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I.
The raw eastern wind caused Syndic Thurfian's teeth to unceremoniously chatter as he keyed the land speeder.
It was always difficult to recall the past behaviors of new recruits; Thurfian supposed the ebb and flow of their conversation depended just as much on the potential family member's mannerisms and speech as his own.
Despite the surface-level dialogue always resembling a similar structure, children – even ones slowly stepping into the Ascendancy's expectations were unpredictable. Their words held no discernable means to an end; they spoke to inform, just as they did to ask.
It truly was an exhausting task to linger too long in the bleak future of the Ascendancy.
Glancing over his shoulder, Thurfian couldn't help but feel a gnawing tug beneath his skin. Rentor's unforgiving terrain was not going to leave his senses anytime soon.
Expertly maneuvering the land speeder back onto its allotted course, the Syndic stole a brief look at the boy next to him.
It was rare for recruits to idle within his company; it was even rarer for initiates to be pulled from the native soil of their homes on the same day their interview process began.
The boy was not a Mitth yet, but a request to bring him to Csilla practically sealed his future within the family.
Thurfian was certain such anomalies occurred in the past – there simply were no firsts, not in this age.
And yet, the Chiss next to him, whose posture was so rigid, and body so lanky with new growth, Thurfian wasn't entirely sure what to make of him.
Could he be quick to judge? It was a truth the Syndic would not deny; however, each scrutiny held purpose, crafted out of lapses and sullen silences, each determination ruling who would become a Mitth and who would not. Perhaps it was a flaw, but it benefited the entirety of the family.
The sharp chime of his questis pulled Thurfians thoughts back to the present. Blindly reaching for his tablet, the Syndic made sure one hand remained steady on the wheel; he knew better than to doubt Rentor's perpetual snow slick roads.
"What does it say?" He asked Vurawn, almost sure that the notification regarded the boy.
"I've been accepted into the Mitth."
Thurfian’s brow furrowed. Was this potential family member truly so cocky regarding their own importance?
Throwing a glare in the boy's direction, the Syndic could feel his hair graying. "Very funny," he said through ground teeth. "Now, what does it actually say."
Vurawn's eyes widened as he raised the questis to Thurfian's eye level. "I'm not lying." He replied modestly. "It says it's from the Patriarch."
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Thurfian directed the speeder into an empty pull-off as he looked over the message himself.
Sure enough, the boy had been right; the evaluation process had been abdicated, overwritten by Patriarch Thooraki's word.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke; Thurfians eyes were unable to leave the dimly lit screen as he read the message over and over.
Finally, letting his breath seep from his nose, Thurfian turned back onto the road. "And so, it seems you are correct." He bitterly mused.
Vurawn – now Thrawn didn't speak, seemingly neither excited nor relieved as he picked at the loose skin of this thumb.
The Syndic didn't bother observing the boy as he re-routed their original course from the spaceport.
"What is your address?" Thurfian asked gruffly.
"348 K'surt Ch'avset'ecsi."
Shaking his head, Thurfian continued northwards, possessing not the slightest idea if he was going remotely in the right direction. Rentorian dialect had always been sharper compared to the basic vernacular spoken by members of the ruling family.
The Syndic supposed the lone bright spot in his rapidly decaying day was that once the boy was out of his speeder, it did not matter what became of his cold tongue nor accelerated track. The odds that Thurfian would ever have to see the soon-to-be cadet again were slim to none.
Close to an hour later, with little thanks to Thrawn's quiet directions and light gestures, Thurfian pulled in front of the boy's home.
For a moment, he didn't move, momentarily lost amongst the aged, unyielding stone that blanketed the structure's foundation.
It was a far cry from the lavish family estate where Thurfian had spent the better part of his years, and yet he couldn't help but acknowledge the pull that emulated from beyond the walls. The house held more than mere life, something his childhood residence never would – a family.
Moving towards the hearth, the Syndic let the flames lick his palms as Thrawn gathered his belongings.
He couldn't help but let his mind idle, momentarily lost in the fleeting flickers of what Thrawn would pack, of what items would follow him into his new life, and what would stay here, scattered amongst the ice-crusted panes.
"Will I be able to see my parents before I leave?" Thrawn's voice hastily cracked as he spoke.
"They have been notified and will meet you at the docking bay."
The boy nodded as he tightly clutched a single duffle bag.
Feeling his brow furrow, Thurfian angled his head towards Thrawn's meager packing. "Is that all you're bringing?"
The fourteen-year-old did not speak as he nodded.
It was challenging to decern if the journey to Rentor's meager aircraft hub was indeed shorter, or Thurfian had merely been too caught up in his own train of thought to process the drive.
Parking the speeder, Thurfian ushered Thrawn forward as he neared the boy's parents.
It was easy to get misplaced in their thick, wind-scorched furs as Thurfian shook each of their hands, running over the robotic script he had been ordered to use with each child's parents.
Taking a step back, the Syndic couldn't help but let his gaze linger as he watched Thrawn say goodbye.
The boy's dutiful expression did not fracture as he embraced his parents for the final time, nor did he steal a last glance at their dark, frost burnt faces as he boarded the transport.
Turning on his heel, Thurfian dully wondered if the bitter taste of watching children become soldiers would ever leave his mouth.
