Diplomacy Starborn to HGRE - Ahch-To Dispute

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna Starborn sat draped in shadow, high upon the ivory dais that formed the seat of her dominion. Her throne room in the remains of the first Jedi temple was a sanctum of serenity and calculation, where the whisper of machinery and the distant hum of coils served as the only chorus. Light filtered in dully through thin slits in the durasteel walls—never enough to chase the darkness fully away.

She sat motionless, fingers steepled beneath her chin, silver eyes half-lidded in quiet thought. The Starborn were moving. The Migrant Fleet was sharpening its teeth. Across the stars, the galaxy groaned as rival powers vied for dominance over the ashes of order. Lyanna had seen it in visions—fractures beneath the surface, splintering empires crumbling under the weight of their own ambitions.

And then she felt the approach.

The air shifted—imperceptibly to most, but not to her. Her Operatives were punctual. Efficient. She allowed the silence to stretch for a few more seconds before speaking, voice a smooth ripple across the chamber’s gloom.

“Enter.”

The Operative crossed the threshold with crisp purpose, clad in the white armor of the intelligence corps, helmet under one arm, face unreadable even without the mask. He knelt without hesitation, head bowed.

“My Lady. We have confirmation. The HGRE has established a presence on Ahch-To.”

That name pulled Lyanna from stillness. A faint narrowing of her eyes, a tilt of the head.

“How very bold,” she echoed, voice cold as glacial stone. “To set up in our territory without so much as saying hello.”

The Operative nodded, rising only to hand her a small datapad. “Their intentions appear to be the construction of a cloning facility. The effort is still in early stages—supplies are being smuggled in, shielded under diplomatic routes. We intercepted the signal by chance the moment they entered the Archeon sector. The location was unmistakable.”

Lyanna accepted the datapad, eyes sweeping across the glowing lines of data. Coordinates. Topography. Satellite captures of a temporary landing structure perched precariously in the clouds.

To build here… to infringe upon her sovereignty…

She recalled stone and spray, ancient texts etched in languages older than any known script, hidden beneath the waters. The minds she’d tasted there had not been mortal. To meddle in this sanctum was to scratch at the skin of a god.

Her voice was quiet, but laced with purpose.

“They’ve chosen a path they cannot walk back from.”

She rose from her throne slowly, the long folds of her white robe spilling like fog down the dais. The Force shivered with the motion, the chamber itself seeming to exhale around her.

“Begin preparations,” she ordered. “Discreetly. We do not strike yet—not until the full extent of their intentions are known. But mark every supply ship. Every crew manifest. If they bring technology to my planet, I want to know the lineage of every circuit.”

The Operative bowed again. “As you command, Lord Fauste.”

Lyanna turned toward the stars beyond her chamber’s window. Somewhere in the mist-covered waters of Ahch-To, a fire kindled in defiance of ancient silence.

She would see it drowned.

Fauste motioned for the man to pause on his way out of the chamber. “One last thing. Inform the others to reach out to them. We will attempt diplomacy before resorting to violence on this matter. Having clones at our disposal… it sounds rather useful, no?”

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

The G.R.E.S. Benefactor flew over the planet overhead with its shields blazing somewhat. Fighter wings flew overhead through the atmosphere as the boots of soldiers and infantry thundered along the floors of the massive carrier. Supply ship after supply ship descended and ascended from supply vessels.


The cargo ships touched down on the cloning facility and troops moved back and forth on platform hauling cargo back and fourth from the support ships to the cloning platform as some of the crew hauled crates and supplies to the engineers on board, white durasteel armor flashing as they worked. Everything came from meteoroids, asteroids, and a little from Zakuul.


The location of such things weren’t kept a secret as they were pretty standard things. Heavy crates were hauled in under strict conditions from H.G.R.E. Intelligence officers. The heavy crates were carefully hauled to the future command deck under very careful supervision with only two engineers approved to work on the command deck. The two engineers had been painfully background searched by intelligence officers.


Admiral Corsair, commander of the G.R.E.S. Benefactor was informed of a slight overlook by high command. Intelligence said they were fifty percent sure Ahch-to was uninhabited, not sixty percent sure. A conference room was already under construction, and the two storage bases were remodeled. Words had been sent back to the people first on the planet that their presence would be welcome aboard the G.R.E.S. Benefactor and a banquet was being set up in there honor.


