Translation guide from Mando'a:

aliit = "clan"
aruetii = "traitor" or "foreigner"
be'tal = "Kin" or "of blood." A synonym for clansmen or being part of a clan
beskar'gam = "armor" (don't worry I won't use this every time)
dar'tomir = "to be separated" or "to be exiled." Dar'tome is of past tense
geroyc verd = "playing soldier"
Ja'hailid = "Watcher." A ceremonial and specialized role within Clan Saxon to tend to the Hall of Tyrants
kom'rk crab = "Gauntlet crab." A native fauna of the planet with crushing pincers and a notoriously tough shell.
Kyr'tsad = "Death Watch" (will only used when a character is speaking Mando'a)
Laamyc'buir = "Patriarch" or "High Father." The head of the clan if they were male.
Mand'alor = "sole ruler"
ori'ramikad = "supercommando." Both an official and unofficial title, signifying the best of the best
Ruug'verda = "Ancestors." Literally means "old warriors" but is more commonly used for the former
Taakuir'tsad = "Horned Watch" (will only used when a character is speaking Mando'a)

XXX

Gar Saxon

XXX

When the Siege of Mandalore had begun, Gar had envisioned a triumphant return to the household of Clan Saxon. It had given him a drive to succeed beyond just obeying orders given by Maul. He saw himself bowing his head before his wizened father, a sash of furs interspliced with gold rivets draped over his shoulder to acknowledge the glory he had brought the family. His brother and sister stood on either side with similar rewards. The whole clan stood in attendance to not just praise them, but revel in the honor and planetwide prestige Gar's victory had brought them all.

There was no heroes welcome now. Perhaps there never would've been.

The stronghold sat on a mountain that had two thousand years ago been the site of the last stand of Mandalore the Lacerator. Clan Saxon was one of three clans that had stood with him, and it was said that 80% of the clan had fallen that day. The survivors, their former lands lost to them, built their fortress upon the stone, dirt, and blood of the fallen in hopes their spirits would continue to protect them. In time, this fostered the legends of the Saxon Ruug'verda swearing to protect any who claimed the clan name.

To some extent, their oath had come true. Mandalore's surface was a burnt wasteland and the atmosphere generally incapable of supporting life. Domed cities on the surface or entire other worlds and moons settled by colonists now housed the Mandalorian people. But the mountains of Clan Saxon had never experienced ecological failure or devastation; natural life, though subdued, carried on.

Tiber brought the speeder up the slopes and sat it down on a small landing field within the fortress. The black stone wrapped around them protectively, but the structure closest to them by contrast looked small and fragile. Wood planks painted white, red, and gold were vertically arranged in a rectangular shape, topped off a thatched roof. It was primitive, but that was the point. This was the Hall of Tyrants, the first structure built by the survivors of Clan Saxon.

It was the tomb of Mandalore the Lacerator.

Tiber opened the door on his side and hopped out, and Gar mutely did the same. Few words had been spoken between them; even Tiber's antagonistic sense of humor had faded as they drew near. They both knew their father and the man he was.

"Did he ask for me specifically?" Gar asked quietly.

"Yes. And no, there were no other members of Clan Saxon released."

Which meant Gar had been the only Saxon fighting against Bo-Katan and the Republic. He took a deep breath and looked at the Hall. It was almost entirely dark, but from underneath the main door that had the crest of Clan Saxon emblazoned on it came the faint shimmering of candlelight. The Ja'hailid of the Hall usually kept his room lit into the night until they extinguished on their own, but his quarters were on the right side and no glow came from the windows there.

It could only mean that Aurelius Saxon was inside.

Tiber walked him up to the front door. "You coming in with me?" Gar asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

His brother snorted. "Not at all. I'm just staying close to hear if he shoots you or not."

Gar's anxiety peaked and readily transformed itself into anger. "Has anyone ever told you what a kriffing—"

"Gar!"

He whirled to the newcomer, alerted to her by the sound of the jetpack fizzling out as she landed rather than the name. No sooner had she landed was she wrapping him tightly in a hug.

Gar blinked at how nice it felt. "It's good to see you, too, Sarri."

Tiber made a scoffing sound. "Do you plan on crushing him so the Laamyc'buir doesn't have to kill him?"

"Oh shut up," Sarri admonished, but she let go of her brother all the same. She looked much older, but then again most humans aged quite noticeably in their late teens. She was almost as tall as Gar now, her face creased with some lines but still dominated by a sense of youth and pride. To Gar's amusement her long black hair now finished in a dark indigo at the tips. Someone's been watching the old holos of Rook Kast.

