=== Sienn ===
The silence in Raxor's quarters was unlike the rest of the half ruined battle barge, calm, solemn, and strangely reverent. Sienn moved through the room like a ghost, her feet padding softly across the cold, metal floor. It was the only place on the ship where she could feel the presence of her savior without his towering form looming nearby. The only place she felt truly alone with the weight of her thoughts.
The air was warm, as it always was when he returned from battle. The Salamander's quarters held the subtle, lingering heat of his personal forge, still cooling after its flames had died down. Sienn breathed it in as she moved past the armor he had worn when he first arrived in the Universe. He had traded it for the much more durable Beskantium, a mix of Beskar and Adamantium the Imperium had just commissioned the Astartes armor be replaced with.
His old suit was now mounted with care on a display stand that gleamed even in the low lighting. The green of his warplate was scorched in places, battle-worn and missing the left arm, yet pristine in how it had been maintained. A testament to discipline. Duty. Vengeance.
She was cleaning, as she always did when he was away. She did it not because anyone told her to, but because it gave her something to do, something meaningful. She had been nothing once. A slave. A plaything. A discarded soul given no worth by the galaxy. But now she was in the presence of an angel. And that angel had lifted her from the dust.
A small shrine was built into the wall at the far side of the room, barely a few feet tall, modest by Imperial standards. A golden Aquila, and a simple book, weathered by use, rested beneath it. The Lectitio Divinitatus. She touched her fingers gently to the page he had bookmarked, then offered a small prayer to the Emperor. Her prayers were simple, but full of faith. She believed in Him. How could she not? She had been saved by one of His angels.
Curiosity pulled her gaze across the room again. On a side wall, she saw the trophies. Not the garish kind she had seen taken by warlords or pirates. These were items of quiet significance. A broken clone trooper's helmet, scorched black. A child's cloth doll, its head carefully stitched back on. A Republic officer's code cylinder. A lightsaber, cracked and burnt out. Each one a story, a memory.
She stopped at a small stand where her hand sewn sash had been but curiously it was gone.
Then came the low thud of armored boots.
She turned sharply, her lekku twitching in surprise. One of the Pyro Drakes stood in the doorway, tall and grim. His armor was black with streaks of soot, still bearing ash from the battlefield. A flamer tank was clipped to his back, its nozzle at rest by his thigh.
"Lady Sienn," he said, his voice slightly filtered through his helmet. It was a deep, firm sound, but not unkind. "Lord Raxor has summoned you."
She blinked. "Me?"
"Yes," the Pyro Drake replied. "You are to be transported to the surface of Ryloth. You will receive further instruction there."
The words took a moment to process. She straightened, unconsciously smoothing her modest robes. "Did he say… why?"
"No," the man said simply. "Only that you are to prepare and report to Launch Bay Six."
The Lord had summoned her. There were billions in the Imperium who would kill to be in her place. She was just a servant. A girl born in chains. Yet he had chosen her.
"Of course," she said, voice soft with awe. "If it is His will… then it is mine."
The Pyro Drake gave a silent nod and turned, leaving her alone once more.
She took a deep breath. Her fingers curled tightly around the cloth she had been using to polish one of the armor plates. Then she set it down with deliberate care and walked toward the chamber where her few belongings were stored.
She dressed quickly. Her attire was simple but respectable, clean robes in Imperial grey, belted at the waist. Her personal satchel was light, containing little more than her prayer book, a ration bar, and a necklace bearing the Aquila symbol, a gift from her Lord after her liberation.
Before leaving, she paused at the shrine again. Bowed her head.
"Guide me, my Emperor," she whispered. "Let me be worthy of the Angel's trust."
Then she stepped out of the quarters, the door hissing shut behind her.
As she made her way to Launch Bay Six, the halls of the strike cruiser bustled with activity, Mandalorians sharpening blades, Tech Priests inspecting servitors, squads of Imperial troops marching in unison. No one paid her much attention. She was a small figure amid giants. But she walked with purpose, her eyes forward.
