Faction From the Ashes…[ISA]

[Skyria Kyrtan]

Objective: Build a new council
Location: Orbital Defense Platform, Dac
Outfit: White Uniform
Equipment: IG-14 Blaster Pistol
Tags: Open

The last time that Skyrim had been to Dac was the fateful battle where Emperor Velran Kilran gave his life to protect his vision from the dastardly TAC rebellion. So much damage had been done that day it was hard for Sky to comprehend that an even more dangerous enemy was hiding in the ranks of the Empire. An enemy that ultimately succeeded.

Through economic collapse, the Empire now lay in ruins. There were still however a number of powerful people who would not sit by and allow the territory that the Empire of the Lost brought to order fall back into chaos. Teckla Tane would not be part of this group. She was thinking on a bigger scale. Skyria was now acting liaison for the Tane dynasty on Pakuuni. It was a quick rise for the young woman. From martial arts fighter to soldier and assistant to now speaking for her home. It was a daunting task, but one she would accept with honor. And hoped she would be able to kick a little ass along the way.

Skyria didn't know who would answer the call of former Moff Karl Von Strauss she wondered if she would see the former Empress? The others on the Moff Council? Maldor Mecetti , Marcus Bastion , Lord Rasnuhl ? It was hard to know who would take a second shot at being their brand of authority to the region. Also she wondered how they would find such a movement. Pakuuni had an army of its own. Skyria had been told to pledge it to the new government. But what else was still functioning?

If Karl had called this meeting there must be enough to get the ball rolling. Sky had come with her orders from the Pakuuni council. It was time to find out what order in this corner of the galaxy was going to look like. As Sky approached the officer who was sent to greet her she looked over her shoulder at the six clone troopers who were her honor guard. She would replace them all with a single guard and be happy and secure. But Oola was not available. With a sigh she step forward. "I have an invitation to the gathering. Supreme Commander Skyria Kyrtan of Pakuuni. Please lead the way."

 

[Lady Varokscar]

From the Ashes

"I would rather die a meaningful death than to live a meaningless life."
- Corazon Aquino -


Location: Orbital Defense Platform, Dac
Gear: In Sig
Tags: Open​

Theme: December I Static X​

​

As Overseer of The Directorate, it was my duty to attend political gatherings both to see where the newly formed ISA stood on specific topics for the rebuild, and to ensure the intelligence division's voice was not just heard; but to gain financial standings from the overall budget. The military and its branching arms were great, a necessity for any growing government, especially those in a rebuild phase, but no government or their powerful military moved without the knowledge presented by the Intelligence Agency. It was folly to ignore the collected reports presented to the rest of the Council.

With Mystique walking by my side as we strode with casual foot placings, I held a datapad in my hand with a long list of names that fell under the category of dissidents and disenfranchised citizens, along with a few names that caught my attention as 'persons of interest'. It was also my duty to protect the citizens from fanatics and fanatical thinkers, and as such, I had already began putting in motion a specialized operational unit that answered only to me to hunt down these unsavory individuals; and silence their mendacious tongues. Not every aspect of the rebuild was glorifying or morally correct; sometimes things just had to be done in ways most would deem almost fanatical itself.

My reputation as High Inquisitor in the now defunct Empire of the Lost, which allowed for my appointment to Overseer, gave me many benefits among my peers, especially with certain soldiers I had fought alongside of that I now noticed where rotated to act as security on the station; and I could easily pass through security checks and presentation of credentials with zero hassle. Respect is everything, and even some of the guards we passed even greeted my robotic wolf companion, which I knew she wallowed in joy from those greetings. We entered the main chamber, taking the assigned seat for Overseer; my eyes looking around at some of the familiar faces, and those new to the table.

It was certainly time to rebuild properly, learning from our mistakes and moving forward to avoid making new ones.

 

[Maldor Mecetti]

Fast Frigate Rumour
_________________________________
​

The Rumour raced through hyperspace, on its way to a new destination.

