sister…ash on the wind. She almost died herself, but had been pulled from the burning rubble of her home by an armor-clad soul whose name she never learned. A fearless warrior who had faced fierce flames and carried her to safety, to medical aid so her burns could be treated. Without their help…she would have suffered the same fate as the rest of her family.

That day, Torva joined many others who suddenly became refugees. Life was suddenly very uncertain, and the poor young woman was emotionally and mentally shut down, unable to process everything that had happened. Others tried to engage her, to bring her out of her shell, but she remained muted and withdrawn. Well, that was true…except for one thing. She - like a few others - voiced their curiosity about their saviors.

Who were these armored warriors, these ‘Mandalorians’? Why had they come to help, instead of the Jedi? What would they do now to Ketaris? The ruling body of the planet had been all but destroyed, and rumor was that the world had been brought into the fold of the ‘Mandalorian Empire’.

What did that mean for her, now?

These questions, and many more, echoed in the dark confines of her mind as she found herself sitting amidst the rubble of what once was a great library for their city. Against her back was a crackle and broken support pillar, and around her was a small group of other refugees and survivors. Like her, they had nowhere else to go and had questions about the armored warriors. And like her, some sported bandages that still covered healing wounds. Her left hand and arm was wrapped and bound, and underneath her new-ish tunic were more bandages, covering burns along her ribs and side. Her once long and beautiful coppery-red blond hair had been all but burned away. In the few weeks since the disaster, it had started growing back, but was short - making her look almost boyish in appearance. She was still young; she’d just reached her eighteenth life year a few days prior. Not that she had anyone to celebrate with anymore. Torva was reflecting on that when movement caught her eyes and caused her to lift her head.

Stepping towards the small group was another one of the armored warriors…but this one seemed a little different. She couldn’t quite place why this particular individual felt this way - maybe it was what they were wearing - but her bright blue eyes never looked away from the figure, even as they sat upon the broken pillar just a short distance away from her. Everyone else in the small gathering watched them too, with various expressions. In turn, the figure in armor regarded them from behind a shadowed T-visor on their helm, and Torva found herself wondering just who was behind that helm.

A voice rang forth, a male voice. Low and steady and strangely calming.

“-Some of you want to know what it means to be Mandalorian. Others want to know what to expect as part of this Empire you’ve been welcomed into.”

The man paused as he leaned forward slightly, resting hands upon his thighs. His posture was open, welcoming. “So I came. Not to give you orders. Not to drown you in slogans. I came to listen. To answer. To understand who among you would stand with us...not because you owe us, but because you choose to.”

The silence that filled in the space when he finished speaking was deafening. Torva’s eyes flickered from individual to individual, watching and waiting to see if anyone else would speak up first. When no one else did, the young woman felt a rare surge of courage, borne from the curiosity that burned within.

“I…I can’t speak for everyone here but I guess…I want to know everything?” She paused for a moment, blinking once in surprise at the tone of her own voice. She had hardly spoken in the weeks since the Burning, and her voice sounded raw and cracked. Nevertheless, she carried forward with her questions. “You came to help us, but I don’t even know who or what you are. I hear rumors…that we are a part of some empire now? Are you a part of that? What’s going to happen to us?”

Around her, others nodded their agreement to her spoken statements, eager to hear what this man had to say on the topics. Torva was eager too, though she felt the tremors of uncertainty and fear. What is going to happen to me? -echoed her voice in her mind, a question she didn’t speak aloud, but one she desperately wanted an answer to.

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether waited.

The wind passed through the hollowed library once more, rustling ash and memory, but still no words came. Not at first. His gaze moved slowly across the faces around him, reading the tension in their shoulders, the weight behind their eyes. They were not without thoughts. He could see it in the way some clutched their datapads tighter. In the way others leaned forward ever so slightly, as if pulled by a need for answers.

Then one voice rose.

It belonged to a young woman wrapped in fresh bandages, her voice raw from disuse. She asked not with accusation, but with longing. Who were these warriors? What had become of her world? What came next?

Aether smiled behind his helm.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone genuine. “Those are the right questions.”

He clasped his hands together, armored fingers clicking softly, and inclined his head toward her. “If I were to give you every detail, we would be here until the stars turned. So let me give you the brief.”

He turned, extending one hand toward the warriors flanking the room.

“We are Mandalorians. Our homeworld is called Mandalore. We come from a warrior culture, shaped by war, by hardship, and by honor. We follow a code called the Resol’nare. It teaches us to be armed, to be vigilant, to raise our young in our ways, and to defend our people. Most of all, it teaches us to care for our own.”

He looked back to the gathered survivors.

“That now includes all of you.”

He let the words settle before continuing.

“Before the attack on this world, your leaders reached out to the Empire. They asked for help. In exchange, they pledged that Ketaris would join our fold. We agreed. We came. And though they are gone now, we will still honor the agreement. Ketaris is part of the Mandalorian Empire.”

His voice was calm, certain.

“This means you are citizens under our banner. It means you will not face the next threat alone. It means your homes will be rebuilt, your wounds tended, your lives protected. We will restore this planet, but we will not keep it in our grip. Once Ketaris can stand again, you will choose a Warden, someone from among your own, to speak for you in the affairs of the Empire. I am the Mand’alor, the one who leads our people, but I do not rule from afar with deaf ears. I will know your needs through the voice you choose.”

Aether shifted slightly on the broken stone pillar, then leaned forward, his helm scanning the room once more.

“As for what happens to you, specifically…” He nodded toward the group. “You will each be interviewed. You will be asked what you need. If you wish to stay here, you may, within the camps we have raised. If you wish to begin again elsewhere, on one of our other worlds, we will help you. You will not starve. You will not be left without shelter. You will not be forgotten.”