The launch bay loomed ahead, its hangar doors open, one of the ships already idling, surrounded by crew. A ramp extended, inviting her forward.
She took a deep breath and boarded.
=== Raxor ===
Raxor walked with heavy steps through the shattered remains of the Twi'lek capital building, the sound of crunching marble and durasteel beneath his boots echoing through the open halls.
The Pyro Drakes moved around him, their boots shaking loose the ash and broken plaster that clung to the building's skeleton. They dragged the sparking remains of B2 droids from the rubble, vaporizing the survivors with short, efficient bursts of flame. Fire met metal, and metal wept its final screams. The great hall was theirs now.
One Pyro Drake came in with the banner of the Imperium, and planted it in the cracked floor in the center of the hall, causing cheers to erupt from the legion who saw it.
Raxor came to a slow stop as he approached the central stairway, the last path leading to the senator's private offices. A trail of broken glass and Twi'lek corpses left by the Separatists marked the way. The building, once a seat of corruption and cowardice, now belonged to fire and to him.
He set his heavy flamer onto the scorched ground with a soft thunk, letting it rest for the moment. With a quiet hiss, he disengaged the mag-locks at his collar and slowly removed his helmet. The world came alive in a different way without its filters, the smoke was thicker, the heat sharper, the scent of charred flesh and ozone stronger. He set the helm beside him on the stairs and sat.
From a small black satchel at his waist, he pulled out a cloth-wrapped object, no larger than his finger. He held it in his palm, reverently unwrapping the layers of oiled fabric to reveal the blade he had forged only hours before.
The knife, his newest creation, gleamed in the sunlight.
It was forged from Beskantium, a miraculous alloy of Mandalorian beskar and the Emperor's blessed adamantium, a marriage of traditions.
The blade was curved ever so slightly like a raptor's talon, its edge a flowing silver line that shimmered with oil-slick colors. Along its spine, intricate geometric engravings marked the stylized crest of Nocturne, home of the Salamanders.
The fuller ran like a flame lick down its length, filled with an inlay of volcanic glass fused to the adamantium, giving it an inner glow, like magma encased in obsidian. It was a knife designed not for utility, but for meaning.
On the flat of the blade, etched in High Gothic, were the words:
"Emperor's will"
He turned it in his fingers, the way an artist admires their last brushstroke, not out of vanity, but completion. This blade, he thought, would be given away soon and buried in flesh deserving of judgment.
He closed his fingers around the hilt, testing the grip. The handle was wrapped in leather from a lylek he had slain during the first skirmishes, a token of Ryloth's wild defiance. He had cured it himself, threading it with adamantine wire so it would never rot, never slip.
Behind him, the Pyro Drakes continued their silent work. One Mandalorian was using a powered exo-rig to haul rubble from the room, while another gathered data cores from the capital's command hub. Their obedience was absolute, and their minds were sharpened like his. Each of them had seen the atrocities on this planet. Each had read the reports of Twi'lek children sold in crates, of villages scorched by Separatist experiments, of traitors in high places.
And now, the worm Orn Free Taa would come.
Raxor's thoughts drifted. Sienn was en route. A necessary cruelty, he had thought. To bring her here. To the place of her origin. Of her pain. But the truth was never kind. She deserved it nonetheless. Deserved to know the full story.
He leaned back against the stair, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above, listening to the silent echoes of battle now ended.
===
Soon, his ward found him.
The air was heavy with smoke and the tang of scorched metal as Sienn stepped over the ruined threshold of the capital building. The ornate stone archway that had once greeted politicians and dignitaries now lay fractured, its fragments strewn across the grand hallway.
Sienn didn't flinch at the noise of weapons fire. Not anymore.