Sarri punched Gar in the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. "You deserve that more than the hug," she said lightly, but her turquoise eyes betrayed the rawer emotions.

Gar looked away from them. "I likely do."

"No, you definitely do." Her arms crossed, the gauntlets clacking together. "But you don't have to apologize to me. I… think I understand why you stayed with Maul now, even if I could never bring myself to." She swallowed. "I'd rather not have you grovel to your whole family your first day out, anyways."

"You think he did to me?" Tiber rolled his eyes. "No, he's got a spine like a kom'rk crab. Oh, nevermind, he looks like he's going to cry."

"I said shut up, Tiber," Sarri said hotly, her own eyes flirting with tears. "Don't act like Father didn't also chew your head off when you came home."

Gar looked up in surprise, forcing down his self-pity. "Really? But you came back before—"

"Didn't matter to the old man," Tiber said gruffly. He leaned against one of the wooden pillars, which creaked in protest but nonetheless held him up. "It'll be worse for you, believe me. Father is…"

"… traditional," Sarri finished. She had collected herself and now only looked concerned. "We all know that. But to have his son back home must be special for him. It's been years since you both saw each other, he'll have missed you plenty."

Gar and Tiber exchanged quick looks; Tiber's icy blue eyes told the other everything. "Perhaps," Gar said, failing to not sound deflated. He walked up the last wooden steps to stand before the door.

Neither of them said anything more; they didn't want their voices to carry inside. They just stood behind him, watching. With a final deep breath, he put both his hands on the smooth red knobs and pulled them apart, splitting the clan crest in half. He stepped inside.

He had been inside before, and little had changed since then. To his immediate left and right were two rooms: the Ja'hailid's quarters and library, respectively. Going straight in was the namesake hall, a mixture of statues and armor stands proceeding deeper in. They were of famous be'tal of Clan Saxon, warriors and craftsmen and politicians held in equal regard. The stands bore a variety of customized and old-looking armor, yet they were still polished and obviously well-cared for by the Ja'hailid.

At the end of the hall was a tomb and a man.

Gar walked down, oddly feeling like the empty helmets of the armor stands were watching him as he went past. He shook his head; that was a child's memories, not his own. But the dim light and painfully loud thudding of his feet upon the old wood did not bring brevity to his paranoia.

After what felt like an eternity he stopped. The man and the tomb were raised on a white marble platform, and no Mandalorian save the Ja'hailid and Laamyc'buir were allowed to walk up those steps. The man was not facing him but the tomb. He was next to a throne made of petrified wood graced with stillborn blossoms from extinct plants. The tomb was not wood but marble, hewn carefully from the stone before being embedded with lines of beskar, the precious mineral that went into Mandalorian beskar'gam. Despite its age the tomb still shined brightly with the beskar in it from the candles hanging around them.

"Is that you, my son? My child, Gar Saxon?"

Gar straightened his back in reflex. He looked at the back of the man raised before him. "It's me, Father."

"Then come forward, let me see you."

He hesitated. "I… cannot. You are too close to the tomb."

Without responding, the man turned away from the tomb and stepped down the sacred white steps until he was standing right before Gar. Son looked father in the eyes.

Aurelius Saxon was old, and that was saying something. Even when Duchess Satine had been in control and her repulsive pacifist doctrine had presided over all of Mandalore, the living conditions of the planet had often prevented many from living past sixty standard years of age. Yet Aurelius had thus far lived to be fifty-nine and showed no signs of wearing down. Even now, he proudly wore his familiar gray and crimson Mandalorian armor, although the dagger through the skull of the mudhorn on his shoulder pad was shined more vibrantly; a new addition. It must have been made some time after Gar left to join Pre Vizsla's Death Watch.

Of course, Aurelius had not challenged that departure. Like his sons and the rest of the clan, they had years ago grown bored of wearing their armor only as symbols of the past.

Gar broke eye contact and knelt on one knee before the Laamyc'buir. It was the perfect replication of the last conversation the two had had, right at this very spot. "Once you leave, I will have to publicly renounce you," Aurelius had said, four years earlier his hair a much darker, healthier shade of gray, the wrinkles less pronounced. "Disgusting as she is, the Duchess's word is law. Kyr'tsad breaks this law. For the sake of the aliit, I cannot openly approve."