He let those words carry.

“Now,” he continued, “there is another path.”

His voice deepened, not with threat, but with the gravity of choice.

“The firebreathers were not the only enemy in this galaxy. There are worse things. Things that would see your world burn again. We will stand against them. We will fight until our last breath to keep you safe. But we need others to stand with us. If you are brave enough, you may join us. Learn the Resol’nare. Become one of us. Not by blood, but by creed. Or, if that is not your path, serve in your own way. As a healer. As a builder. As a protector of your community.”

He turned his helm back to the young woman.

“Does that begin to answer your questions?”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Torva was relieved to hear that she had asked the right questions, on behalf of those who had remained silent. She continued to watch the armored man, though something about his nature and the genuine way he spoke to them helped lower her guard somewhat. Instead of being on edge, she instead relaxed a little more to listen to what he had to say: that they were Mandalorians, whose homeworld was likewise called ‘Mandalore’. They were a warrior people, bound by a code and shaped by hardship, war, and honor. Their code seemed to be their guide in everything they did, and from what Torva could understand - it was why they were here on Ketaris now.

It came to her as a surprise that the government officials of her world had reached out to the Mandalorians for help - and in turn had surrendered the planet over to the Mandalorian Empire. She’d heard rumors and whispers, but to hear it was true, now made her understand why these warriors had come when the Firebreathers made their appearance. Ketaris belonged to them, all her people were now citizens of the Empire.

And that included Torva.

At least they would be provided for, protected. Ketaris would be rebuilt, people would be able to pick up and move on with their lives. A brief glance around to the others who listened to this man, told Torva that his words hit home. There was hope in eyes and faces now, where before there had only been uncertainty.

But for her, there was still an empty place within her.

Her mother and father had been immigrants to Ketaris, when they had been young. Her father had come from a different place, from a different culture, that was very tribalistic and had traditional values and beliefs that most Ketarians found odd. The men were the heavy lifters of her father’s society; the warriors, the workers, the blacksmiths, the hunters and fishers - so on and so forth. They looked after the women, as women were not particularly allowed to be on their own. But all the men in Torva’s life were gone, now. Without a man to support her, as she had been taught from an early age, she felt lost.

Torva’s attention, having drifted somewhat to be within her own thoughts and worries, returned to the man seated amongst the small group when she heard him announce that he was the ‘Mand’alor’...the leader of his people - which included Torva and those around her. She blinked at this, finding some awe in that understanding. To her understanding, leaders or rulers were people in fancy clothes with aides and servants…and yet here was a leader in armor. Who walked amongst his people, spoke to them, heard their voice directly.

It was something she could respect.

The Mand’alor shifted in his seat, and as he leaned forward the various flickering lights glinted off the visor of his helm as he looked at them all. He continued, explaining further that they would each be interviewed individually to see what they needed; if they wanted to stay here or be moved to another world that fell under the banner of his Empire. He assured them all that they would not starve, that they would not go without shelter and that they would not be forgotten. That seemed to settle well with most present, as a collective sigh of relief could almost be felt and heard. He remained quiet for some time to allow his words to truly settle over the group of refugees, before he spoke once more about another option available to them all; a different path.

The Mand’alor offered the opportunity for those who wished to do more, who were brave enough, to join him and his warriors. To stand against the other threats beyond the Firebreathers. A couple of men nearby seemed to glance at each other, sharing a glance of understanding and growing conviction. Strangely enough, Torva felt something stir within her heart upon hearing this option made available to them all. It went against everything she had been taught and yet… the offer was made to them all, men and women.

She’d seen women in armor, female Mandalorians. She had eyed them with envy, feeling a longing in her soul that she didn’t understand. The men in her life…they wouldn’t approve, they would block her, they would -

They are gone. It’s just me now. Just my…choices. Who is here to stop me, except myself?

“Does that begin to answer your questions?”

Torva’s gaze turned to regard the leader of the Mandalorians for a moment as she tried to wrestle her thoughts back under control. She nodded after a moment, affirming that he had, and then some. She was about to speak again, when the two male refugees spoke up and asked if they could take up the Mand’alor’s offer - to join in the ranks of the warriors.

Once more, she felt a pressure in her chest, a tug - a push. But there was a sense of fear within her - the fear that came before one took a leap into the unknown. She hesitated, a lump forming in her throat. There were other options available to her that were not the path of a warrior. She could serve her community in a way she’d been raised, taught…

And yet her mind kept going back to that offer.

“I…I’m interested.” she blurted, surprising even herself. Torva blinked a couple times and felt her mouth go dry. She swallowed, trying to clear the lump before she shared more than what she expected to: “I mean…my family raised me differently, women were not supposed to be…fighters, or protectors. But…something about it just…calls to me? I don’t know how to explain that…”

Aether Verd ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether watched her carefully.

Not with scrutiny, but with a quiet attentiveness born of many years and many such moments. His helm tilted ever so slightly as she spoke, the flickering light of distant fires reflecting faintly across its surface. He had been tracking the shifts in the room...the way unease gave way to stillness, the way grief gave way to resolve. Even in silence, these things spoke. He had seen it in the softened posture of the elders who had feared they would be cast aside. In the shared looks of the youth who suddenly imagined they might have a place in the world after all.

And in those two men who stood first.

They did not rise out of pride, nor bluster, but out of memory. Each bore the marks of recent wounds, and each bore the echo of trauma that had not yet faded. One spoke of fire. The other of being lifted from rubble by hands clad in iron. Both spoke of Mandalorians, and both declared they wished to become what had saved them. Aether did not hesitate. He gave them a nod and motioned them forward, welcoming them with the kind of silent assurance that carried more weight than ceremony.