Her soft lekku twitched in the still-warm air as she entered deeper into the heart of the structure. Her boots clicked softly on cracked marble floors, the sound swallowed by the charred remains of the once-grand interior. The hallway opened up into the central rotunda, where the last of the smoke curled toward shattered skylights above like the dying breath of the city itself.
There, amidst the ruin, she found him.
He simply gestured with one armored gauntlet, beckoning her forward.
She crossed the ruined rotunda toward him slowly, almost reverently, her eyes flicking to the Pyro Drakes who wordlessly moved around the perimeter.
When she reached him, she didn't need to be told. She sat beside him, close but not touching, her presence small next to his mountainous bulk.
Still he said nothing.
A few heartbeats passed before the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness. Captain Korrin, his green-and-black armor dulled by ash and smoke, came into view. He paused before them and gave Sienn a respectful nod before holding a datapad out to her.
She blinked, surprised. "What is this?" she asked quietly, glancing between the two.
Raxor did not look at her. His voice, when it came, was low and hard. "Read it."
Confused, Sienn accepted the pad and tapped the screen.
The text began to scroll.
At first, her expression was blank. Then her eyes narrowed. Her lips parted slightly.
Her eyes skimmed the words faster now. The datapad trembled in her hands. Her lekku twitched sharply behind her shoulders as if recoiling from what they could not unsee.
It was all there… everything. The truth she had long suspected but never confirmed. Names. Dates. Locations. Testimonies from loyalists, intercepted communications, medical logs. All of it painted a picture far darker than she had ever dared to imagine.
What had been done to her mother.
What had been done to her.
What she had survived.
Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, clinging there for a moment like dew before falling. She let out a quiet, shuddering breath, and then another. The datapad in her grip started to shake more violently, her fingers tightening as if by squeezing it she could hold back the pain threatening to rise.
It didn't work.
A choked sob slipped from her lips as she dropped the datapad.
It clattered softly on the marble, the screen still lit with grim revelations. Her arms curled around her stomach as she leaned forward, her breath ragged and broken.
Sienn began to weep openly and uncontrollably.
She buried her face in her hands, trying to hold it in, trying not to break under the truth, but it was too much. The walls she had built for years, since she was a child, since she had escaped, since she had been saved, crumbled into dust beneath the weight of what she had just read.
And through it all, Raxor said nothing.
He did not attempt to speak. He did not offer false comfort, or meaningless platitudes.
Instead, the Astartes slowly reached out one enormous gauntlet. It moved with surprising gentleness. He laid the massive, armored hand on her back, not pressing, just resting, just… there. A silent monument of reassurance, as enduring and solid as the mountain he was.
Sienn's cries hardened. Her breathing came in gasps. She leaned into the Salamander, resting her head against his side as she wept.
And then, inevitably, the other party arrived.
An entourage of Republic delegates poured in like a poisoned tide. Their pristine uniforms stood in stark contrast to the bloodstained floor and the blackened armor of the Pyro Drakes who lined the walls.
Leading them was a Twi'lek whose corpulence preceded him, waddling forward like a self-inflated balloon in ceremonial robes.
Orn Free Taa.
The stench of his perfume hit Raxor before the sound of his voice. Obnoxious. Overcompensating.
"Ahh! And there he is!" Taa spread his arms wide as though greeting an old friend. "The hero of Ryloth, Lord Raxor! The mighty Astartes who brought us our freedom!"
Raxor remained seated, unmoving.
Taa's beady eyes flicked to Sienn, still weeping quietly beside the giant. His grin widened. "And I see you've claimed yourself a prize already. One of our native flowers, yes? Twi'lek women are, how shall I say, pliable, when properly trained."
Raxor looked up, and nodded once.
And the Pyro Drakes moved.
With deadly coordination, six of them stepped forward, their armor hissing with heat as they raised their weapons and subdued the Republic guards before they could even blink. Blasters were torn from holsters. Comms were crushed underfoot. One unfortunate diplomat had his shoulder dislocated as he was slammed into a pillar and shackled in seconds.