First, Maldor had met with the Diarchs, settling the heat of recent disagreements and finding some common ground. Diarch Reign and Diarch Rellik had been magnanimous, hence Maldor was still breathing. Very magnanimous, in fact. Hence there was the possibility that other Imperial remnants could find safe haven in the Diarchy. More than haven. Even positions in the Diarchal government.

This possibility had Maldor speeding to the meeting above Dac.

Him, and his rather special companion.

In a rather self-centred burst of illogic, Maldor wondered if the whole of the Empire had collapsed just to bring them together.

Such was the whimsy of young love.

The Rumour dropped out of hyperspace. The Defense Platform was a tiny sparkle in the distance. It grew, and Maldor wondered if it would just open fire. That risk was why he hadn't brought a mere shuttle, today. The Rumour could be expected to survive an attack long enough to get away.

His cynical mind was always turning on the possibilities of betrayal. His inner optimism always kept him moving forward anyway.

There was no attack. Not yet. An auspicious sign for the future? Or merely an indication that dinner would be poisoned?

Codes were exchanged. The ship docked. Its passengers disembarked.

Maldor brought no guards. As comforting as they might have been, they would also broadcast his fears to all and sundry at precisely the moment he needed to appear confident. Plus, if death really awaited him here, there was little a small sum of guards could do to prevent it.

He looked to his companion, a smile on his lips.

"Shall we," he asked, and stepped forward into an uncertain encounter.



Vyllia Santhe Teckla Tane Karl Von Strauss Marcus Bastion Lord Rasnuhl Kanni Ugaiya Kilran Lady Varokscar Skyria Kyrtan

 

[Pel Grennin]

It seemed, to Pel Grennin, that it was improper to visit a world without patronizing their shops and food, and Pel was not one to overlook an opportunity like this. Perhaps it would seem too informal to the others attending this meeting, given that they were representatives from the collapsing Imperial remnants, but Pel had arranged for catering of all things to the meeting of Mon Calamar delicacies, adjusted for dietary needs and preferences for each attendee. He would not be offended if some of the other attendees refused to eat the donations of one of their fellows, Imperial politics being what they were, but Pel didn't see any point in having a conference on an empty stomach, and food was an excellent way to bring people together.

This was, of course, what was what they were here to do: Bring the Empire of the Lost back together. The smell of Quarren and Mon Cal food was quite potent, so they weren't so inconsiderate to set it up in the conference room itself, but there were plenty of rooms available for them to set up the catering. Pel's eldest son and apprentice, Bawrad, was helping with setting it up. Pel hoped that bringing Bawrad here and putting him in charge of the catering would show Pel's fellows that his gesture was a sincere one, and that they had nothing to fear from the Inquisitor.

"I expect you have some lesson for me other than how to serve tentacle chowder?" Bawrad asked his father as they set out the bowls.

"Of course," Pel said, "We are meeting with some very powerful and important people. Some of them will be genuinely hungry, or at least appreciative of the gesture. Free food is rarely turned away. I don't expect you to make acquaintances with them, personally, but they do have attendants: Assistants, guards, other apprentices."

"You want me to make friends?" Bawrad asked. Pel grinned at him.

"A meal now may save you a favor later. The connections we make here today may be just as important as the conference itself. Don't be afraid to take the initiative. Some people may give orders, but the real power is in those who carry them out," Pel instructed. The Duros adjusted his Lightsaber so that it was visible on his belt; Pel believed hiding his weapon, or worse not having one at all, would be far more suspicious than openly carrying it. He also understood he was hardly the most powerful Force User on the station; few had anything to really fear from the Inquisitor.

"How do you always seem to make menial chores seem like the most important task in the Galaxy, father?"

"I'm a good teacher. Mind your manners, Bawrad. You don't have to smile, but try to be pleasant."

"Of course, father."

With his son attending to the food, Pel obtained his own cup of Quarren style ramen and entered the conference chamber. He could feel the worry and doubts of his fellows. Surely, political and economic collapse of a large galactic state was cause for concern, but he was confident they could make sense of it all, and there was no reason they couldn't keep lifted spirits. He hoped his own cheery mood - and the inclusion of food - would help lift the mood. Imperials tended to be a dour lot of folk, and he was happy to do his part to keep things lively.

