M O B I U S
OPHISSAN QUARTER, NABOO
There were a great many lessons that came with bearing the name Denko.
Speak plainly, even when you’re afraid.
Stand straight, even when you want to shrink.
And never—never—walk into someone else’s home empty-handed.
The air was heavy with the scent of the swamps this close to the Ophissan quarter, a thick, verdant warmth that clung to the lungs and smelled faintly of wet earth and life. Seth rolled his shoulders beneath the sharp line of his navy blues, the polished gold of the Royal Naboo Republic’s insignia gleaming from his chest like a sunrise over still waters. His cape, pristine white with a trim of Denko blue, shifted lightly behind him as he stepped forward—steady, deliberate.
In one hand, he carried a simple offering: a bottle of fine wine, aged and selected with care from the family holdings, its label bearing the seal of House Denko. It wasn’t the flashiest gesture, but his father had taught him well. Better to offer what is honest and thoughtful than what is lavish and hollow.
Still, his grip was just a little tighter than it should have been.
It wasn’t often that he found himself this nervous. But these were not ordinary circumstances—and the Ophissans were not ordinary hosts. No, they were exceptional. Survivors. Warriors. The daughters of the Great Serpent herself. And today, Seth Denko—Heir Apparent of a house of outworlders, merchants, and noble blood—had been tasked with the weight of first impressions.
You are not your father. You are not your uncle. You are not Abel. But you are Seth Denko. And that will be enough.
He let out a slow breath and adjusted the wine bottle beneath his arm before approaching the entrance, where the Ophissan guards waited with the stillness of statues and the eyes of hawks.
“I come as requested,” he said, voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his gut. “Seth Denko of House Denko, Royal Naboo Navy. Here to honor my appointment with Her Majesty.”
A respectful bow of the head. Just enough to show deference—but not so low as to seem meek.
There was no history of blood between their peoples. No old grudges to mend, no debts to settle. Only the space between strangers who might one day call each other friends.
And Seth was here, in all his practiced poise and buried anxiety, to make the first move across that distance.
It is good to know your neighbors, his uncle always said. But better still to break bread with them.
Speak plainly, even when you’re afraid.
Stand straight, even when you want to shrink.
And never—never—walk into someone else’s home empty-handed.
The air was heavy with the scent of the swamps this close to the Ophissan quarter, a thick, verdant warmth that clung to the lungs and smelled faintly of wet earth and life. Seth rolled his shoulders beneath the sharp line of his navy blues, the polished gold of the Royal Naboo Republic’s insignia gleaming from his chest like a sunrise over still waters. His cape, pristine white with a trim of Denko blue, shifted lightly behind him as he stepped forward—steady, deliberate.
In one hand, he carried a simple offering: a bottle of fine wine, aged and selected with care from the family holdings, its label bearing the seal of House Denko. It wasn’t the flashiest gesture, but his father had taught him well. Better to offer what is honest and thoughtful than what is lavish and hollow.
Still, his grip was just a little tighter than it should have been.
It wasn’t often that he found himself this nervous. But these were not ordinary circumstances—and the Ophissans were not ordinary hosts. No, they were exceptional. Survivors. Warriors. The daughters of the Great Serpent herself. And today, Seth Denko—Heir Apparent of a house of outworlders, merchants, and noble blood—had been tasked with the weight of first impressions.
You are not your father. You are not your uncle. You are not Abel. But you are Seth Denko. And that will be enough.
He let out a slow breath and adjusted the wine bottle beneath his arm before approaching the entrance, where the Ophissan guards waited with the stillness of statues and the eyes of hawks.
“I come as requested,” he said, voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his gut. “Seth Denko of House Denko, Royal Naboo Navy. Here to honor my appointment with Her Majesty.”
A respectful bow of the head. Just enough to show deference—but not so low as to seem meek.
There was no history of blood between their peoples. No old grudges to mend, no debts to settle. Only the space between strangers who might one day call each other friends.
And Seth was here, in all his practiced poise and buried anxiety, to make the first move across that distance.
It is good to know your neighbors, his uncle always said. But better still to break bread with them.