Soldiers and crew hauled in crate after crate of food and alcohol. The massive table was decked out in several pounds of meat and placemats set out. The normal dura steel walls were painted and covered in colorful colors. They were offered the choice to send whoever they wanted to talk with them.

@Lyanna

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

From the arched windows of her private quarters, Darth Fauste—Lyanna Starborn—watched the white gleam of the G.R.E.S. Benefactor hanging in Ahch-To’s stormy skies like a wound against the clouds.

The influx of transports, the endless flow of supplies from orbit to surface, the rapid construction efforts… all of it weighed on the currents of the Force like an ill-tuned instrument. It grated against the primal quiet of this ancient world. And Lyanna could feel it, deep within, the rising temptation to sweep them away like insects disturbing a temple.

But temptation was not strategy. Not yet.

The message delivered to her had been clear enough. A banquet, a welcome, the thin veneer of diplomacy meant to shield what they knew—even if they pretended otherwise—was an intrusion. High command’s own intelligence admitted as much: they were fifty percent certain Ahch-To was uninhabited. Fifty percent. Lyanna’s lips curved into a humorless smile.

And yet here they come, building and feasting atop a foundation they do not understand.

Still, war was not always the first blade drawn. There were advantages to patience. Advantages to words offered before blood was spilled. The Starborn Sect’s strength came from precision, not wasteful fury.

She turned from the window, her heavy cloak sweeping behind her, and moved with measured purpose down the hall toward the private hangar. Her guards and aides fell into step without needing a word. The ship had already been prepared: a sleek, white courier vessel, minimally armed, its silhouette more diplomatic envoy than battle cruiser. It was a message in itself.

They would see that she did not come to strike them down. Yet.

As the ship ascended through Ahch-To’s atmosphere, Lyanna sat silent in the command chair, hands folded loosely in her lap, her presence in the Force muted to a cold, calm ember. She extended her senses outward, reaching beyond metal and fuel, feeling the tremors in the currents of destiny around the Benefactor and its bustling crew.

There was tension aboard that ship, hidden beneath banners and painted walls. Fear. Pride. Hope. So many raw edges to be pried apart with a careful hand.

Her silver eyes narrowed slightly as the Benefactor grew larger on the viewscreen.

They have extended the hand of civility. I will take it, she thought. And if they are wise, they will listen. If not…

The thought trailed off into silence, like a blade sliding back into its sheath—for now.

The ship angled toward the designated landing platform, communications hailing the Benefactor politely for docking clearance. Lyanna adjusted her hood as the pilot guided them in.

The Starborn Sect would show its face. The invaders would offer their feast. And Darth Fauste would listen carefully… before deciding if Ahch-To would tolerate their presence a moment longer.

The ship glided in smooth and silent, angling toward the marked landing platform nestled against the skeletal frame of the growing cloning facility. The Benefactor loomed above, a great steel giant watching over its scurrying servants. Even through the hull, Lyanna could feel the thrum of its shield generators and the faint pulse of hundreds of minds, moving in their orchestrated chaos.

The landing gear touched down with a hiss of hydraulics. A wave of warm, humid air flooded the hold as the boarding ramp slowly extended downward.

Lyanna moved forward, her white cloak trailing behind her like fog. As the ramp lowered fully, she stepped onto it without pause, walking calmly down into the heavy, expectant air of the facility.

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

The white courier vessel landing platform was somewhat crowded, a hanger bay aboard the Benefactor. It didn’t have time to be dressed up. It was its usual gray color with starfighters packed away. Five hundred soldiers stood at arms, soldiers in shiny white armor with clean black blasters. The ground thundered with noise as the soldiers saluted before moving off to the sides in unison. Over the hangar bay speakers a joyous marching song began playing, an old song originating from the Zurltar Dynasty.


A red carpet had been rolled out for Fauste and her advisors which led to the conference room. The path towards the destination itself was laid out with red carpet with crew and soldiers saluting as they passed by. Inside the conference room were the finest wood chairs they could get in such short notice. The table itself was piled high with hot food and liquor ranging from ten percent to sixty percent alcohol.


“Glad you came to visit us. Sorry about the surroundings. It’s a warship and we weren’t particularly expecting guests. Can’t get good intelligence officers anymore these days either. I am Admiral Zakur.” The older man spoke as he stood up to shake Faust’s hand. The four other officers wearing the black captain’s uniforms saluted as they stood around the table.