Pel greeted his fellows as he took his seat, politely picking at his soup without making a big show of it, and being conscious of any smells. Hopefully the others would see the gesture and request their own servings be brought to them, and those who were arriving would come in with food in hand.

 

[Karl Von Strauss]

Location: Orbital Defense Platform, Enroute
Equipment: Uniform, Datapad (2), Relby-k23
Tags: Skyria Kyrtan | Maldor Mecetti | Lady Varokscar | Pel Grennin

---

Karl sat on the bridge of the Celestia, its pristine white hull gleaming against the endless black of space as it approached the platform. Under normal circumstances, he would have been the first to arrive at any conference he called. But these were not normal circumstances.

The fragile stability he had carved out in the Mon Calamari Sector required constant vigilance. To maintain it, he had established the Provisional Imperial Council, a coalition of former EOTL governors, high-ranking military officials, and trusted merchants. Together, they managed the sector's day-to-day operations, ensuring order in the wake of near-total economic collapse.

One critical lifeline had kept him afloat: the Khonshu Trade Pathway. Completed just in time, it provided access to aid beyond the usual hyperlanes, securing vital resources when they were needed most. Without it, the sector—and Karl himself—might not have survived the turmoil.

There was a knock from the bridge's elevator; he didn't even hear it open. Standing there was Lieutenant Moira Thif, his right-hand woman. "Sir, we'll be docking with the station in three minutes."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Is that all?"

"Actually, Sir, I went ahead and downloaded the dossiers to the datapads for the conference. I understand that you were going to, but I thought I'd help."

"Thank you, Moira. I had completely spaced on doing that. Speaking of the conference, who has arrived before us?" He asked, standing up from the plush seat.

"According to the station, only five guests have arrived. Commander Sykira Kyrtan, Moff Mecetti, and Ms. Vyllia Santhe, Overseer Varokscar, and a Duros Inquisitor by the name of Pel. He also brought his son and an assortment of foodstuffs."

"Familiar and new faces, good. We'll need all the help we can get." Karl was briefly interrupted by the platform's tractor beams locking onto the ship to help guide it to its designated spot. "Well, I suppose we should get down to the gangway. We've got a new empire to manufacture."

---

Karl stepped into the adjoining room, where Pel Grennin had prepared a lavish feast. His gaze immediately drifted to the Quarren confectioneries, a small indulgence he hadn't enjoyed in far too long. He plucked a candy from the assortment and popped it into his mouth, savoring the way the flavors melded together before leaving a citrusy finish at the back of his throat. Satisfied, he grabbed a handful of the pre-wrapped sweets and slipped them into his pocket for later.

Pausing at the doorway, he took a deep breath. With a sharp fwish, the door slid open. He stepped into the circular chamber, his posture composed, head high, arms at his sides. Yet, despite his disciplined bearing, the exhaustion was evident: dark circles under his eyes, the faint limp from his prosthetic leg, a small twitch in his left hand from lack of something or another. He was a man fighting to hold an entire sector together, and it showed.

Offering a slight bow to those assembled, Karl made his way to a seat beside Overseer Varokscar. As he settled in, his gaze shifted to the Lady's companion.

"Hello, Mystique. It's good to see you again."

This was not his first encounter with the High Inquisitor—now Overseer. It was Karl who had extended the offer, appointing them to lead what was then an unnamed intelligence agency. It had only recently been officially christened The Directorate.

Karl had set many plans in motion, and the formation of a dedicated intelligence network was among the first to take shape. His faith in the NISB had long since eroded; The Directorate was his answer. His own intelligence network—built from the ground up. Overseer Varokscar had taken her appointment in stride, helping it become a powerhouse of information in such a short period.

Other plans were beginning to roll, and now he just had to show his vision to the rest of them.

