“All is as it should be, Master (
Darth Metus
). The evacuations are proceeding as the Viceroyalty required though we may have an imbalance of naval power due to the sheer volume. I will be retrieved from Geonosis by Exarch Malvern shortly.”
She wanted to say something else. Something…Something that would promise the sable-skinned Vicelord that they would indeed succeed. Her voice caught in her throat. He deserved so much more than she could ever articulate, though, she suspected that he would feel it. There was nothing else she could add. Not good luck. Not, good hunting.
Nothing.
Anything more would sound like the one thing she did not want to say.
Goodbye.
The Exarch was haunted.
Images flickered rapidly from the Holo-Net while she awaited retrieval. Reporters and Journalists droned on and on with misinformation or a misplaced sense of nationalism. They provided coverage to the galaxy at large that detailed the events that had taken place between the Ryloth and Siskeen Systems. Srina envied the way they could twist words to turn a brutal failure into a rallying cry. The Agents excelled at muddying the truth, just enough, to place themselves into the role of the victim. The Confederacy, on the whole, would not claim the same. Not because it wasn’t applicable, but because no one, not even the Mandalorian Empire—Had ever managed to debase the Southern Systems in such a way.
They were wounded.
Not beaten.
An animal that was injured would never strike back more ferociously than when death or destruction was imminently near. With their backs to the wall, every broadcast, every insult, every mockery of the lives lost in the last incursion—Chaos would be met with strength.
Unity. The enemy would continue to taunt the Confederacy and her children by placing inflammatory statements. Gaslighting. They were buzz words combined with shock value designed for psychological warfare. The Agents aimed to weaken them before they ever raised a blade. To place themselves into the position where they could claim righteous superiority. The Agents of Chaos and their supporters wanted their people to believe that what they were doing was right and good. That—Their actions were true.
Noble.
They were, of course,
liberating planets from the big bad empire.
Only, the Confederacy
wasn’t an Empire. Their citizens were already free in every sense of the word. All of them.
They were merely a nation that had chosen, for the first time, to strictly place their own welfare above the needs of outside influences. They had been attacked in the heart of the nation. Blindsided on Atrisia. It was a direct result of being stretched too thin from engaging in battles they felt objectively obligated to fight. They weren’t turning away the tired, the poor, nor were they turning to attack those that had once held official alliances. They were taking care of their own. Securing a future for those who made their very existence possible.
If that choice demonized them? Created a convenient monster for lesser powers to hate?
So be it.
Silver eyes followed every image that passed from network to network.
Every story. Every clip of the attempts made to safeguard that which they had pledged to caretake. Evacuations. Burials. Attempts to reunite family units. The movement of entire fleets and armies while they snapped an and out of hyperspace in a plume of cronau radiation. The propaganda pieces that painted the Confederacy as hard-hearted, despotic, overlords simply to invoke a reason to fight. Her gaze was hard. Unsettling. They fought a group that could not own up to their own accountability. That shifted blame and wove the tallest of tales in order to maintain power and control while leaving their sufferers in silence. Silence, because they were dead. They took a heady rush in the atrocities committed. In so-called victory, while standing ever so proudly on the corpses of free people. They aimed to make their enemy feel ashamed and worthless. Ignorant and discredited. They were left to feel as if no one would believe them—Even if they spoke the truth.
The Confederacy of Independent Systems would not be blinded by such cowardly, infantile, tactics. Those who could stand and fight—Would stand and fight. They would fight for themselves, their friends, and their families. They would never, ever, give in. Never give up.
Never surrender.
The space around her began to ripple and change. Iridescent waves caused the dimness of her chambers on Geonosis to fade and crumble while a new reality made itself present. Last-minute preparations left her with an unconventional method of travel. There was a momentary sense of queasiness that was accompanied by a familiar voice. The Force moved. As gentle as an ocean, though, it didn’t change the fact that what her friend did broke the bindings of traditional use. Were the circumstances different she would have cast her visitor a pale, ghostly smile. A gentle reward, for being close to her heart.
Ever loyal.