“I expect the journey wasn’t too taxing. Would’ve given the order for a few of my pilots to fly you in. Perhaps do a few stunts with the starfighters. Too late for that now though so shall we talk about clearing our mistakes up and forming an alliance or about your favorite movie?” Admiral Zakur said with a smirk, attempting to hide his nervousness around this Sith. Force users were good soldiers and having one as an enemy wasn’t something he particularly fancied.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna descended the ramp with the measured grace of a queen entering her court. The thunder of synchronized boots striking the hangar deck rolled across the cavernous space, vibrating faintly beneath her steps. The soldiers — five hundred of them, clad in gleaming white armor — moved in perfect, saluting unison before parting to either side, a living corridor of respect and apprehension.

The air was thick with the scent of fresh durasteel, engine exhaust, and the faint, almost nostalgic notes of the old Zurltar Dynasty marching song crackling over the loudspeakers. A red carpet, hastily but dutifully laid out, guided her path deeper into the vessel.

She did not slow, nor did she let her bright eyes wander long from the destination ahead: the conference room.

Upon entry, the warmth of food and strong drink washed over her senses, but she offered only a slight nod of acknowledgment. The wood chairs, the heaping feast, even the liquor — they had gone to impressive lengths under short notice. It was almost charming.

Almost.

At the head of the room, an older man stood up to greet her — Admiral Zakur. His handshake was offered, and for a brief second, she accepted it, her gloved hand firm but not aggressive. She sensed his nerves — not raw terror, but a respectable caution. That much, she could respect.

His banter, light and disarming, drew the faintest smile from her lips. Not a wide or welcoming thing, but enough to show she had a soul beneath the black-lined white robes.

“You have my appreciation, Admiral,” Lyanna said, her voice soft, but carrying a weight that silenced even the subtle shifting of boots and armor around the room. “Your hospitality is… not unnoted.”

She released his hand and took a single step back, surveying the room. All eyes were on her. Good.

“But I am not here for spectacle,” she continued, her gaze sharp. “I am here for clarity.”

Her voice, though calm, brooked no argument.

“The Starborn Sect, and by extension the Migrant Fleet, are open to an arrangement with your Holy Galactic Republic Empire forces. We will permit your facility on Ahch-To. However, the Temple — the old one — remains under our sole stewardship. That is not up for negotiation.”

She allowed a moment for the statement to settle, cool and final as stone.

“In addition,” she said, folding her hands neatly behind her back, “we are interested in securing a monopoly over the clone production of your facility here. Should you be unable to agree to a monopoly,” she allowed herself a polite incline of the head, “then we will, at the very least, require prioritized contracting rights and exclusive access to your services over any other competing powers within the sector.”

She paused, letting her words hang like a blade at their throats.

“In return, you will receive both military protection from those who would see your efforts undone… and monetary compensation proportional to your ability to meet our demands.”

Her eyes glinted coldly in the artificial light of the conference room.

“I advise we find a compromise quickly and cleanly,” she said, her voice lowering almost to a whisper, though no less audible. “The alternative… would be far less profitable for either of us.”

She let the moment stretch, heavy and unrelenting, before finally — mercifully — allowing a slight, cordial smile to return.

“Shall we sit?” she invited smoothly.

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

“Well. I’m not any kind of politician. Folks like those are going to talk and talk with all their words being nothing. We will be more than free to offer to clean up the temple under your supervision.” Admiral Zakur spoke as he nodded bluntly. He paused and poured himself a shot of whiskey and sat down, swirling it around in his mouth. He sat down and tapped on the table.


“We can’t arrange a monopoly. We can arrange your second set of demands. I do just have one catch. We are allowed access to fifty percent of the planet. Of course where this fifty percent is up to you. You will, of course, maintain priority contracting rights and exclusive rights. We can make sure you are welcome to visit the stations as well.” Zakur spoke as he smiled.


The other captains sat only when she suggested it and only when they received his permission. One of the captains offered her a bottle as they started to eat, even offering her advisors some of the food.


