K I N G
FIELD HOSPITAL, ANCORA
The field hospital rose from the battered plains of Ancora like a stubborn testament to survival, canvas walls trembling beneath a restless wind that carried the echo of distant artillery. Fires smoldered along the horizon where the Diarchy’s latest border skirmish had torn through the soil, yet within this maze of tents there lived a quieter storm, one born not of destruction but of care. Voices murmured in low tones, the rasp of medscanners and the soft rhythm of strained breathing weaving together in a fragile chorus. Aether walked through it all with the steady presence of a man who had seen too much ruin to ever mistake stillness for peace.
The Iron Wolves had been forged from that hard truth. For decades, the very mention of the Force among Mandalorians drew suspicion, anger, and at times violence. Old scars ran deep. The Sith betrayal that shattered their homeworld fifty years prior had nearly finished what centuries of internal division had begun. Even before that, brother had taken up arms against brother in a vicious struggle between those who despised anything touched by the Force and those who believed their kin remained kin regardless of the fire in their blood. Aether carried that inheritance with the same care he gave to his armor, mindful of how easily it could cut.
He was a Mand’alor with the Force in his veins, a truth he never flaunted. It lived within him all the same, patient and unyielding. He refused to let another cycle of fear dictate their future. No Mandalorian would suffer for the circumstances of their birth while he ruled. So he had created the Iron Wolves, a gathering of Forceborn Mandalorians shaped with purpose, loyalty, and the raw conviction of Never Again. Their charge was simple. They existed to ensure that the massacre of their people, whether by Sith or any foreign hand, would never be repeated. They would mend what had been broken between their own people and those born with the Force. Mandalorians were simply Mandalorian. That truth would stand when their work was done.
But one could not have Wolves without finding the souls destined to lead the howl.
Torva Vikar
had been the first, a young survivor pulled from the dying world of Ketaris.
Persephone Halcyon
came next, a healer whose hands had saved more of their wounded than any blade ever could. And now, after months of whispered reports and fleeting sightings, Aether sought another. A young woman who appeared where battles burned hottest, tending to those the storms of war tried to claim. He knew little of her aside from her name, Eenia, yet something in the shape of her choices called to him.
Aether parted the entrance of another tent, and the cool interior air brushed against him as he stepped inside. Rows of cots stretched into the shadows, lanternlight flickering over bandaged forms and exhausted medics. Then he saw her. A woman with the focused calm of someone who refused to leave another soul behind, even when the world asked too much of her. He watched her work for a quiet moment, the precision of her hands, the way she seemed to steady the air itself around her.
He cleared his throat to make himself known. When she lifted her gaze, he stepped forward with a measured ease that filled the tent like the low hum of a distant storm.
"If you have need of another pair of hands." he said, his voice warm yet commanding, "I am at your service."
The Iron Wolves had been forged from that hard truth. For decades, the very mention of the Force among Mandalorians drew suspicion, anger, and at times violence. Old scars ran deep. The Sith betrayal that shattered their homeworld fifty years prior had nearly finished what centuries of internal division had begun. Even before that, brother had taken up arms against brother in a vicious struggle between those who despised anything touched by the Force and those who believed their kin remained kin regardless of the fire in their blood. Aether carried that inheritance with the same care he gave to his armor, mindful of how easily it could cut.
He was a Mand’alor with the Force in his veins, a truth he never flaunted. It lived within him all the same, patient and unyielding. He refused to let another cycle of fear dictate their future. No Mandalorian would suffer for the circumstances of their birth while he ruled. So he had created the Iron Wolves, a gathering of Forceborn Mandalorians shaped with purpose, loyalty, and the raw conviction of Never Again. Their charge was simple. They existed to ensure that the massacre of their people, whether by Sith or any foreign hand, would never be repeated. They would mend what had been broken between their own people and those born with the Force. Mandalorians were simply Mandalorian. That truth would stand when their work was done.
But one could not have Wolves without finding the souls destined to lead the howl.
Torva Vikar
had been the first, a young survivor pulled from the dying world of Ketaris.
Persephone Halcyon
came next, a healer whose hands had saved more of their wounded than any blade ever could. And now, after months of whispered reports and fleeting sightings, Aether sought another. A young woman who appeared where battles burned hottest, tending to those the storms of war tried to claim. He knew little of her aside from her name, Eenia, yet something in the shape of her choices called to him.Aether parted the entrance of another tent, and the cool interior air brushed against him as he stepped inside. Rows of cots stretched into the shadows, lanternlight flickering over bandaged forms and exhausted medics. Then he saw her. A woman with the focused calm of someone who refused to leave another soul behind, even when the world asked too much of her. He watched her work for a quiet moment, the precision of her hands, the way she seemed to steady the air itself around her.
He cleared his throat to make himself known. When she lifted her gaze, he stepped forward with a measured ease that filled the tent like the low hum of a distant storm.
"If you have need of another pair of hands." he said, his voice warm yet commanding, "I am at your service."