Taa stumbled back, his jowls quivering. "Wh—what is the meaning of this!?"
From the far hallway came a shout. "TAA!"
Cham Syndulla stormed into the room, a mix of fury and triumph on his face, until Captain Korrin blocked his path.
"Stay where you are," the Captain barked.
Cham's eyes flared. "But Raxor promised him to me!"
Korrin stepped closer, his armor grinding audibly. "You will be silent and watch."
Taa sputtered and turned back to Raxor. "This is outrageous! I am a representative of the Galactic Senate! The Republic knows we are here. If you harm me, you'll bring war upon yourself!"
Raxor stood.
The marble stairs cracked beneath his weight as he pushed himself to his full, towering height. His chainsword hung at his hip, and his crimson eyes as red as the sash around his waist, bored into Taa with all the weight of hatred he had kept in check thus far.
But he said nothing to Taa.
Instead, he turned back to Sienn, and knelt in front of her.
The girl hadn't stopped crying. Her eyes were red and hollow. Her lekku hung limp down her back. But when Raxor knelt in front of her she looked up into those crimson eyes of his, and then to his hand before her.
A knife.
She looked at it, then into his eyes. He nodded.
Her trembling fingers closed around the blade's hilt.
She stood, slow and unsure at first, like a child learning to walk. The blade hissed as she drew it from its sheath. It was smaller than Raxor's weapons, but in her hands, it may as well have been a short sword of divine judgment.
Taa's eyes flicked from her face to the knife. His smirk faltered.
"Now, now, girl," he chuckled nervously. "Let's not do anything your master will regret. Raxor, control your slave!"
Raxor did nothing but watch.
Taa raised a hand, trying to regain control. "Raxor! Be reasonable! You, you can't let this happen! The Republic will not—"
"I will take care of the Republic," Raxor said flatly.
Then he looked to Sienn and gave a single nod.
She moved.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't tactical. It was raw, emotional, and real.
Taa tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go. She lunged forward with a broken scream, driving the blade into his outstretched hands. The metal punched through flesh and bone, and Taa howled in pain.
The first stab wasn't clean. Neither was the second, or the third, or the fourth.
She drove the blade into his gut next, awkward, but deep. Blood sprayed onto her arms, her chest, her face. Taa tried to push her away, his fat fingers clawing at her shoulders, but she only screamed louder and stabbed him again.
And again.
And again.
Each strike came with a fresh wave of blood, soaking her front in a growing sheen of red. The sound of the blade punching into meat was sickening, wet and hollow, but she did not stop. The knife caught in ribs. She yanked it free. She stabbed his neck. His thigh. His belly.
Taa was screaming, begging now, having fallen to the floor "P-please! Mercy! I—I'm sorry! I didn't know! I didn't—!"
She stabbed him in the mouth.
The scream cut off with a wet gargle as teeth shattered and blood poured from the wound, twitching as the last of his life spilled onto the cold floor.
She didn't stop.
Even as his eyes glazed over and his limbs went slack, she kept stabbing, sobbing once more, broken beyond words, venting years of horror and silence into each wild, messy strike.
When at last the blade slipped from her fingers, she collapsed beside him. Blood was everywhere. On her face, her dress, her skin. Her fingers trembled violently, her breaths ragged and uneven.
Raxor stepped forward and knelt beside her again.
She was inconsolable now. Weeping openly as she clawed at his armored chest.
He placed his hand on her back once more, and lifted her into his arms and stood.
He began walking for the room before he stopped and turned to Cham.
"You can have what's left." Then he was gone.
Korrin stepped forward and reached down, picking the knife up, before walking over to Cham. He reached out and wiped the blade on the man's clothes.
"We're done here." He said before walking away.
"Clean this up, and get them out of here." He ordered the Pyro Drakes before gesturing towards the Republic delegation.
===
Https://discord.gg/vDrfkXnDe2
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)