"But you do?" A younger Gar, the second youngest of his family behind Tiber and ahead of Sarri, who was so desperate to earn a supportive gleam in the other's eye. He was not even sure if his ears were registering the conversation correctly. "If this endangers the clan-"

"Your brothers and some other be'tal are already making this choice," Aurelius had interrupted. "You must be firm in your choice. Once you have chosen it, you must continue it, do you understand me?" He had sighed then, lifting a hand indicating Gar could in turn get up. "Clan Saxon's honor must be preserved, even in this dishonorable age. Perhaps with House Vizsla's aid, our proper glory can be returned."

"Now go. Whatever you must do to bring us our glory, you will do it. Do you understand?"

"You did not understand."

Gar Saxon grit his teeth and lowered his head. As much as he had merged and become an adult worthy of being labeled a ori'ramikad, hearing the sardonic disapproval in his father's tone had the effect of making him feel like a child again. How many times had he tried to win a supportive word from Father when he was young? How many years had he spent with Maul trying to gain not just honor for Clan Saxon, but also that same glint of approval from his own blood?

Aurelius caught the look on his face and snorted. "I told you six years ago to bring Clan Saxon honor, did I not?"

"You did, Father."

"Then where, pray tell, is that HONOR!" The last word rang out painfully loud and Gar froze stiller than the statues behind him. The Laamyc'buir's boots clamped on the floor as he began to pace in circles around his kneeling son. His usage of Mando'a, already one of the harsher-sounding languages of the galaxy, began to bite out as if from behind fangs. "What were you doing out there, boy? Geroyc verd?"

"I joined Death Watch—"

"You told me this years ago, yes! You, Tiber, and Sarri, as well as many of our clan! And when Vizsla was killed by that miserable aruetii—" Aurelius stopped to visibly restrain himself, the shallow wrinkles on his face tightening. The gloves hands toyed with each other in a vice, the slithering of the fabric like snakes in a pit. A growl came from deep within his throat before resuming his pacing and words. "When he was killed, Sarri had the good sense to break away with Clan Kryze and their movement, giving me the chance to protect our aliit's honor. You and Tiber joined the Shadow Collective… a gang of grimy criminals!"

Much of Gar's strength of character had returned on the ride home, and he had never been one to bow silently to a hostile attack. "Kyr'tsad was already working with criminals before Vizsla's death," he snapped, lifting his head just a little. "Furthermore, according to Mandalorian tradition he was killed in mortal combat by Maul. By all rights, Maul was the true Mand'alor! Bo-Katan had no right to revolt—"

"Giving Mandalore to an ARUETII?" Aurelius' pacing intensified, as did the wringing of his hands. The dying orange glow of the candles blurred his face into a nightmarish version that reminded Gar of his childhood training, of having to overcome his fears with brute force. Sometimes now those memories persisted despite his best efforts, but he was always able to choke them down.

Aurelius was still ranting. "Perhaps letting you join Kyr'tsad so early in your years was a mistake. But then again, Sarri—the youngest, still but a whelp—had the intelligence to retain loyalty to what Mandalore really is, so I cannot even fault your stupidity to your age!"

"Tiber stayed," Gar said bitterly.

It was the wrong thing to say. Aurelius was behind him now in his pace, and so Gar had no warning when his father's hand suddenly gripped a fistful of his hair and yanked him back. It seemed ridiculous, the old man having the younger and muscular warrior in such a humiliating vice, but through the pain of the grip Gar ironically felt he knew why Father had retained clan leadership for so long.

"Your brother stayed," Aurelius whispered in his ear, making Gar's skin crawl. "Until Maul's powerbase was destroyed by the Confederacy and Republic both! Criminal power that dared to taint the Saxon name, destroyed in mere days. I could not feel more relieved when I heard the news. There was nothing going for that horned freak, a galactic outlaw with no stake to the title of Mand'alor. Tiber, stupid boy he also is, finally—finally—had the sense to return home."

"But not you. Not you, you idiot boy." Aurelius thrust Gar's head back down in the sign of submission, and there Gar stayed, feeling the sting of his father's touch and words like multiple blades. Anger engulfed him, and he defiantly spoke out again.

"Not completely destroyed. We came back—I came back. If the Republic hadn't gotten involved, we would have won the Siege of Mandalore!" He glowered at the floor, not feeling enough gall to raise his head and look at the Laamyc'buir. "I would have brought glory to the Saxon name. I would have earned myself prestige, perhaps in a ranking position in the provisional government that would have arisen. You would have been mu advisor, Tiber and Sarri leaders of a new army of refined, potent Mandalorians!"