He was just drawing breath to speak again when the young woman’s voice rang out.

There was hesitation in her tone, but it did not lack strength. In truth, there was more courage in that uncertain declaration than in a thousand empty boasts. She had not come to her decision quickly. It had clawed its way to the surface, pressed upward by longing and doubt, by grief and the slow erosion of everything she had once believed to be true. Aether regarded her for a long moment...

Then, the Mand’alor stepped down from the shattered pillar he had used as a seat and closed the gap with deliberate ease.

The moment was quiet. Sacred. When he stopped before her, his gauntlet rose slowly to the base of his helm, and with the soft hiss of uncoupling seals, he removed it. What awaited them was not a battle-scarred face, nor the grim countenance of a hardened warlord, but the calm expression of a man offering welcome. His smile was small, but genuine. There was warmth in it, and something else as well...a hint of pride not in himself, but in her.

“There is no higher calling than to stand between another and the darkness.” he said, voice now free of modulation. “And there is no greater comfort than knowing you will never again stand alone.”

His gaze shifted towards the two men momentarily, and his words slowed to match the weight behind them.

“To be Mandalorian is not to be born into greatness. It is to choose it. It is to be a stitch in something far greater than any one soul. A tapestry of strength, of honor, of kinship that spans the stars. We do not walk the same path, but we walk together.”

Then, without flourish, he extended his hand to Torva.

“I will show you the way.” he said simply. “If that is what your soul demands.”

His eyes searched hers, steady and kind.

“Walk it with me.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

There was a long moment of silence between Torva and this Mand’alor after she had spoken. She watched him carefully, warily, her gaze flickering to the others in the group and to the two men who had taken the offer. All seemed to be waiting in collective silence to see how this man responded to the young woman.

She was just about to apologize for speaking up when the Mand’alor moved. He stepped from his seat on the broken column, closing the distance between them with ease. Torva stiffened slightly and inhaled a somewhat sharp breath with the movement, but it became quickly clear to her that he meant her no harm. Instead, came to a halt in front of her and she watched with wide, curious, blue eyes as he reached a gauntleted hand up to his distinctive helm and released a couple of seals with a soft hiss. In a quiet and almost sacred manner, he lifted the helm off his head and revealed his face to her and the others gathered around him.

Torva blinked a couple of times; she hadn’t really known what to expect behind that T shaped visor - scars, perhaps. A scowl, cold eyes…a wartorn, haggard face even. But certainly not a man’s face that bore a welcoming smile, that carried warmth and pride - directed at her.

He spoke then, his voice now free of modulation - telling Torva, and the others, that there was no greater calling than for one to stand up and put themselves between another and against the darkness - and that there was no greater comfort than knowing that she and the others would never have to stand alone again.

Brown eyes shifted from her to regard the other two men who had made their choice to become Mandalorian. The weight of his next words settled over them all, and Torva listened intently, hanging on to every word. If she decided to go down this path too, then she would become a part of something greater than herself. He spoke words that made her soul stir: kinship, honor, strength. Was it possible? Could she do it, be a part of that?

Without any grandiose gesture, the Mand’alor extended a gauntleted hand out towards her, turning his face towards her as he did so. “I will show you the way. If that is what your soul demands.” he said to her. He searched her face, her eyes, his expression calm and grounding. “Walk it with me.”

Torva’s bright blue eyes lingered on his face, then drifted to the offered hand. She felt the pressure again, behind her chest. The weight of something significant, a destiny…a journey…for her. There was a sense of uncertainty, of fear, in that. But Torva took a deep breath and her face hardened with conviction. How could she say no to this opportunity? She’d be a fool to do so.

The young woman lifted her uninjured hand and gripped that of the Mand’alor’s - rising to her feet as she did so. She lifted her chin ever so slightly and locked eyes with him, not in a challenging way - but in acceptance and conviction of the decision she’d come to. Her stomach clenched with anxious uncertainty - but she ignored it and pushed her hesitance aside.

“If-if you are willing to teach me, then I would like to learn how to be what you are…a Mandalorian.”

Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

Aether’s hand lingered in the space between them, steady and waiting. In that moment, everything rested upon the choice of the young woman before him. Would she remain on Ketaris, bound by the familiar remnants of the life she had known, or would she rise and step into a destiny far greater than herself? The silence that followed her hesitation was not a hollow thing, but one filled with possibility, as though the ground itself held its breath to see which path she would walk.

Yet as he watched her, as her eyes shifted from his face to his hand, as she wrestled with the enormity of what lay before her, Aether saw what many would have overlooked. It was not the outward strength of someone accustomed to battle, nor the hardened resolve of a soldier with years of scars to draw upon. Instead, he glimpsed something fragile yet undeniable, much like tiny embers sheltered within the dark. It was a light that seemed to vanish if stared at too directly, yet it persisted all the same. He had seen this before in those who rose when none thought they could, and the faintest increase to the curve of his smile betrayed that recognition.

Her decision came swiftly after, though the stirring of courage that carried it had clearly been long in forming. Her hand reached for his, and when her grasp closed against the iron of his gauntlet she rose to her feet. Aether’s grip was firm in return, grounding her as she steadied her voice and declared her desire to walk the path of Mandalorians. He inclined his head once in solemn acknowledgement, the nod carrying the severity of a vow as he spoke.

“Then I will teach you all that it means to be one of us. Every step, every lesson, every trial. You will learn what it is to carry the name of Mandalorian.”

With that vow given, he shifted closer, bringing her hand gently forward before releasing it. His dominant hand rose in turn, and with an ease born of sincerity rather than formality, he drew her into a brief embrace. His voice lowered as he spoke against the quiet.

“I embrace you as one of my own,” he said warmly. “You are home now.”