 

[Lord Rasnuhl]

Objective: Meet with other power holders
Sub objective: eat good food

Tags: Karl Von Strauss | Lady Varokscar | Pel Grennin | Skyria Kyrtan | Maldor Mecetti |

---

Lord Rasnuhl had known the Fifth Wing had posed a growing threat. But he didn't realize how far their power had truly gone until the whole of the Empire of the Lost imploded. His territories didn't see much of a change, sure welcomed aid from the Empire ceased. But they were mostly self sufficient & Lord Rasnuhl had pushed their agricultural growth within his corner of the EOTL. His friend Illithor Du'thra was the lifeline of credits, materials, and other goods from the greater galaxy.

The day it happened was Chos outside of his bounds. Parts of the military turned mercenary entirely too quickly leading to border skirmishes with the Rasnuhl Defense Force (RDF) at the edge of his sector. Lord Rasnuhl dispatched ships to keep the peace in nearby systems, while reaching out to his fellow former Moffs & powerful people.

Today was a day to build something new. Karl Von Strauss had sent a message of a meeting, one to forge a new entity that wasn't vulnerable to the types of attack like the Fifth Wing had perpetuated. Standing upon the RDF Courageous. The ship had been repainted in accordance with the conversations with Karl Von Strauss to a bright white color. With his ships possessing a burgundy and black strip to denote origin. The courageous also had white Zabraki runes painted across the black strip denoting its history which did not consume the whole of the black paint.

Lord Rasnuhl's ship arrived in the Dac system the rendezvous station comes into view. it wasn't long before codes were exchanged leading to docking. Lord Rasnuhl walked down the corridor with his assistant This time he was wearing just his dress down military uniform. He stopped by the feasts worth of food and grabbed a plate of half Quarren & half Mon Cala rolls. Heading in to a suitable seat seeing a few familiar faces and a few new ones. Giving a head nod to each and everyone who made eye contact until sitting down to politely eat the food. Today we will start laying the solid groundwork of the future. He thought savoring the delicious food.

 

[Kato Dréze]

ORBITAL DEFENSE PLATFORM | DAC
TAG: Open
GEAR: Lightsaber | Blaster​

The wings of a lambda-class shuttle folded up as it docked within the orbital defense platform. As the captain continued with proper landing procedure, another captain, Captain Kato Dréze, sat in the passenger quarters. Across from him sat his adjutant and second-in-command, Lt. Cmdr Sienna Carver. She was busy working between two data-pads. Kato simply sat in contemplation.

The fall of the Empire of the Lost had struck him particularly hard. Not only was the Empire that he loved turned to ruin, but in the chaos of the fall he had lost his father, Duke Dréze-Dornei. Rival families had taken advantage of the situation and assaulted their family compound. The official story was rioters but everyone in the upper-class knew better. Luckily, his brothers and sisters had escaped harm.

Kato blamed himself for not being there. The fall of the Empire had created insurrections across dozens of systems. Chaos. This was how chaos operated. By the time he had arrived at New Alderaan his family had made funeral plans. His father the Duke, a man that deserved a parade in his honor, was instead memorialized in a hushed and rushed ceremony. The pain ate Kato from within. Following the ceremony, he personally led a cadre of storm troopers to his family’s estate and massacred any leftover looters and squatters they found.

Without a centralized command, the ISD Gargoyle and her escorts were left to fend for themselves. Kato had taken it upon himself to see that the vessels were properly docked and resupplied and that his crews were cared for. They remained in the Ash Worlds sector, patrolling and maintaining what peace they could. Captain Dréze, usually fair and patient with his enemies, exercised swift justice without mercy.

Soon after, they received the call from what remained of the Imperial naval commander. All ships return at once. Despite reservations, he answered. This new authority had not been a sign of hope to Kato. It had made him calloused. Thankfully, the remaining high command were names he knew and respected.

“Sir, we are ready to disembark,” the shuttle captain reported as the docking ramp hissed open. Kato nodded, standing from his seat. Lt. Cmdr Carver joined his side as they exited the ship together.

“Let’s see which course the future will take,” Kato said with an air of positivity laced with a grim undertone.