“Monetary compensation is agreeable. Perhaps we could also talk about future military operations?” Zakur spoke as he slid a document toward her containing the base shape of what the finished cloning facility would look like. It's a disc-like shape with at least twenty different floors. It also featured small hangar bays.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna remained standing even as Admiral Zakur and his officers seated themselves, observing them with a measured gaze as she listened. His offer was… not without merit. His directness was almost refreshing. Almost.

She declined the offered drink with a graceful motion of her hand, though her expression remained civil. Her advisors, silent as sentinels at her back, accepted food and drink with the same quiet professionalism that masked their predatory alertness.

Only once Zakur finished speaking did Lyanna draw in a slow, deliberate breath, letting a brief silence hang between them like a veil.

“The Temple,” she began, voice even but ironclad, “is not a ruin to be cleaned. It is a sacred place, consecrated to ages far beyond our reach. You will not enter it, not for maintenance, not for salvage, not for curiosity. It is under Starborn protection alone.”

Her words cut with gentle precision, the tone of a queen, not a negotiator. She allowed no room for misunderstanding.

“However,” she continued, shifting the conversation forward without missing a beat, “you may keep seventy-five percent of the planet’s surface. The Temple grounds and a reasonable perimeter around it will remain solely ours. Beyond that… the Starborn have no territorial ambitions here.”

Her bright eyes glinted slightly as she leaned forward, fingertips resting lightly on the edge of the table.

“Seventy-five percent of a world, Admiral. Far more than most receive in negotiations such as these.”

She tapped the table softly, the metallic ring of her glove punctuating the point.

“As for military operations — we are open to discussion. If you are amenable to further cooperation, the Starborn Sect would see it mutually beneficial to coordinate deployments and logistics where our interests align.”

Her voice softened, just slightly — enough to lend an air of invitation without sacrificing command.

“Regarding the contract and rights, the Starborn and I find those as agreeable terms. I will admit that monopolizing the facility was a bit of a stretch.”

Lyanna’s hands folded neatly before her, signaling the conversation was now back in their court.

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

“Just an offer, ma’am. Not trying to be rude. I am just offering that we would be open to giving you any aid that you wish as friends. We have a few temples of our own back on our planet. Old dynastic temples. If you wish, you are free to visit them. So little of our own people’s history is as preserved as that of the Jedi and Sith.” Admiral Zakur spoke as he waved his hand through the air a little as an officer came in holding documents. Zakur grabbed the documents from the private.


“Now. For one final matter. Merely a matter of paperwork. These are mutual contracts with the terms and definitions of what we agreed to. I’d suggest you have your advisors take a look over it to make sure everything is in order.” Admiral Zakur stated as he slid two, five page documents towards her with his signature on the last page of each document.


“The bureaucracy loves its paperwork. I do have a matter to ask you, unofficially, of course. Would you like any clones specially made for your personal employ? Perhaps a tour of the facility? Both free of charge, of course.” Admiral Zukar asked as he took another sip of his whiskey. A few of his officers quietly eat some of the food on the opposite side of Fauste’s group.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna accepted the documents with a slight nod, handing them off to one of her advisors without looking down at them herself. She trusted her people to catch anything amiss — and if they failed, she would correct it later. She had little patience for the small games of bureaucracy, though she respected the necessity of it.

“You are not rude, Admiral,” she said at last, her voice smooth as still water. “Merely earnest. It is a quality I find increasingly rare.” A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched her lips — not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest civility.

She listened as he made his unofficial offer, her gaze flickering slightly in interest at the mention of specialized clones.

“I appreciate the gesture,” she said. “And the invitation to see your dynastic temples in the future. Perhaps in time, when the galaxy is less turbulent.”

She leaned back slightly, gloved fingers threading together, giving herself a heartbeat to consider his final proposal.

“As for the clones — yes,” she said smoothly. “I would be interested in discussing specialized units, tailored to the needs of the Starborn Sect. A private cadre of operatives, trained from inception for precision, loyalty, and discretion.”

She glanced at the schematics of the cloning facility still lying near the center of the table.

“A tour would be acceptable — after the paperwork is finalized.”

Her gaze sharpened then, cutting through the cordial atmosphere like a scalpel.

“But understand, Admiral: such gifts,” she said, tone cooling, “even generous ones, create expectation. Should this relationship sour, even the smallest concessions will be remembered… and repaid accordingly.”

The warning was gentle, veiled beneath civility — but unmistakable.

She inclined her head just enough to signal it was not a threat, merely an understanding between two powers playing the long game.