The moment did not linger longer than it should, for this gesture was never meant to be possessive, only symbolic. As he released her and stepped back, Aether turned his gaze toward her and the others who had risen to stand with her choice. He gestured toward them with an open hand, his tone returning to one of simple clarity.

“You will accompany me back to Mandalore. Your new beginning awaits, and it will not be delayed.”

His eyes settled upon Torva once more, the embers he had seen within her still faint but now stirring with promise.

“The Manda has blessed you with its strength..." he told her, the words both benediction and promise. “It seems I will be guiding you in more ways than one.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Taking this Mand’alor’s hand and rising to her feet felt like the start of something new, something far greater than she could imagine. There was a weight to it, like a vow, almost. He inclined his head at her with the decision, and the atmosphere around him and the group of refugees seemed to thicken and hold its breath.

“Then I will teach you all that it means to be one of us. Every step, every lesson, every trial. You will learn what it is to carry the name of Mandalorian.” He said to her then, his spoken words carrying the weight of solemn significance, as if he had spoken a vow or a promise to her. Next, to Torva’s mild but not unwelcome surprise, he shifted and drew her closer and into a brief embrace, saying as he did so, that he now embraced her as one of his own.

That she was home.

Torva blinked rapidly when he stepped back, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. There was a tightness around her chest, a lump forming in her throat. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. In such a short period of time, she’d gone from having everything to nothing, and now a stranger - a ruler of a warrior people - had accepted her into his life, brought her into the fold of his people.

Whatever lay ahead of her now was a mystery, but she felt a growing desire and courage to face it all head on. She didn’t have to settle for the rigidity of what her family had expected of her. She could become whoever and whatever she wanted now. It would take time for her to truly accept what had just happened, to believe it all wasn’t just a dream, an escape from her living nightmare.

“You will accompany me back to Mandalore. Your new beginning awaits, and it will not be delayed.” The Mand’alor said to her and to the other two men who had stepped up to join her upon the path of the Mandalorian, before the armored man settled his eyes back on her for a moment. He seemed to study her briefly, almost seemed as if he was seeing through her at something only he could see.

“The Manda has blessed you with its strength...It seems I will be guiding you in more ways than one.” he said in a cryptic sort of way.

Torva frowned as an expression of confused curiosity crossed over her face. “Wh…what do you mean by that? ‘Manda’? What’s that?” she asked him, her voice still a touch hoarse. She figured that, if she was going to learn what it meant to be a Mandalorian, then there was no better time to start learning than now.

Aether Verd

​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the path ahead had been firmly set. At his word that they would return to Mandalore, two of his Supercommandos stepped forward without hesitation. Their movements were precise, almost ceremonial, as they guided the two men who had risen alongside Torva out of the chamber. The sound of boots against the stone floor carried a finality to it, as though one chapter had closed while another began. Aether had every intention of guiding the young woman forward in the same manner, but her frown stayed him in place.

The Mand’alor raised a brow behind the darkened visor of his helm, the expression unseen yet instinctively felt. Her voice followed, carrying the confusion of her question, and at this he gave the faintest chuckle, not one of mockery but of gentle acknowledgment. “Forgive me,” he said, his tone measured and calm, “I had forgotten the name most would know for such things.”

Rather than answer directly, his dominant hand lifted. The broken debris scattered nearby stirred at once, rising with the ease of a current unseen. A shard of stone and fragments of shattered steel drifted into his grasp before circling in slow procession about his palm. The fragments moved as though drawn together by a tide that was neither hurried nor violent, but deliberate and steady. He extended the hand toward her, allowing her to see for herself.

“The Galaxy calls this the Force,” he explained, his voice carrying no hint of reverence for the name. “But we of Mandalore know better. It is not some distant power that demands our obedience, nor is it a dividing line between light and dark. It is the Manda, the collective will of our ancestors, the bond that binds the living to those who came before. That is where our strength comes from. That is what will guide you.” His words carried the cadence of instruction, yet there was a warmth within them as well, a promise that she would not walk this path alone. “You will not be chained as the Jedi are, nor twisted as the Sith have been. You shall simply be a daughter of Mandalore.”

As the words fell into silence, he closed his hand into a firm fist. The fragments tumbled from the air and clattered harmlessly to the ground at his feet. His gaze returned to her, steady and unflinching, before he inclined his head toward the far side of the chamber. Through the open archway, the distant sound of engines could be heard. The dropship that bore the others had already lifted into the sky, its trail cutting across the dim horizon. In its place, another descended and settled into position, the ramp lowering in invitation.

Aether’s hand motioned toward the waiting craft, his tone once again even and direct. “Is there anything you must do before we depart?” he asked her. “Once we leave Ketaris behind, it may be some time before you return.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Torva’s blue eyes drifted towards the two heavily armored individuals that stepped forward when it was announced that she, the two men, and this Mand’alor would return to what she assumed be a planet - likely the homeworld of these Mandalorians, if the name of it was anything to go by. The other warriors guided the two men out of the partially collapsed library, but Torva’s frown made the Mand’alor pause, then chuckled lightly upon hearing her question.

The young woman watched with growing curiosity as he lifted a hand and, to her utter astonishment, some rubble nearby began to rattle and rumble, before lifting up off the ground as if being carried by some unseen presence. Her eyes widened as the objects rose into the air and floated over to his open hand, rotating in a lazy circle above his palm. He moved his hand closer to her so she could get a better view, and an expression of utter awe and amazement filled her face.