“It’ll take whatever direction you decide on,” Carver replied, a knowing smirk crossed her face as she glanced at her captain.

“It’s up to the new authority whether or not my plans of reform will succeed,” Kato replied, facing forward as they walked through a docking bay marked with groups of patrolling imperial troopers, “that will decide the future.”

Moments later the pair arrived in the conference hall. Passing the buffet, Dréze and Carver opted instead for glasses of wine and began to mingle with the other attendees.
​

 

[Vyllia Santhe]

Location: Orbital Defense Platform, Dac orbit
Outfit: Classy Dress
Tag: Maldor Mecetti | OPEN

Vyllia did not think they would be back in Imperial space so soon. Meetings with the Diarchy had gone well and plans for the future of the combined Mecetti-Santhe house and the business ventures under the house's control went well. Though she had to admit that she may not have taken the invitation at this time were she alone, at Maldor's side with a grand announcement to be made it seemed right. Plus news of her survival and thriving new life was much more likely to reach her treacherous cousins on Lianna from this meeting.

Vyllia did not need the Force to detect the conflict in Maldor. There was news besides pending nuptials and the survival of two powerful Imperial noble houses to be passed along that would be well received if something new was to be built on the destruction of their empire. However, Vyllia had been targeted for death and though the Viss allowed Maldor to retreat without incident there was more than likely some that would see him as a threat to any power grab. In the end the risk hadn't immediately shown to be the truth and they were able to land peacefully.

"I'm ready," Vyllia responded not exactly in full confidence, and with a bit of a giggle.

The meeting room was filled with new and old faces, and a surprising amount of local refreshments. Vyllia eyed up the spread for a moment before deciding to wait on the tone of the meeting before partaking. Besides Maldor only the longer standing Moffs were faces Vyllia had seen in person. Karl Von Strauss , the host and Lord Rasnuhl had visited Lianna on multiple occasions in service of the EotL. The Overseer, Lady Varokscar , Vyllia had seen in holos. Then there were new faces; the blonde, who wore an obviously Tane-style uniform, a pair of Duros, and finally a uniformed human male carrying a lightsaber.

"I guess we shall see what the next steps are. Enough strength here to start to pull things together," Vyllia commented softly to Maldor with another smile. Silently wondering just how eager she was to get back into the business of Imperial Space.

 

[Her]

---

---

Outer Rim Territories, Calamari sector, Calamari system, Dac;
Empire of the Lost, Imperial Sector Authority;
Orbital Defense Platform.
Tags: Skyria Kyrtan | Lady Varokscar | Maldor Mecetti | Pel Grennin | Karl Von Strauss | Lord Rasnuhl | Kato Dréze | Vyllia Santhe

---

"The Fifth Wing. To teach them all to fly."
-- Her speaking with Maldor Mecetti about the Fifth Wing in Whispers of the Dead.

---

My planet, Kalist, is so beautiful when the sun is low. Rolling over the sands, you can see time in the air.

The Calamari system was a hive of activity. Ships from an assortment and array of organisations-- ranging from business to military to civilian-- were coming and going from the planet in the wake of the Empire's collapse. Intertwined among the traffic came the remnants of the old guard from the late Empire of the Lost whom were gathering under the new leadership of Karl Von Strauss and the Imperial Sector Authority that had been created in the wake of the revolts, usurpations and assassinations against the Imperial occupation carried out across multiple star sectors that had once made up a great nation all reduced to ruin which was brought about with thanks to the economies of more than thirty star systems encompassing a multitude of planets, cultures and people seemingly falling apart over night.

If not for the Quasesitorum, then perhaps, the Mon Calamari would have suffered much like the Liann, the other Tionese, the Keganites, and, of course, the royalty of New Alderaan.

You need only ask Kato Dréze to know how much this all hurts.

