Chapter 31 · The intercession

The message request went unanswered twice. That alone told Zisera how bad it had become.
She stood before the terminal in her quarters, hands clasped behind her back to stop the tremor in her fingers. The polished surface reflected the dull bronze of the cavern walls and the faint shimmer of the Irizi sigil etched above her desk.

She’d changed nothing since her last assignment—uniform coat still buttoned to the throat, collar precise, boots aligned edge to edge on the mat. Discipline was armor, and armor was easier to wear than doubt.

The third encryption cycle completed. The screen bloomed into cold blue light.

Admiral Ar’alani appeared—composed, still, the very image of control. The years hadn’t softened her; they had sharpened the calm into something absolute.

“Zisera,” she said without preamble. “You’re calling outside your duty hour. And through the ch’ath’ur channel. Explain.”

Zisera inclined her head. “Because it’s family, Aunt. Not command.”

The admiral’s eyes flicked to something off-screen. “Irizi business? I cannot intervene. I already did, back when you—”

“It isn’t about me,” Zisera cut in. Her voice remained steady, but a hairline crack slipped through the calm. “Please, Aunt.”

That gave Ar’alani pause. “Then speak. What requires family silence instead of Fleet discipline?”

Zisera took a breath. “It’s about Mid-Lieutenant Zieliv.”

A flicker of recognition. “Vanto. Thrawn’s envoy.”

“Yes. He’s done something.” She chose her next words with surgical precision. “He’s written a treatise—navigation-based—quantifying harmonic discrepancies during Chaos transitions. He’s preparing to publish the findings to the Vault. If he does—”

Ar’alani’s eyes narrowed. “He’ll point straight at the Sky-walker program.”

The words landed like a dropped weight. Even through the screen, Zisera could feel the temperature shift.

“Even if he can’t name it,” she said. “The numbers will speak for him.”

“How close?”

“I haven’t seen the manuscript. He’s found the shadow, even if he can’t see the source.”

Ar’alani’s gaze unfocused briefly, as if scanning a hundred unseen outcomes. “Stars above. Thrawn’s legacy was inevitable.”

Zisera shook her head. “He doesn’t realize the danger. He thinks it’s just mathematics. He’s about to open a door that can’t be closed.”

“Which makes him lethal,” the admiral finished, softly.

Zisera nodded once. “Lethal and innocent. He’s walking into revelation blindfolded.”

The silence between them stretched. Only the faint hum of encryption filled the pause.

“I don’t know how much the Fleet is aware of the danger,” Zisera began.

“They are,” Ar’alani interrupted. “Commodore Mak’ro informed me weeks ago. We agreed on his reassignment to the Irizi Manor to defuse the situation. But clearly, that hasn’t worked.”

“No,” Zisera said quietly. “It hasn’t. That’s why I had to act before they decide either way, or he acts. I’ve tried talking to him, to reason with him. He listens—but not enough. The data is too beautiful to him. He’ll destroy himself trying to understand it.”

Ar’alani’s tone thinned to ice. “And in doing so, he’ll drag the Ascendancy with him.”

Zisera bowed her head. “That’s why I’m calling you. You’re the only one who can extract him without turning it into scandal. He trusts you.”

“And you?”

“I’m losing the authority to protect him. If the Families act first, they’ll silence him permanently.”

Ar’alani regarded her, face unreadable in the blue light. “You’ve done the right thing,” she said at last, “though not the wise one.”

“I’ll take right over wise.”

The admiral’s expression softened by the smallest fraction. “That’s what I used to admire in your mother.”

Then, brisk again: “I’ll handle the Fleet. You’ll have orders in less than two hours. Have him ready to move before the Irizi elders notice his clearance has changed.”

Zisera inclined her head. “Understood.”

“Zisera.”

Her aunt’s voice carried a note that stopped her in place. She looked up.

“If he resists,” Ar’alani said quietly, “you’ll do what’s necessary.”

Zisera’s stomach turned, but her voice remained level. “If it comes to that.”

“It might.” Ar’alani didn’t flinch. “The Sky-walker program cannot be exposed. Not by him, not by anyone. Our survival depends on it.”

Zisera’s throat tightened. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“No one ever does,” the admiral said. “But survival isn’t a matter of deserving. If one must die to protect the Ascendancy—”

“It will be done,” Zisera finished for her, voice low.

They held each other’s gaze, two soldiers bound by duty and blood, the weight of centuries pressing through the signal.

Then the transmission cut.

Zisera stood motionless in the blue afterglow, the silence of her quarters thick as water. The echo of her aunt’s words lingered.

She turned off the console and looked at her reflection in the dark screen—sharp features, tired eyes, expression unreadable.

“Always the good soldier,” she murmured. “Even when the target’s someone who trusted you.”

She straightened her collar, gathered the questis from her desk, and crossed the threshold.

The Irizi halls were hushed at this hour, their walls glinting faintly under the amber lights. Somewhere above, the surface winds moaned through the vents, a whisper of the frozen world that hid them all.

By the hour, the orders would come.

And when they did, she would deliver them—swiftly, precisely, as only an Irizi could.