She listened intently as he explained that what she was seeing was a manifestation of the ‘Manda’ - though the rest of the galaxy called it the ‘Force’. She’d heard about such power, ‘magic’, before - but she had never seen a physical example of it. Seeing this warrior leader demonstrate it made her cock her head to one side as her prior understanding and what he was telling her clashed somewhat. She thought that only the Jedi could use such power…but this man certainly didn’t seem like a Jedi. Truthfully, she had never met a Jedi in person so she couldn’t really say for certain one way or another.

Torva wasn’t entirely certain on what to believe…but she realized that if she was to walk the path of the Mandalorian and learn to become one herself, then understanding and adopting their culture and belief as her own was important. And so she listened closely to what the Mand’alor told her and memorized it as best she could. He finished his brief lesson by explaining that she would not become a Jedi or a Sith, but simply a daughter of Mandalore, and as he closed his fist the objects clattered back to the ground where they lay motionless once more.

She stared at the fallen objects for several heartbeats, allowing his words to truly sink in. Something about hearing that she was the ‘daughter’ of something that she sensed was significant, was no small matter for her. In the burning of Ketaris, everyone that had called her ‘daughter’ had died. Everything she had a connection with, a bond to…gone.

But it seemed that fate, maybe destiny, was smiling down on her.

…Or maybe it was the ‘collective will of the Manda’.

When she lifted her eyes once more to regard him, she found that he was watching her with a steady gaze. “Thank you for explaining that to me. I’ve..heard about the Force before but I’ve never seen nor experienced it in person.” Torva responded as he indicated that they should continue forward and towards the archway that led her outside. As they approached, she heard the sound of engines roar, before she spied a ship leaving the scene and cutting a path towards the horizon as another touched down, the ramp in its bellow lowering with soft hydraulic hisses.

The Mand’alor gestured towards the craft, before asking if there was anything she needed to do on Ketaris before they departed. It truly dawned on her in that moment, that she was getting ready to leave her homeworld behind. Leave everything she’d ever known behind for something new.

Blue eyes scanned her surroundings, taking one last look at her home town. There was an almost somber expression on her face when she turned back to face him, shaking her head. “No - nothing for me to do, nor any reason to stay.” she replied, before she made her way towards the lowered ramp. As she did so, another curious and thoughtful expression passed over her face.

“...when you mentioned the Manda earlier…you said that it had ‘blessed me with its strength’...but just now you told me that the Force and the Manda are the same thing? So…” she frowned for a moment, trying to put together her thoughts. “...Are you saying that I can do what you did? Make things float, or whatever? Or…did I misunderstand that?”

Aether Verd ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS

The soft marvel in her eyes was answer enough. Aether allowed himself a low chuckle from beneath the helm, a sound that carried not derision but recognition. For an instant he was no longer the Sole Ruler of Mandalore but a boy once more, watching his father summon the unseen current and shape it into form. The same awe that had taken hold of him then now lived upon her face, and it reminded him that even power passed down through generations could still feel like wonder to those who first encountered it.

He guided her toward the ramp with the same certainty that had brought the others before her, each step steady until the vessel received them into its hold. The chamber within carried the hum of engines and the muted rhythm of armored boots upon durasteel. He motioned for her to take a seat and fasten the harness across her shoulders as the others had already done. He remained standing, one hand rising to grip the strap that dangled from the ceiling above. The sway of the craft would test balance soon enough, and he had never been one to meet travel from a chair.

Her question followed, cautious yet expectant, and Aether inclined his head with quiet assurance. “With time, and with teaching, you will call it as I did.” he said, the words calm but certain. “I will show you not only what it is to be Mandalorian but also how to call upon the blessing of our ancestors. The Manda listens when its children learn to listen in return.”

He let the silence carry for a span before continuing, his tone neither lofty nor heavy but instructive. “There are some who use it to knit flesh and bone, drawing life back where it falters. Others awaken an understanding of tongues they have never spoken. And yes, there are those who shape it into a weapon, fierce and decisive. What you do with the blessing is not mine to choose, it is yours. I hope you wield it with wisdom, and that care tempers your hand, for power without restraint serves no one.”

The Mand’alor shifted his stance, the helm tilting slightly as his gauntleted hand motioned toward her. “Tell me of yourself,” he said, his voice even yet inviting. “Whatever you are willing to share, I would hear it. If we are to walk the same road, I would know the one who walks beside me.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Torva followed the Mand’alor quietly and willingly into the belly of the awaiting craft, where she saw a series of seats and harnesses. The armored man gestured towards one of the seats and she took her seat after only a brief moment of hesitation, pulling the straps around her to secure her to her place. She glanced around at any others that were aboard the craft, her gaze shy and wary.

Once seated and relatively comfortable, she asked her questions of the man, to which he inclined his head and responded with assurance, confirming that yes - somehow, impossibly - she could do as he did one day: use the Force, or the so-called blessing of the Manda. The Mand’alor told her that not only would he guide her on the path of the Mandalorian, but he would teach her how to call upon the blessing she’d seemingly been given by ancestors she knew nothing about.

The two of them returned to silence for a space of time; a silence that was anything but within the young woman’s mind. It was alight with thoughts and curiosities, still trying to wrap itself around the truth of what had been revealed to her.

Torva’s attention returned to the one who had brought her under his wing when he spoke once more, his voice commanding her attention, though it wasn’t harsh or stern. She listened as he told her what could be done with her newly revealed blessing: from healing injuries, understanding languages that one did not know previously, to even using it as a weapon of sorts. It was her to do what she wanted with it, but he told her that he hoped she used it with wisdom - passing along a pearl of insight that she grasped a hold of: power without restraint serves no one.

She suddenly felt daunted by the knowledge of the power that was seemingly hers - once she learned how to call upon it and use it that was. Something that demanded respect and care when being used - for she had heard horror stories of what could happen when one used the Force in a negative way. She didn’t even want to consider that.