The DARK LORD OF THE SITH stood in the advent of the ISA gathering to discuss and debate their immediate future. As each dignitary traversed the walkways of the ODP towards the meeting room, Her stood on the side lines with an array of figurines lined up before her upon a rampart. As each participant arrived she added a new figure to line up among the others signifying each attendee. Children toys that would not look out of place from a child's bedroom, or toy room but were certainly an oddity out here among the throng of importance, and the security forces which patrolled the station that the ISA were gathering aboard as they wrestled in the depth of one of a series of crisis' among the Galaxy which spun in turmoil under the rule of a decadent GALACTIC ALLIANCE.

Both heirs to the late GALACTIC EMPIRE had been destroyed. It had followed in the wake of the Sartinaynian Crisis: a false flag attack to set-up The Diarchy and the Empire of the Lost into a new, prolonged conflict along the Outer Rim Territories. The so-called CORE WARS, and the later RIM WARS OF 902 ABY still held their lingering effects upon the multitude of star systems affected by the Imperial march against the Core Worlds and the rebellion that had called itself, 'THE TINGEL ARM COALITION', which had been founded to liberate the occupied planet of Lothal following a revolt on Zygerria which had inspired the rebels that had set-up base on Hurikane.

All of this was not to mention the shocking, and sudden decision by the malevolent Sith Empire to instate their complete and utter isolation from the rest of the Galaxy in an event that had been dubbed: 'THE BLACKWALL'. The subsequent communication blackout, blockade along all known hyperlanes or trade routes, and cessation to the supply of all goods, and services coming or going from Sith space only added to the turmoil that now gripped the superpowers of a fractured Galaxy at the beginning of the ninth-century. Now, out here above the rich ocean world of Dac-- where He had once been dethroned by the legendary Knights of the Old Republic more than sixty years ago-- the Imperial Sector Authority were set to wrestle this brand new, dark time that had been forged by the powers of the dark side.

Not since a similar gathering upon the dark-side moon of Bogan had there been a more stranger, odd group of people brought together to work through such mess.

None of them more of an oddity, or steeped in mystery, misdirection, and myths other than Her: the traitor who had put in motion the seditious, treasonous Fifth Wing to destroy the Empire of the Lost from within? A Machevillain who had orchestrated the events of the disastrous Sartinaynian Crisis? Or the anti-hero who had prevented the conspiracy from completing it's ultimate goal over Bastion?

With a flick of her finger to each figurine Her knocked them down one-by-one and left them to be discarded among the sleet, crisp and immaculate floor of the ODP as she slunk out of the shadows to confront this newly established Directorate; it's Exarch and the other Prefects that he had gathered to form the ISA as the direct successor to the Empire of the Lost; and the odd assortment of war heroes who had been instrumental in defeating the rebellious TAC as well as the former Imperial Moffs, royalty, soldiers and business extraordinaires that had once served the Imperial Remnant that had begun on Lianna at the turn of the ninth-century.

As the Dark Lord made her approach to the gathering she was stopped by the security personnel outside, and as they demanded her credentials, Her supplied them:

​

HIS MAJESTY OF ALL IMPERIAL KIND; THE EGGMAN; YOUR EMPEROR FOREVER; THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME; IQ OF OVER ONE-THOUSAND. OPERATING NUMBER, TK-EN73. "I, VELRAN KILRAN, LEADER OF THE EMPIRE OF THE LOST FOREVER, SWEAR THAT THIS PERSON IS MY SWORN, LOYAL SUBJECT IN PURPURITY, BOTH IN LIFE, AND IN DEATH, AND THAT THEY ACT IN MY STEAD AS WE RESTORE THE GALACTIC EMPIRE BACK TO WHERE IT BELONGS!" "LONG MAY I REIGN! FOREVER, AND EVER!"​

---

The doors to the meeting room opened, and just as it looked like everyone had been summoned to meet in this most audacious of meetings, a lone figure clad in dark robes, with the hood raised above her head, walked into the room and wordlessly-- without greeting, or introduction-- made her way to the nearest, vacant seat closest to the exit. A pair of hands lowered the cowl of her robe, and as a small looking Human most of them had never met sat there expectantly, the first chapter of the Imperial Sector Authority had now begun.