“Now,” she said, voice resuming its previous, almost lazy elegance, “let us see what future we are about to bind in ink.”

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[Admiral Zakur]

Zakur smiled as he watched her hand off the documents to her subordinates. Everything was in order despite the convoluted legalistic talk. He listened to her talk as he leaned on his elbow on the table. He smiled a little bit more and relaxed a little as he waved his hand through the air as they talked. The temple itself, according to the contract, would be registered as an off limits historical site.


“Phah. Only the foolish believe fear alone brings power. Such folk bring only chaos. Lord Zius of the Zalinir Dynasty believed this and only sought war. He was only known for strong warriors who were only good as mercenaries. Our leadership seeks to promote this facade to more hostile forces.” Admiral Zakur spoke only pausing a bit. He tapped a little on the table.


“We don’t expect much from our friends. Only that, if our relationship sours, the good things that were between our powers are remembered. As for our cloning facility. I do believe it may be in violation of your airspace. You will have to pardon me but at the current time I believe it is too far assembled to be disassembled and moved and not assembled enough to withstand being tugged out of your airspace.” Zakur spoke as he shot one of his captains a look. The captain stopped eating the food, stood and saluted Fauste, before leaving the room. He nodded a little about what future they planned in the future and smiled.


“A mutual alliance will be most beneficial for both of us. As for the clones, ma’am. They can’t be linked to us. So, officially, all you’ll be getting are janitors. I take it you’ll have the appropriate uniforms for them to help them fit in with your regular crew?” Zakur stated as he smiled at her and held out his hand. He hoped such an arrangement would be up to her approval.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna allowed herself a faint chuckle at Zakur’s words about “janitors.” Her smile was more genuine now, though it was no less dangerous for it.

“We have no shortage of uniforms,” she replied smoothly. “They will blend in seamlessly.”

She glanced over the finalized documents her advisors had returned to her. A brief flick of her eyes confirmed all was as agreed. No betrayals hidden behind the legalistic phrasing, at least none that would be worth the cost of breaking trust at this early stage.

She rose from her seat, the movement fluid and deliberate, and extended her hand to meet Zakur’s in a firm, cool handshake. It was not the handshake of equals — it was the handshake of a sovereign permitting an alliance.

“A mutual alliance will indeed be most beneficial,” she said, voice like velvet over steel.

Her eyes, however, did not lose their sharpness. As she released his hand, she allowed the silence to settle for half a breath before continuing, her tone sharpening like a blade being drawn.

“As for the facility…” she said, her words measured, “I understand the complexities of construction. I am not without patience.”

She stepped back slightly, the hem of her long white coat sweeping across the floor like a shadow.

“You will have exactly one week following completion to relocate it outside of Starborn-controlled airspace,” she said, her voice calm, almost gentle — which only made the words feel heavier. “Should it remain where it is beyond that time… we will consider it a breach of our agreement.”

She tilted her head slightly, silver eyes glinting.

“And we will blast it from the sky.”

There was no anger in her tone — only the cold inevitability of a natural force explaining itself to a lesser creature.

She offered him the faintest nod — a final, courteous gesture of diplomacy.

“I trust we understand one another, Admiral.”

With the paperwork finalized, Fauste turned her attention to another matter. “I believe you mentioned a tour of the facility?”

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[Admiral Zakur]

“The HGRE is a number of things. Our bureaucrats are tolerable. Our history is gone. We are however efficient. Initial reports say it shall be out of your air space within twenty four hours. Another three stations shall be under construction soon enough. Our government has already been informed of the arrangement.” Zakur spoke as he stood up and nodded at the state of a tour. He nodded and walked over to the exit. He walked out after her towards the hanger.


“Our Intelligence officers report of a madman. Calls himself Eos. A Sith Lord bent on genocide of the galaxy. We would be privy to any information on this Eos the Starborn sect has. Especially the rumor of his apprentice.” Zakur spoke bluntly as an officer came up and saluted. The officer informed them of worsening weather conditions and that a transport ship was ready for Zakur. Zakur simply nodded before the officer turned around and returned to the hangar.


Fauste’s personal shuttle had been left untouched with a few engineers making comments about the clean white courier ship. They quieted their conversations about how it was kept so clean and that it surely was well maintained. Zakur boarded one of the HGRE transport shuttles and went down to the station ahead of Fauste.