The young red head blinked when the Mand’alor gestured towards her and asked her to tell him about herself - whatever she was willing to share. He wanted to know who would be walking beside him on this journey.

“I…well, I’m not sure there is much to tell. I am, was, the youngest of my siblings. I had an older brother, Bjorn, and an older sister Myra. My brother worked with my father and my sister and I helped our mother with her tailoring business. We were seamstresses - though I wanted to learn how to craft and make things like how my father and brother did. My father hailed from a very traditional, ancient lifestyle that saw the men doing the harder labor tasks and work and the women stayed at home and cared for the children and did more domestic types of jobs.” Torva stated, pausing for a few moments as she sifted through her thoughts and memories.

“I…sometimes resented my father for his beliefs, the things he pushed on my sister and I. I dreamed of leaving Ketaris and travelling the galaxy, learning new things, but my duty was at home with my mother and her business so I stayed there.”

None of it mattered anymore now, though. It was all gone; she was free, but at the cost of her family’s lives. She didn’t understand why that was, and maybe she never would.

“What about you? How did you become what you are now? Have you always been the leader of your people?”

Aether Verd ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS TO LOW ORBIT

As Torva settled into her harness, the soft tread of armored boots sounded on the ramp behind them. A pair of Mandalorians filed in and took the benches opposite, dipping their helms to the Mand’alor before turning to her with quiet regard. One warrior gave a firm nod that felt like a promise rather than a courtesy. Another crossed the aisle with a gentle thump of fist to chest, the gesture landing like a vow you could hear. Last came a woman whose plates were streaked with soot and ash, visor lifted just enough to show smoke-kissed skin and clear eyes. “Welcome, sister.” she said, and in those two words the emptiness that had followed Torva out of the ruins found an answer.

The ramp rose. The hatch sealed. The engines found their voice. Calm spread through the hold as the ship lifted, not an awkward silence but a shared breath after a long run. The Supercommandos let fatigue claim their shoulders. Ketaris asked much of them and they gave what was required. Aether remained standing with one gauntlet looped into the overhead strap, attention never drifting from the young woman who had chosen the narrow road. He listened as she pulled back the curtain on a life that had been stitched by expectation and singed by loss, and his helm dipped in small acknowledgements that said he was hearing every word.

He knew what it cost to speak the names of the dead. He knew what it meant to hold frustration and love in the same hand when speaking of a father. Bjorn and Myra. Mother and sire. All gone to ash on Ketaris, leaving Torva to carry a name into tomorrow. He let the quiet sit for a heartbeat longer, then eased it with a thread of humor that carried warmth instead of dismissal.

“In our house,” he said, voice steady and sure, “there is no divide between men and women. We carry the same creed. We shoulder the same armor. Though, if you ask me, most things are done better by women.”

A ripple of low laughter answered him from the benches. The soot-streaked warrior lifted a hand without looking his way, a silent amen that drew another soft chuckle from Aether before he returned to her question.

“You asked how I came to this helm,” he continued, settling his stance as the ship banked toward the stars. “I am the youngest of about forty some odd siblings. I lost count a long time ago and I do not say that to boast. My father was once Mand’alor, and folk would think that is the headline of his story. It is not. He was a man of many talents and many loves. He left enough children scattered across the sky to field an army. I was fortunate to arrive when the wandering slowed. Isley Verd chose a wife in the far reaches and set his feet long enough to raise a son the Mandalorian way.”

Outside, the bruised blue of Ketaris tilted beneath them. Inside, his tone drew closer to the heart of things.

“When the Planeshift Calamity struck, it did not ask permission. Mandalore and our ancestral worlds took the blow full in the chest. My predecessor, a Mand’alor who led the Neo-Crusaders, was caught outside our space when the storm broke. He and his people dug in on Dxun to survive what came next. House Verd did not wait. We stepped where the ground split. We moved food where the hungry gathered. We hauled folk out of the rubble and dared the night to take another step. I did not do it for a crown. I did it because it was right.”

He let that sit with no flourish, only truth.

“When the fires cooled and the dust remembered how to fall, the Clans called an Alorultai. Old way. All voices. All banners. They weighed who stood when the sky fell and who showed up when Mandalore needed more than words. They set the mantle on my shoulders and told me to carry our people forward. So I did. We rebuilt what my father had forged. We called our kin home. We raised an Empire that knows how to bleed and how to heal. It has been work worthy of the breath the Manda gave me.”

Aether’s helm angled, the faintest hint of a smile touching his words.

“And now I have stood here and prattled long enough. You will find I can do that when stories ask to be told.” He tipped his chin toward her harness, then toward the soot-marked warrior who had spoken first. “Rest while the engines do their work. When we touch Mandalore, your road begins in earnest. Until then, know this. You chose to stand. That choice already honors your family more than silence ever could.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

Others soon joined Torva and the Mand’alor, and she observed the armored individuals with a measure of shy curiosity. They greeted their leader first before turning their helmed visors in her direction, and one gave her a curt dip of the head, but something about it felt different to Torva. It was as if she was being seen, and the second thumped their chest with their fist, something she’d seen the Mandalorians do from time to time while she stayed in one of the refugee camps.

Third to step aboard was a woman, her armor streaked with the soot and ash of Ketaris, though Torva could see clear eyes that locked with her own, and the Mandalorian woman welcomed her, calling her sister.

For a moment, Torva was frozen, mildly overwhelmed by the acceptance of strangers who were willing and ready to embrace her as one of their own. It was so starkly different from what she knew, how she had been raised…but it was a welcome change none the less.