---

 

[Tiber Saal]

Orbital Defense Platform; Enroute
Calamari System | DAC
Gear: Lambda Shuttle, Holdout Blaster Pistol​

---

"This is how the world ends…
Not with a bang…
But a whimper."

An old quote. Tiber couldn't remember the name of the poet who had penned it. Only that his mother had once read it to him, long ago, when he was still a boy and the world seemed far more stable. For some reason, it had lingered—lodged in his mind like a sliver of glass. He never quite understood why.

Until now.

Fitting, in a way. The Empire of the Lost hadn't collapsed in a blaze of glory. There had been no last stand, no final fleet engagement against overwhelming odds. Just the slow rot of mismanagement, spiraling debt, and the suffocation of its own bloated bureaucracy. It hadn't been conquered. It had withered. Like so many other "empires" before it—grandeur on the outside, decay within.

A quiet death.
A whimper.

"Orbital defense platform in sight, sir. Docking procedures underway."

The pilot's voice snapped Tiber back to the present. He stood behind the cockpit of the Lambda shuttle, watching as the outline of the platform loomed into view, framed by the distant sphere of Dac. The blue-green world spun serenely below, its oceans hiding the scars of past wars. The platform was a relic of a more unified time—gray durasteel ribs stretching out like the arms of an old sentry who never stopped standing watch.

Tiber's eyes narrowed slightly as the platform grew closer. The Imperial Sector Authority—the ISA—had reached out across the stars, casting a net for those who still bore the rank and iron discipline of the fallen EOTL. He had been skeptical at first, suspecting a trap or some vain attempt at legitimacy by another self-proclaimed Moff.

But the message had been real. Verified. Secure.
And maddeningly not his own idea.

He had considered ignoring it—staying on Bonadan, managing what little he had salvaged from the wreckage: a single Donager II-class Star Destroyer, a loyal crew, a handful of battered escorts. But Bonadan was a dying beast. Industrial arteries cut. Supplies scarce. Order fraying. He could enforce stability for a while longer, but not forever. He needed infrastructure, logistics, scale. If the ISA offered even a shadow of what the Empire once was, then perhaps…

"Sir, are we part of the ISA now?"

The question came from the pilot, spoken cautiously—as if he wasn't sure whether it would earn him a reprimand or a broken jaw. Tiber glanced down at the man, noting the rigid posture, the sweat just behind the ear. Brave. Stupid, but brave.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he smoothed the front of his officer's tunic—coal gray, creased perfectly, unchanged from the day he'd first donned it at the Academy.

"We are Imperial." His voice was low, firm. "Everything else is context."

The shuttle docked with a dull, mechanical thunk, and the hangar bay pressurized. As the ramp descended, Tiber stepped down onto the cold deck plating, his polished boots ringing out in sharp, rhythmic clicks. Technicians moved quickly, refueling the shuttle and seeing to its needs with practiced efficiency. The scent of fuel and sterilizers hung in the air. It felt like the old days.

He moved through the corridors without delay, ignoring the decorative flourishes or the buffet table set outside the meeting chamber—stacked high with fine cuts, rare fruits, and vintage liquors meant to impress. Others might indulge. He would not. Discipline came first. Always.

When the doors to the conference chamber slid open, Tiber stepped inside without hesitation. The room was well-appointed, with subtle lighting, rich flooring, and a long table surrounded by seats that bore the weight of power.

Around the room, he saw them—Inquisitors, Moffs, naval officers, remnants of fractured commands stitched together by ambition and necessity. Each face wore the mask of control. But beneath them, he could see it: hunger, calculation, the need for structure in a galaxy descending into entropy.

Tiber took a quiet breath, letting his gaze sweep the room. Something stirred in his chest—a memory, a sensation long dormant. Not hope. Not pride.

Purpose.

Another quote surfaced in his mind—this one even older. His mother had whispered it to him once, during a storm that shook their family tower, when he was small and afraid. He could hear her voice now, just behind the roar of distant hyperspace lanes and the quiet hum of power cores:

"Do not go gentle into that good night…"

No. He would not.