The station itself was still visibly under construction with the hangar of the cloning facility completely completed. Spare generators had been set up alongside the sides of the hangar and kept the hangar powered. The weather had become a rainy mess and light in the hangar pierced the dim sky as they flashed. A few engineers took a break from their work to see Fauste arrive with their helmets protecting there heads from the worsening weather.


“The engine is in no mood for test runs. Fail safes are halfway done being installed. The head engineer informed me that the engine can still be temporarily fired up if you so wish.” An officer shouted over the thundering pour of the rain in the presence of Fauste and Zakur.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna stood just beneath the edge of the hangar’s outer shield, the downpour casting curtains of rain between her and the grey sky beyond. Wind swept the hem of her long coat and the edge of her hood, though she kept it pulled low, silver eyes gleaming beneath the cowl like twin stars cutting through a storm.

Her gaze lingered on the half-completed hangar, on the raw, skeletal steel of the cloning station. She seemed unbothered by the chaos of construction, or the fury of the elements. When the officer shouted about the engine’s status, she turned her head only slightly, voice carrying clearly despite the wind.

“Let it rest,” she said, cool and composed. “We are not here for theatrics.”

She stepped forward, her boots clicking softly against the deck plating as she moved past the officer and toward the edge of the platform, where the clouds broke just enough to show the vastness of the sea below. For a moment, she said nothing.

Then, she spoke — her voice quieter, but still deliberate. “You asked about Eos.”

She turned toward Zakur, her expression unreadable.

“He is no madman. He is worse — a prophet of rot. The Dark Crusade is his child, and like all true zealots, he believes in burning down the galaxy to remake it in his image. His is a doctrine of purity and death, one that draws from ancient Sith dogma — the kind even the old Empires buried.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve encountered him. More than once. And yes… he has an apprentice. Or had. Last I heard, she was barely more than a weapon — a blade he was sharpening against the stars. I cannot speak to her current state, but she was dangerous. Obsessed.”

She looked over the rim of the platform again, her voice harder now.

“The Starborn have collected every scrap of intelligence on Eos, his movements, and his fanatics. We will provide all of it to your intelligence officers. Every name, every coordinate, every red flag.”

Her gaze returned to Zakur.

“Because I know what he’s capable of. And I won’t tolerate his poison spreading into our galaxy unchecked.”

She paused, the faint rumble of thunder overhead rolling through the clouds like some distant growl of the Force.

“But remember this: anyone who chooses to deal with Eos under the pretense of neutrality will find themselves buried in the same grave he’s digging for the rest of us.”

Then, calmly, she began walking deeper into the hangar, her voice trailing with finality behind her.

“Come. Let’s see what you’ve built.”

Tag; @Admiral Zakur

 

[Admiral Zakur]

Zakur listened as Fauste spoke of Eos as the rain only seemed to come down harder, nodding along. He simply nodded along in agreement with her knowing what she said was true.


“Noted. We don’t plan on negotiating with him. We have our own plans for dealing with Eos. We will tell you about it eventually. Like all rot it can always be smothered and killed by chemicals designed just for it. For now our plans are merely a rumor amongst our ranks though. Perhaps,” Zakur started, pausing “Malvus, you, and us can discuss battle strategy later on. There is something that may aid our vision though.”


He nodded and led Fauste into the facility with its wide hallways painted a soft red. He led Fauste into a massive chunk of the station crowded with engineers and crates upon crates of resources with different squares sectioned off. A few of the engineers paused their work to watch Fauste enter. Zakur stopped in front of a sign sitting in front of a large sectioned off part of the facility. The sign foretold of a theatre to be out in.


“The H.G.R.E. has a fondness for plays and features. We’ve found a good movie is a better pacifier and patriotic inspiring tool then anything else. Perhaps, we employ such a tool to weaken the view of Eos in the eyes of his followers? I am quite confident in our engineers to make our broadcasting equipment compatible with any other communication array.” Zakur suggested as he looked over to her, interweaving his fingers behind his back and looking Fauste’s way.


“What do you think?” Zakur asked with a soft, smile.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna slowed to a halt beside the sign, her eyes scanning the blocked-off section as the hum of engineering work continued all around them. The scent of oil, ozone, and fresh alloy filled the air — not unpleasant, but sterile. She took it all in with the detached eye of someone trained to gauge efficiency, not aesthetics.