“Th-thank you.” Torva replied back to the woman, her voice a touch subdued and quiet. She glanced once more around herself at the others, before her attention settled once more upon the Mand’alor. He listened as she told him her story, even as the ship around them rattled with the roar of its engines as it lifted away and arrowed itself into the skies, then into the space above the planet she had called home. He let the silence sit for a moment longer, before he broke it with words spoken in strength and surety. He told her that in their house, there was no divide between men and women. They both wore the same armor, both followed the same creed - though he followed up with a thread of humor to help dispel the shadow of loss that still clung to Torva and her story.

“...Though, if you ask me, most things are done better by women.”

A chorus of chuckles and a hand raised by the female Mandalorian brought a smile to Torva’s face, a genuine one. It was a sentiment that her Mother and sister had believed in too, and it was strangely nice to hear it echoed here as well.

The chuckles settled and the Mand’alor returned his attention to Torva when she asked him her own question, and she sat quietly with her gaze upon him as he regaled his own history with her. Her blue eyes widened when she heard that he was the youngest of forty siblings?! His father had been Mand’alor too, and it seemed that he had ensured his bloodline would carry forward into the future, though he explained that his father had settled down long enough to raise him in the Mandalorian way. She silently wondered if this man before her knew of his other siblings or not, though she kept that question to herself for the time being.

The Mand’alor continued, explaining how the Planeshift had set things in motion for the Mandalorians, and for himself. In the wake of the Calamity, ‘House Verd’ had stepped up to begin helping those who were affected. He explained that he did it not for the crown or the mantle of leadership he now bore, but because it was the right thing to do. After a pause to let the words settle, he continued and explained how after the dust had settled, the clans had called a sort of meeting together, an ‘Alorultai’, as he called it. They weighed who had shown up and who had not, and in the end they had made him their leader and he had carried them forward ever since. She found respect in that; a leader who had been crowned not because he was better than everyone else, but because he had served others when they needed help the most.

It truly began to dawn on Torva then, that the man who had been willing to bring her under his wing, was truly a good man and she was in safe hands with him. Some of the tension that had remained in her shoulders eased a bit more and she found herself actually relaxing. Of course, they were still strangers for the most part, but she knew that unfamiliarity would pass the more she spent time around him and the others.

“And now I have stood here and prattled long enough. You will find I can do that when stories ask to be told. Rest while the engines do their work. When we touch Mandalore, your road begins in earnest. Until then, know this. You chose to stand. That choice already honors your family more than silence ever could.”

Torva nodded in understanding, though his words brought a slight pang to her belly. Not in fear or anxiety, but a certain nervousness that comes when one knows that a journey lays before them. She wasn’t entirely certain if she would be able to rest, but she would try and she settled a little further into her seat and heaved out a deep sigh. "Thank you for telling me your story uh...Mand'alor."

She reflected on the rest of what the Mand’alor had told her - that her choice to stand honored her family more than silence could. Her mind drifted into memories, good and not so happy, and it was in the midst of this that her eyes drifted shut and before she knew it, the young woman was fast asleep, exhaustion from her struggles having finally caught up to claim her.

Aether Verd ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

KETARIS --> MANDALORE

Aether inclined his head slightly, voice low but sincere. “And thank you, Torva. For sharing your story.”

The engines deepened their hum as the vessel angled toward the upper atmosphere. The deck trembled faintly beneath their boots, and the light beyond the viewport grew thin and sharp. With a final surge, the Kom’rk cleared the sky of Ketaris. The stars stretched into silver threads, and the world below fell away into darkness.

***​

When the ship tore free of hyperspace, the void before them was filled by a planet of ochre and steel. Mandalore. Its surface shimmered beneath the sun, deserts gilded in gold, cities glinting like cut iron. The quiet in the hold broke as several of the warriors exhaled, shoulders easing for the first time since departure.

Aether’s tone carried the faintest hint of warmth. “Welcome to Mandalore,” he said. “Your new life begins here.”

The Kom’rk banked gently toward the surface, the distant spires of Sundari rising from the horizon like the bones of a giant laid to rest. The landing struts touched down with a soft thud and hiss of pressure. The ramp lowered, spilling light into the hold. One by one, the warriors disembarked. Some nodded as they passed her, a quiet gesture of kinship. The soot-marked woman lingered long enough to pat Torva’s shoulder. “Welcome home.” she said simply before stepping down into the city beyond.

Aether followed last, his stride steady and measured. The air outside carried the dry heat of the desert and the tang of metal from Sundari’s forges. The city stretched outward in angular patterns, its architecture more severe than the structures of Ketaris. Straight lines. Hard corners. Yet within that severity, there was strength. Order.

The Mand’alor turned toward Torva, his tone even but kind. “You are starting life anew,” he began. “That means you will need the necessities, both as a Mandalorian and as yourself.” He crossed his arms loosely, helm tilting as though considering. “So I’ll leave the choice to you. Would you rather begin by learning our ways and seeing to your armor, or find where you’ll lay your head first?”

He paused, then gave a short, self-deprecating laugh as one gloved hand rose to his helm. “Or perhaps we should address the most human need of all. Are you hungry?”

His voice softened slightly as he gestured toward the streets ahead, where the clang of forges mingled with the scent of cooking spice. “There are many paths forward, Torva. The first step is yours to take.”​

Torva Vikar

 

[Torva Vikar]

She wasn’t entirely certain how long she’d been asleep aboard that ship which was bound for Mandalore. She had been so utterly exhausted that her awareness of everything around her had vanished within the velvety blackness of unconsciousness. Her sleep was dreamless, quiet. Peaceful. She had felt safe enough to totally lower her guards, and it had allowed her to truly rest - her first real sleep since the Burning had taken place.