He ran out of breath, feeling surprised Father had not interrupted him Just when he began to suspect Aurelius had been stunned into silence, the old man spoke.

"'If.' If you had succeeded." Aurelius sighed and walked up the steps to sit down in the ancient throne, his armor clacking against the petrified wood. Gar felt more guilt in the subdued disappointment than in the angriest of the shouting.

"Maul was beaten and taken away, and you were thrown into the detention center. Now you are released to us. You, the only be'tal of Clan Saxon who served the false Mand'alor, finally return only because there is no Maul or Shadow Collective to take you. Do you feel my disbelief now, Gar?"

He did, but he did not say anything.

Aurelius peered down at him for a moments. "Your hopes for the future were not entirely amiss. Tiber and Sarri acquired power after all within Kryze's new government, miraculously. I suppose I should think her for including us in the reconstruction of our society."

"In the wake of… the Empire."

Aurelius' sardonic tone returned. "The Galactic Empire," Ridiculous… but these are ridiculous times. I suppose after everything that has happened to our world over the past few years, this shouldn't be any more surprising. To think that our Ruug'verda fought war after war to destroy the Republic, only for it to self-destruct." He chuckled, seemingly forgetting Gar was still knelt submissively before him. "Ridiculous…"

"What would you have me do, Father?" Gar asked, resisting the urge to look up.

His father laughed again. "Nothing. In fact, I have half a mind to dar'tomir you from the aliit outright. Seems you did so to yourself; I heard from the Kast Laamyc'buir that you had asked to cease be called your name while you were imprisoned."

Gar bit his lip. Karro, should I ever meet you again, I'll…

"Get up." He did so and looked to his father. There was still anger in his wizened face, yes, but there was almost a sadness there, too. "You remembered the story of Aro Saxon."

"I did, yes."

"He who shamed his family by hunting and bring back the prey only to feed himself." Aurelius shook his head. "For who the consequence was he was never addressed by his name by his loved ones ever again. Who took it upon himself to be dar'tome."

"Yes." Gar held his head high. If exile awaited him, he would not give the old man the satisfaction of cowering.

Aurelius' eyes closed. "It was one of the parables your mother used to tell you and your siblings when you were all young. Stars give her comfort." He brought a hand to his face and shielded it from his son. "It would ruin her spirit to know her favorite child met such a sordid fate, and though you may deserve it I cannot bring myself to neither bring you to dar'tomir nor take from you the name she bestowed upon you. I have no punishment for you."

"But you are no longer a son of mine."

At his sides, Gar felt his arms go limp. "You… disown me?"

"I do," Aurelius said heavily. "You will not be welcomed within my home. You will not eat the prey I bring home to be eaten by your brother and sister. You are only to be a be'tal of Clan Saxon to me, and one whom I never want to hear stirring trouble for us again." He lowered his hand to show the same icy stare Tiber had so eloquently inherited from him. "If you do, be certain that I will do us all the great pain of upsetting your mother's soul. Do you understand?"

Gar held his gaze. He thought he would feel pain or betrayal hearing this, but instead there was only a hollow calm as he looked upon the cold indifference his former Father held. He doesn't care for whether I live or die anymore. There's only the relationship between Laamyc'buir and be'tal now, professional in its entirety.

"I understand."

"Good." He rose up from the throne, his judgement passed. "I will allow you tonight to stay under my roof as I know you have nowhere else to go. Consider it the Laamyc'buir's duty if you refuse to see it as a father's final good deed to his son."

XXX

Neither Tiber or Sarri were waiting for him when he left the Hall of Tyrants or when he arrived at their old household. To his surprise, his room was almost exactly as he had left it. It had clearly been cared for while he was away serving Death Watch, and the upkeep had apparently continued even during his stint in prison.

The bed creaked beneath him as he lied down upon it. A misgiving smile scrawled upon his face as he remembered a day in his youth, bringing Verceli Saxon over in the dead of night while Father was doing a speech, trying to stay quiet because Tiber was just a room over—

As quickly as the good memory had come it went away. He was left alone with his dark future in the dark room that tomorrow would no longer be his. He would have to build his own abode somewhere on the mountain, purchase his own materials, find people who would be willing to help him—

"Do not despair at our predicament."