When Zakur finished speaking, suggesting a play as a tool to undermine Eos’s followers, Lyanna arched an eyebrow beneath her hood. A dry breath of laughter escaped her nose, subtle but unmistakably amused.

“A play?” she repeated, lips curving ever so slightly. “You’ll have to forgive me, Admiral, but unless it’s the most inspiring performance in the galaxy’s history — with star-crossed lovers, a tragic antihero, and a finale that ends with Eos being flung into a supernova — I’m not sure it’s going to pry a single zealot away from his death cult.”

She folded her arms and tilted her head, amusement still lingering in her tone.

“Most of his followers are kept loyal through spice, fear, or ideological brainwashing. Usually all three. You’d have better luck lacing the popcorn with a cure.”

But then her tone sobered slightly, silver eyes turning thoughtful as she glanced toward the outlined theater space.

“Still… propaganda has its place. Images linger. Symbols cut deeper than swords, if wielded correctly. If you’ve got the talent to produce something that inspires doubt — makes them question instead of obey — then yes. That could be useful.”

Her arms slowly dropped to her sides as she began walking again, her cape swaying behind her.

“Just don’t expect the stage alone to save anyone. We’ll still need steel, fire, and strategy. But if your artists are as sharp as your engineers, I’m willing to see what they can do.”

She glanced back at Zakur with a knowing smirk.

“Just no musical numbers. The Force has suffered enough.”

Tag; @Admiral Zakur

 

[Admiral Zakur]

“We’ll leave how best to destroy Eos’ reputation to the hologram makers. I just hope that Eos and his weapon aren't as ....united as reports say they are. We will send you the information to build our broadcasting units to you. You can send them to your allies as well.” Zakur spoke as he paced around the station. The officer came up from earlier carrying a notepad tucked under his armpit.


“Sir. Station construction should be ready for movement within two days. Ballad of Sabers is set to be played upon completion of this station.” The officer said with a salute. Zakur saluted the officer in return and dismissed the officer.


“Perhaps we can replace their culture with something more peace loving though. We have a fleet to back up our more peaceful forms of warfare. We prefer to march into cities where the people will cheer for us. If you build those receptors we can broadcast them to the entire galaxy.” Zakur spoke as he watched her facial features. He was enthusiastic about keeping peace with new allies, including stoic Sith Lords.


“As for musicals and musical numbers. I cannot promise that. Two of our force user dynasties made a musical of an old conflict between their two dynasties before the first Zakuulian clone wars. Made it a drama too. I only like the large fight scenes. I heard that it is very popular amongst our women. Perhaps a stoic, cold woman like you would like it.” Zakur spoke as he teased her slightly. She was still a Sith Lord but he figured she was friendlier than others.


“I’ll also send word to the officer of the station to contact your people. They can register your ships into our database as you wish.” Zakur spoke as he smiled at her.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna stood still as the officer delivered his report, her gaze flicking briefly to the words Ballad of Sabers before returning to Zakur with a tilt of her head. She listened, unreadable at first, though the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested some private amusement at his persistence.

When he moved to tease her, however, that amusement ripened into something clearer. She turned to face him fully, her tone cool but laced with dry humor.

“A musical?” she said, feigning offense. “Careful, Admiral. Flatter me too much and I might make you watch it with me.”

She stepped past him slowly, the trailing hem of her robe catching a faint gust of wind from the hallway’s ventilation system. Her eyes lingered on the structure, on the signs of progress and coordination. It was something she respected — perhaps even admired, in her own quiet way.

“I’ve no objection to a peaceful march,” she said over her shoulder, voice more serious now. “But if your broadcasts are going to be heard across the stars, make sure they’re worth listening to. Eos didn’t rise through speeches. He used a narrative. A cause… among other things. If you want to replace his, you’ll need more than light and sound — you’ll need a myth.”

Turning back to face him, she continued, arms loosely crossed.

“Send your schematics. I’ll see that the Starborn, and our allies in the Migrant Fleet, receive them. We’ll distribute what’s useful.”

Then, after a pause, her voice softened just slightly.

“And if the drama of your dynasties holds any real merit… perhaps I’ll watch your musical.”

Her expression was dry as stone, but her eyes gleamed just a little brighter.