The jostle of the ship dropping from hyperspace, however, pulled her from that warm darkness. Bright blue eyes opened, alert and wary at first as she glanced around herself before remembering where she was at and who sat around her. Immediately her gaze shifted to the man who had taken her under his wing; something about his presence brought a sense of ease to her, even though they were practically still strangers. Something she knew would change in due time, or at least…she hoped it would.

Soon, the ship that carried them broke through the atmosphere of the planet, and Torva could feel a sense of excitement stirring in the air, like the zing of anticipation.

“Welcome to Mandalore. Your new life begins here.” the Mand’alor said to her, the gentle lilt of warmth in his voice. The ship banked slightly, giving Torva a view out of a viewing port to the surface below. A faint inhale could be heard, as her youthful face bore the expression of awe and trepidation. Behind her ribs, her heart rate accelerated as nervous anxiety trickled through her veins. The unknowns scared her; whatever lay before her was a frightening prospect - but she summoned her courage despite the uncertainty. She had agreed to take this step, and she wasn’t going to back out of it now.

Soon, the ship touched down with a gentle nudge, marking the end of her journey - and the beginning of a new one. The ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss and allowed light to stream into the holding bay. Torva blinked back against the harshness of the light as it washed away the last bits of sleep that still clung to her. Around her, the Mandalorians came to life, rising up from their seats to disembark, giving her nods as each passed by her. The ash-streaked Mandalorian woman was last; she stayed just long enough to tap Torva’s shoulder in a gesture that was oddly comforting to the young woman,simply telling her ‘Welcome home’ before departing as well.

Now it was just Torva and her new guardian left.

Quietly, Torva slipped from the harness and rose to her feet, stretching to ease the ache from her muscles, though she winced slightly at the stinging pain of her still healing burn scars. She followed the Mand’alor as he stepped from the belly of the ship, squinting her eyes against the light for a moment as she took a moment to adjust.

The armored man turned to speak to her, his voice even toned but kind. She lifted her gaze to his visored helm, listening to what he had to say. It struck her once again that she was starting her life from scratch, here. She would need things, new things. The thought of it was suddenly overwhelming for her as her attention slipped from him to gaze upon the city spires around her.

“So I’ll leave the choice to you. Would you rather begin by learning our ways and seeing to your armor, or find where you’ll lay your head first?”

Torva blinked a couple of times, her blue eyes wide as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying, enough to make a decision. Thankfully, she didn’t need to make her choice right away, as it dawned on the man that she perhaps might like something to eat first. As if on que, her belly rumbled and growled rather insistently, especially as the smell of spiced meats and cooking food assaulted her senses. How long had it been since she had a truly good meal?

“Umm. Food sounds really good right now…yeah…” she said in her somewhat shy and reluctant voice as she glanced at him once again briefly.

“...I might be able to think better once I have a full belly.” she said with a shy but warm smile, one that quickly slipped away as her freckled face paled somewhat as a stricken expression draped over her face. “Wait a second…I - I don’t have any credits to pay for food. Or clothes…or…anything. All my savings burned up when my home burned down…” She could have cried in that moment; the emotions were there, bubbling up her throat. How was she going to live here if she had no money?

Aether Verd ​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

SUNDARI, MANDALORE

When the Kom’rk first left Ketaris behind, Aether had not expected the young woman beside him to fall asleep so quickly. Yet the moment the stars filled the viewport, Torva’s head had tilted slightly to one side and her breathing had slowed. Behind the visor of his helm, the Mand’alor’s gaze softened. She had been through so much, carried too much, and at last her body had claimed the rest it was due. For the span of their journey, he let the quiet remain undisturbed.

Soon enough, the steady thrum of descent began to hum through the vessel’s frame, and Mandalore’s gravity returned. Torva stirred as they settled, and Aether smiled faintly to himself as she blinked away the remnants of sleep. They disembarked together, and the city of Sundari unfolded before them like a vision carved in steel and stone.

When he gave her the choice of where to begin, the sound that followed was unmistakable. Her stomach made its opinion known before she could speak, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth beneath the helm. Torva’s shy admission followed, soft and sincere, and Aether inclined his head in understanding. A full stomach always made for clearer thinking.

She smiled at the thought, but the expression faded almost as quickly. Her worry came rushing in like a tide. The words spilled out, all fear and practicality, about money and savings and everything she had lost. The concern in Aether’s posture eased into something lighter as the sound of his laughter filled the space between them.

“By the Manda, Torva!” he said as he reached out and gave the top of her head a light bop with his palm. “Do you really think I would drag you all the way from Ketaris just to expect you to pay for lunch?”

The mirth in his tone softened into reassurance. “You will worry about nothing. Every survivor of Ketaris is being cared for, and it will cost you nothing. All you need to think about is what you want to eat and to remember your sizes. For when it comes to women’s clothing, I am many things...but an expert on the subject is not one of them.”

He let the teasing fade, his tone settling into something steadier as he regarded her. “When you are settled, you will work alongside our people. You will be paid, and a small part of that pay will go back into the Empire through taxes. Everyone contributes. Even me. That is how you will repay this kindness someday, when you are ready. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next month. When you are ready.”

He gave her another gentle tap on the head, more affectionate than the first, and motioned toward the line of buildings nearby. A narrow street stretched ahead of them, flanked by a small diner with warm lights, an elegant Atrisian restaurant with paper lanterns glowing in its windows, and an upscale eatery tucked just around the corner. Between them, the scent of grilled spice and sweet sauce drifted from a row of food stalls farther down.

Aether’s grin was clear in his voice. “Let your taste buds lead the way, Torva. But be warned...” he said, raising a finger in mock solemnity, “if you’re a fan of pickles, I will judge you for it.”

He gestured toward the street, leaving the choice to her once more. “Go on then. What calls to you?”​

Torva Vikar