A different memory, one much more recent. Just two years ago:

Gar took off his horned helmet. "It's hard not to," he had said glumly. "Little is left of the Horned Watch; many have either deserted or been killed. The syndicates have likewise cut ties."

"Both the Separatists and Republic will be watching for us," added Rook Kast. Her purple hair was slightly burnt on the left side from the recent escape from Dathomir, and some final trails of smoke still curled out from her blasters. "This is a hard fight to come back from."

The target of their words had stood there, gazing out the viewport away from them. Broad shoulders, mechanical legs, horns of real organic material instead of the beskar addons Gar and Rook had made to their helmets.

"Do you wish to stop?" Maul had faced them, yellow eyes muted by his cold tone. "Have you decided it is not worth staying with me after all?"

Gar had felt Rook look at him; he was a couple years her senior and she had valued his opinion highly as the direct son of a Laamyc'buir. He had in turn quietly wondered many times what sort of inspiration she could take from him when it was often he trailing after her. They made a potent team in that way.

But Maul had been asking him, and Rook was silently conveying she would support whatever he said. The pressures were on him.

He had not known what to say at first. Surely the Shadow Collective was over and Maul's luck was out. It would be suicide to stay with him. Mand'alor's were not immune to defeat or being wrong; perhaps now was the time to jettison?

There had been a glimmer, something catching the light coming down from the bulkhead. Maul had shifted his stance and the light had bounced off the Darksaber, the weapon of history.

It was then the answer came, though later on he admitted to himself much of his decision had also stemmed from the assumption that Tiber and the other dozen of Clan Saxon were still present and loyal. Had he known he was alone of his clan in supporting Maul, the decision would not have been so forthcoming.

But it was. "We will fight for you, Mand'alor. With you leading us, we will never truly be defeated."

"I stand by his words as well," Rook had added right after.

Maul had smiled, the dirty teeth and glowing eyes elated. "Excellent and wise, the both of you. But yet you spoke first Gar, and with so many recent losses I find myself in need of genuine loyalty… and genuine leadership." Still smiling he had then taken the Darksaber from his belt and activated it, beckoning with another hand. "You deserve this. Come."

After stealing a disbelieving look at Rook (who could only smile back, had she known this would happen?) he had obeyed. The Darksaber had come down upon each shoulder, millimeters away from touching his shoulder pads.

"I appoint you the new leader of the Horned Watch. My right-hand, to serve me and my ambitions." The yellow eyes had glittered with what back then Gar had thought was respect. "Rise." Rook Kast, approach me as well…"

The memory ended and Gar fought the urge to bash his head against the wall. How stupid he had been.

He should have guessed long ago that Maul did not care for Mandalore in a way the rest of them did. He could see now that Father was right; Maul was an alien, with no ties to the culture. The Darksaber did not magically transform him into a Mand'alor and had instead blinded Gar and many others to the fact that he was just using the sword to heighten his legitimacy. Pre Vizsla would have made a truer, more potent Mand'alor had he not been killed by the former Sith Lord. Vizsla had the connections, the passion, the warrior-mindset that would've given Clan Saxon real power and integrity. Perhaps Sarri had been right to denounce Maul alongside Bo-Katan Kryze, to follow her words: "No outsider will ever rule Mandalore."

Still Gar had clung to Maul, and when the horned monster had seen him briefly hesitate in his decision, he had all but bribed him with a raised position of power. It was all so clear to him now. Shame and anger bubbled up and he cursed himself in Mando'a and Basic.

There was no way he could sleep now. He stood up and began to pace while his mind whirred.

Father doesn't trust me to bring us honor anymore, he thought with calm resignation. I had my chances to come back and retain our honor in his eyes. Now, it's up to Tiber and Sarri to do it. I mean nothing to him or the rest of the Saxons anymore.

Tiber and Sarri, who had apparently managed to become prominent members of Bo-Katan's government. When Sarri had returned, old Aurelius Saxon had been able to throw claim that House Saxon sided with the "True Mandalorians." When Tiber, the eldest brother, had sworn his loyalty to Bo-Katan's growing movement after Maul's sudden disappearance from Mandalore just weeks after becoming Mand'alor, Aurelius could only further enhance the aliit's honor. They were former enemies of the state, but they had still found their way in society and were now restoring respect to the Saxon name.

Meanwhile Gar basically existed outside the social framework. Still be'tal of Clan Saxon, but what other clansmen would seek to associate with someone who had destroyed so much of his social and political capital? He had no allies, few credits. He did not even have a suit of beskar'gad anymore. Father had spared his dear wife's soul the pain of exiling Gar, but he had also left their son alone at the bottom of the pit and taken the ladder away for good measure.

