My Dearest Nocturne,
I write to you from the field, beneath a sky thick with smoke and shadow. The battlefield lies still for now, though the silence feels heavier than the thunder of war. It is in these rare moments, when the clamor fades and the fighting pauses, that the weight of it all settles on me.. pressing, unrelenting, suffocating. I cannot confide in the High Council or the generals, for they look to me as a symbol of resolve, an unshakable foundation. But you, Nocturne… you are the only one who knows the man beneath the title.
Today, as I walked the lines, I saw their faces; our soldiers, standing ready, battered but loyal, waiting for the signal to charge once more into chaos. They do not waver, not in their duty, not in their belief. Yet as I looked into their eyes, I felt a hollow ache that I cannot shake. They fight for a galaxy they may never live to see, for a peace that feels as distant as the stars above us.
And the question gnaws at me: is it worth it?
I have always believed in the Diarchy, in our vision of order, unity, and peace. I have fought and bled for it, demanded sacrifices of myself and others for the dream of a galaxy where children are not raised to fear the sound of blaster fire, where families do not bury their dead beneath war-torn skies. But as I stand here, surrounded by the cost of that dream, I wonder if I have deceived myself.
I have watched men and women; loyal, brave souls, give their lives in service to our cause. I have seen their blood soak the soil of worlds that still resist us, their bodies left behind as monuments to their faith in our vision. How many more will we lose? How many will it take before the galaxy sees what we are trying to build? And even if they do, will they accept it, or will they curse our names for the price we demanded of them?
The battle ahead will likely be another victory. It always is. But with each step forward, the losses weigh heavier, and the victory feels less like triumph and more like survival. I do not know how much longer I can shoulder this burden without losing a part of myself.
Do they understand, Nocturne? Do they know that every command I give, every life I send into the fire, tears at me? I tell myself their sacrifices are necessary, that the galaxy cannot know peace without the foundation they have laid with their courage. But in the quiet, I feel their absence like ghosts lingering just beyond the edge of my sight.
You have always been my compass, the one who reminds me why we fight. But here, now, amidst the ruin and the death, my faith wavers. Not in you, not in us, but in the galaxy itself. Can it be saved, Nocturne? Can the chaos truly be beaten into order, or are we doomed to repeat the mistakes of those who came before us?
I am no stranger to loss. I have lived long enough to bury comrades and burn bridges. But this… this feels different. The scale of it, the weight of the lives entrusted to me, and the shadow of doubt that I cannot banish. I do not know if I am strong enough to carry it all.
I need your voice, your wisdom. Speak to me not as Lady Nocturne, Archon of Order, but as the woman who has always understood me in ways no one else can. Tell me we are right. Tell me the sacrifices we demand will mean something. Tell me there is an end to this endless war, that peace is not an illusion we have conjured to justify the lives lost.
Until then, I remain yours, always and without question.
Reign
I write to you from the field, beneath a sky thick with smoke and shadow. The battlefield lies still for now, though the silence feels heavier than the thunder of war. It is in these rare moments, when the clamor fades and the fighting pauses, that the weight of it all settles on me.. pressing, unrelenting, suffocating. I cannot confide in the High Council or the generals, for they look to me as a symbol of resolve, an unshakable foundation. But you, Nocturne… you are the only one who knows the man beneath the title.
Today, as I walked the lines, I saw their faces; our soldiers, standing ready, battered but loyal, waiting for the signal to charge once more into chaos. They do not waver, not in their duty, not in their belief. Yet as I looked into their eyes, I felt a hollow ache that I cannot shake. They fight for a galaxy they may never live to see, for a peace that feels as distant as the stars above us.
And the question gnaws at me: is it worth it?
I have always believed in the Diarchy, in our vision of order, unity, and peace. I have fought and bled for it, demanded sacrifices of myself and others for the dream of a galaxy where children are not raised to fear the sound of blaster fire, where families do not bury their dead beneath war-torn skies. But as I stand here, surrounded by the cost of that dream, I wonder if I have deceived myself.
I have watched men and women; loyal, brave souls, give their lives in service to our cause. I have seen their blood soak the soil of worlds that still resist us, their bodies left behind as monuments to their faith in our vision. How many more will we lose? How many will it take before the galaxy sees what we are trying to build? And even if they do, will they accept it, or will they curse our names for the price we demanded of them?
The battle ahead will likely be another victory. It always is. But with each step forward, the losses weigh heavier, and the victory feels less like triumph and more like survival. I do not know how much longer I can shoulder this burden without losing a part of myself.
Do they understand, Nocturne? Do they know that every command I give, every life I send into the fire, tears at me? I tell myself their sacrifices are necessary, that the galaxy cannot know peace without the foundation they have laid with their courage. But in the quiet, I feel their absence like ghosts lingering just beyond the edge of my sight.
You have always been my compass, the one who reminds me why we fight. But here, now, amidst the ruin and the death, my faith wavers. Not in you, not in us, but in the galaxy itself. Can it be saved, Nocturne? Can the chaos truly be beaten into order, or are we doomed to repeat the mistakes of those who came before us?
I am no stranger to loss. I have lived long enough to bury comrades and burn bridges. But this… this feels different. The scale of it, the weight of the lives entrusted to me, and the shadow of doubt that I cannot banish. I do not know if I am strong enough to carry it all.
I need your voice, your wisdom. Speak to me not as Lady Nocturne, Archon of Order, but as the woman who has always understood me in ways no one else can. Tell me we are right. Tell me the sacrifices we demand will mean something. Tell me there is an end to this endless war, that peace is not an illusion we have conjured to justify the lives lost.
Until then, I remain yours, always and without question.
Reign