“Once we’ve secured the temple and bled the Crusade dry.”

Lyanna hummed quietly, a small expression of wonder on her face. “Congratulations are in order, Admiral. I believe this’ the first time in a long while that I’ve felt so friendly after negotiations.”

Tag; @Admiral Zakur

 

[Admiral Zakur]

Zakur watched as his guest stepped by him and he listened as Fauste spoke, agreeing with everything she said. He paused a little as he thought about what to say next before relaxing back on his heels a little.


“I am quite certain the civilian sector can be quite the idealists and create a perfect myth. Perhaps create a myth where only with us can civilization and progress exist? However, I am aware that you are older than us and perhaps wiser. Perhaps you would be so kind as to share your wisdom with us and suggest the myth we are to promote?” Zakur states as he gives Fauste a smile. He paused as he thought about the dark crusade.


“As for bleeding the dark crusade dry. How do you suggest that we go about doing that? We would target their logistic lines but our intelligence is yet to locate anything major. Plans are still being developed as to how we can target their logistic lines.” Zakur spoke as he had an officer come up and hand Fauste a document containing all the information the HGRE had about the Dark Crusade. The entire information fit onto two pages and wasn’t too in depth.


“Perhaps you can aid us with hurting the Dark Crusade.” Zakur spoke as he looked at Fauste with a raised eyebrow.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna took the offered document without glancing at it — not yet. Instead, she held Zakur’s gaze, considering his words and the weight behind them. When she finally stepped closer, her presence was like the eye of a storm — quiet, yet full of gravity.

“You want a myth?” she asked, voice low and deliberate. “Then offer the galaxy a truth too powerful to be denied.”

She looked away, past the walls of the facility and toward the storm-lashed world beyond. Her voice took on the measured cadence of someone who had lived centuries in her thoughts, and lifetimes in her silence.

“Tell them this:”

‘In the end, the galaxy was not saved by warriors. Not by Sith, nor Jedi. It was saved by builders. By dreamers. Those who dared to make peace louder than war, and progress stronger than conquest. Let the darkness burn itself out — and when the fires die, let the ones who endure be those who shaped something greater from the ashes.’

She turned back to him, eyes steady, silver.

“That’s the myth you need. Not of dominance. But of renewal. And if the Force favors anything, Admiral, it is balance. Not stagnation. Not eternal war. But the power to fall, and the courage to rise again.”

She then glanced at the document, scanning the meager contents with a flicker of quiet judgment. When she folded the pages once more, it was clear she found it lacking — but not hopeless.

“You want to hurt the Dark Crusade?” she asked, tone hardening. “Then know this: they spread not through strength, but desperation. Eos promises broken people a place to belong, and power without discipline. Cut off his prophets. His preachers. I will hunt their apostles from the Outer Rim to the Core if I must.”

She stepped closer, handing the document back to Zakur.

Then, with a quiet breath, she added:

“Give me a list of your suspected agents. I’ll add them to the hunt. I’ll make sure no one wearing Eos’ mask walks in the light for long.”

Her cloak stirred faintly in the artificial wind of the corridor. Despite her composed expression, a fire burned in her voice — not of rage, but purpose.

“Let him bleed. Let the galaxy see what lies beneath his promise: rot and ruin.”

Tag; @Admiral Zakur

 

[Admiral Zakur]

Zakur watched Fauste as she spoke and shared her thoughts about the myth that she thought they needed to spread. He rubbed at his nose a little. He paused and nodded in agreement with what she said. He raised an eyebrow.


“Our people will contact yours soon about this. We will also inform our private sector of such a matter. It is our current purpose to wipe out Eos and his cronies. Our superiors would rather they be weaker before combat.” He spoke before he paused in a train of thought.


“There is a very old document from when Zakuul created the eternal throne. The document was written of a prideful fool who bragged and boasted about the Eternal throne. Perhaps, in the end, we shall meet a similar end as them. Regrettably most of Zakuul still have our silly superstitions.” Zakur spoke as he pulled a coin out of his pocket and smiled at her and held out a silver coin coated in gold to her.


“Either way, consider this coin a token of our friendship. Us Zakuulians still hope to avoid repeating history. Patriotism is a good start to routing out our old nihilistic beliefs.” Zakur spoke as he showed her both sides of the coin. One side had the Galactic Republic and the other side had the Sith Empire symbol.