Adron Malvern said:
The wintry woman lifted glacier orbs from the screens that covered the walls to meet the amethyst orbs of her fellow Exarch. Between herself,
John Locke
, and
Adron Malvern
—They made three. A triumvirate that were uniquely positioned to stem the tide. His presence tugged at her soul and the spartan walls of her quarters were replaced with the interior of The Veil. Everything blended and melded together until she couldn’t tell where either location ended or began.
It was a bridge.
“…I know…”
The simple, soft words, words conveyed all that she felt in one fell swoop. They were soft, yet sharper than any blade. Grim. Srina was Echani. She longed for the fight. But, longing for a fight was a far cry than wishing for the death they would soon bring. She took no joy in it. No pleasure. War did not determine who was right. Only, who was left. The dark circles beneath star-filled eyes would tell her friend that she had spent one too many sleepless nights coordinating and working the problem. Defense, offense, and the high probability of scorched earth.
She drew up from her seated position on the bed, surprisingly, clad in the armor of one whom she could no longer stand the sight of. It caused a significant amount of pain. In her own way, she had loved
Kainan Wolfe
. There had never been any discussion. Simply, the swift expulsion of his people from their space. The revelation that the death of her unborn rest on the ink of his orders was unforgivable. If he had words? An excuse? He would have come to her before now.
In times such as these—Against her better judgment, she missed him. The compassion that only a fair few would ever come to know. His calmness.
Not for the first time she chastised herself. The man she knew was gone. Just like those of their ranks that had turned from them, striking deep, in favor of the Agents of Chaos. They were all gone.
They were never coming back.
Soft blue fabric wrapped around her person while she settled at her full height. It wasn’t much. A full head shorter than the man who circled so easily. Some might have been perturbed. The Head of the Malvern line was nothing to scoff at. A predator. She should have felt like a mouse. Only, she did not. The pale-skinned woman felt the opposite. Protected. She was safe in his sight.
“They have had their moment in the sun. I agree, that this must end. The footage that has erupted from Ryloth is tearing at the very fiber of our people, while the damage, is nigh impossible to begin repairing without discerning the truth of the unknown. We cannot promise safety when it is very clear—It is not safe.”
Her eyes closed when his hand touched her cheek. Warm, steadying. The petite creature closed the distance between them and gun-metal blue eyes lingered whilst her hand rose to cover his. He would see the steel that lingered within, regardless, her feelings about what was to come. The connected spaces, pockets in time, began to pull. For a brief moment, she felt weightless while her power pooled into him. Providing fuel. There was a galaxy of infinite might in his grasp, bright, and burning—While the world around them stretched.
Until it snapped.
When Srina opened her eyes once more, she found herself standing on the bridge of the Veil. She inhaled, briefly, and allowed herself to adjust to the abrupt change of scenery. The sight of droid units working in unison was somehow comforting. The distant and familiar hum of a starship gliding smoothly through space gave her a context. Steadiness. Adron released her and began to provide the real-time details of the battle that would soon unfold.
“We do what we must…”, her voice carried softly, almost sweet, were it not for the chilling emptiness that dehumanized her tones.
She could not feel this. Would not, feel this.
To feel was to stumble. To have mercy, restraint, and pity was to court failure. They could not afford to raise their morals, their ideals, over the lives of their people. To destroy the Agents of Chaos now would free the citizens of the Southern Systems from infinite pain.
Elegant footsteps carried her near soundlessly across the Veil. She found her place beside the King of Illyria, a beloved friend, and a devoted member of the Confederacy. A soft hand fell to his shoulder when Adron asked if she would stand with him. Words were not necessary. It was a rhetorical question that he posed, not because he didn’t know the answer, but simply because he
wished to hear it.
They all needed something before the conflict began. Soon, they would only hear screams. Bloody shrieks that would tear their souls asunder whilst they paid the price for the citizens of the Southern Systems so they didn’t have to. It would be a whirlwind of violence from start to finish. Srina was tired. So, very tired. She wished to rest. But the Exarch in her knew the truth. There would be no rest, no peace, until their enemy was returned to dust and blown from the face of the galaxy.
No. Adron would never need to question her loyalty. Even, if the answer he sought would suffice in one word.
Would she be with him?
“Always.”
Till the end—And ever onward.
Amelia von Sorenn
Sabine Delacroix 