His chances were burned up, just as Sundari itself was.

A breeze came through his window and chilled him, but it also swept up something long and blue. This struck him as odd; the clan colors had no use for that color. He stopped and took in the new decoration, one he had not noticed when he'd first entered and flung himself onto the bed.

Even as a child his sense of décor has been pretty simple: he had loved to have nothing but banners of the clan crest everywhere in its bold colors of red and white. His mother had done some touchups to it before her passing, but the only real traces left were a flower pot with an artificial morana vine sticking out and the fading colors of silvery wallpaper.

It was a different banner, one that did not bear the Saxon crest in its center. Instead, the black and white circle of the Galactic Republic was centered on it.

He blinked. No, it was close to the emblem of the Republic but with some obvious differences: the color scheme had been reversed so that the core was now white and the externals black, and the center symbol now had only six lances stretching out from it instead of eight. After a few seconds, it registered to him that this must be the banner of the Galactic Empire instead.

A fresh intruder in his own room.

Soon to be an intruder to all of Mandalore, he thought stiffly. News of the outside world rarely trickled down to him while he had been in his cell, though he had done his best to stay informed by talking more friendly patrols than Karro. The fall of the Galactic Republic and its replacement had been shocking, but stuck in his cell for so long that had not truly registered with him. Occasionally he would hear snippets of politics: the occupation force that had originally been put in place to help secure Kryze's regency was being extended, that income from tariffs would now be partially siphoned off back to Coruscant, that once again some bureaucrat in the nearby sector was stalling the arrival of materials needed to rebuild.

Buried beneath the surface of the planet, none of it had technically affected him. But if something harmed Mandalore, he still felt the pain. Nothing of his time in captivity had endeared him to the new galactic government.

He walked up to the blue banner as it swayed gentle with the breeze. His gray eyes studied it with distrust. It's the Republic recolored. Even Vizsla was against allying with them.

And look where that got him.

Gar Saxon didn't want to die. He had considered ending himself before surrendering to Republic at the end of the siege, and a few times during his sentence he had also considered it. Each time he had talked himself out of it, and now that he had been released so early the will to live was very much alive, even with the cruel rebuke of the Laamyc'buir. Vizsla had died a mythological hero's death to Maul, and he would likely be written about for generations.

But he was still dead. He had no future. Gar had no desire to end up like Vizsla at all, however great and pure a Mandalorian he had been.

But if he could not find a new place within Mandalorian society, then he would experience a fate just as bad. He would be forgotten, a footnote, the errant child of the noble Laamyc'buir whose two other children had gone on to do great things.

Not acceptable. There is no use in despairing. He tore the banner off the wall and let it sink to the ground in a miserable heap. He would find his role in this new hybrid society of Mandalorian and Empire—no, greater than that. He would prove to Father and the rest of the aliit he was still capable of bringing them honor. More than Tiber and Sarri.

Speaking of Tiber...

He slipped out of his room, keeping his feet gentle on the floorboards.

His fist rapped gently on his brother's bedroom door. All was quiet on the other end, he lifted it again

It slid open just a little, enough to reveals Tiber's shadowed frame. "Lose your sense of time in prison?" he muttered, annoyed. "Don't they have 'lights out' in there?"

"Yes, but shut up about that. I have a plan—"

"Oh, this'll be good."

"—about how to restore honor to the aliit—"

"—aaand I don't care." Tiber actually chuckled. "You're out of your mind, Gar. Fresh out and you already want to pursue another stupid dream? You're on spice." His electric door began to close—

Gar forced his fingers into the gap, making an audible crunch. The sensors softly bleeped in protest and brought the door fully open. Tiber stared in disbelief. "You are on spice."

"No, I'm not," Gar Saxon hissed, shaking his hand to ward off the pain. "Look, I get it. Listening to me hardly seems wise. But... I have an idea. As my brother, I'd hope you at least listen to me." He paused, racking his brains for a more practical incentive; an emotional appeal appealed better to Sarri, not Ice Eyes. "At least hear me out on the part where we get to rub it all in Father's face."

For a moment there was only quiet between them. But the lure of getting even one point on hard-headed Aurelius Saxon...

"Make it snappy." Tiber left the frame to go deeper into his room. Gar smiled and followed. Tomorrow will be a better day, he told himself firmly. It's not over for me yet. Far from it.