He doubted it.
II.
It was tradition for every merit adoptive turned trial born to have a ceremony in honor of their success within the family.
Typically, the gathering was small, consisting of only the individual, the Syndic who initiated them, and a handful of friends and colleagues.
Thurfian supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when he received the invitation to Thrawn's formality, for it had been he who plucked the boy from Rentor's frozen husk.
Nevertheless, the Syndic and the Syndic alone led the campaign against propelling Thrawn's status. The man – scarcely older than twenty-three had already caused more mayhem within and without the Ascendancy than most Chiss could dream of.
He was dangerous; it was a truth Thurfian knew, one that the Ascendancy would be forced to reckon with in the coming years.
The Syndic could only hope that they acted before it was too late.
Thurfian brought his head to his hands with an exhausted sigh as he discarded the open envelope on his desk.
Despite blatantly refusing to go, this summons had been personally stamped by the Patriarch himself – defiance now would only herald repercussions to both Thurfian’s career and standings within the family.
Taking a pained breath, Thurfian reached for his pen and begrudgingly completed the invites rsvp.
Twelve hours later, the Syndic stood narrow-eyed and alone, an Aperol Spritz clutched tightly in his dominant hand.
To shift from a participant to an observer had always been one of Thurfian's chief strengths; it was a skill only the most adept politicians possessed.
Leaning further against the gallery's wall, the Syndic brought the glass to his lips. Lazily scanning the room, Thurfian let his eyes drift from one Chiss to another.
He couldn't help but feel a dull pang as he registered Syndic Thrass tightly clutching Thrawn's shoulder.
It was a pity that Thrass had allied himself with Thrawn; Thurfian was almost certain it would bring about his unfortunate downfall in the end.
The Syndic has always despised family gatherings, even outside of ones concerning Thrawn. Too often were they a mere flux of the hierarchy, a glimpse of what low-level family members could achieve if only they worked harder.
Thurfian had always prided himself on seeing through such flatteries. It would always be a cycle, holding victory for few and defeat for many; he supposed that was the beauty of the Patriarchal system.
"Syndic," a calm voice wafted towards him, pulling Thurfian out of his train of thought.
Lowering the glass, the Syndic greeted the Senior Captain with a nod.
It was odd to see how little the man had changed over the near decade since Thurfian had greeted him on Rentor. Despite filling out his tall, athletic frame, Thrawn's features remained the same, possessing an air of knowledge and calculation well beyond his years.
Meeting the younger Chiss's eyes, Thurfian swallowed his disdain. "Congratulations on both of your promotions, neither are a small feat."
Thrawn respectfully inclined his head downwards. "Thank you." He said, motioning towards the front of Thurfian's robes. "A beautiful design, are they handmade?"
It took the Syndic a moment to latch onto what Thrawn was saying as his gaze drifted downwards towards the cycles of the sun that dotted the lapels of his dress robes. "A gift from my sister, she is a talented seamstress."
Thrawn looked thoughtful as he continued to appraise the stitchwork.
"Indeed, a pity the Ascendancy does not value the delicacies and practice involved in such a craft."
Thurfian found himself nodding. "Yes." He quietly mused.
The Senior Captain held a fair point – outside of the defense fleet and Syndicure, most other crafts, and careers were overlooked, cast aside as useless or juvenile.
"The arts are a valuable aspect of culture and life; I believe they are entitled to the same level of respect as any other career." Thurfian said.
"As do I," Thrawn hummed approvingly. "I hope our paths cross in the future," The Senior Captain said politely as he tilted his head downward, wading back through the crowd towards Thrass.
Thurfian returned the gesture as he watched Thrawn drift back into the sea of faces.
It had been a strange moment; one the Syndic couldn't wholly categorize as pleasant or distasteful.
Yet, then again, he supposed that was politics.
Draining his glass, Thurfian mentally shrugged. One tolerable conversation did not make up for the years of strain Thrawn caused both the Mitth family and the Ascendancy.
Exiting the gallery, Thurfian's thoughts felt distant as he contemplated a single question; would viewing Thrawn as a contributing member of the Mitth ever replace the particular disdain the Syndic had felt ever since he laid eyes on the boy?
It was an inquiry that only time would tell.
III.
It rained on the morning of Syndic Thrass's funeral.
Shifting in his seat, Thurfian reached for his umbrella as the cold pelting drops absorbed into the delicate fabric of his ceremonial mourning robes.
Despite not knowing Thrass particularly well, it was always a dismal event to recall the life and legacy of one of their own – especially one so young.
Family Speaker Thyklo's voice felt distant as Thurfian's eyes scanned the rows of seats.
Funerals were always small, only containing those who knew and worked closely with the deceased on top of their relations and friendships.
Thrawn sat alone in the last row, his posture so stiff and rigid he almost resembled a corpse.
Thurfian knew he shouldn't stare, not at such a personal event.
But the Syndic understood, just like every other member of the family, that Thrass had been Thrawn's only friend – his singular connection to something beyond his duty to the Ascendancy.
And Thrawn had let him die.
Thurfian didn't turn his neck until he was confident the Senior Captain could feel his gaze, his hatred seeping into every fiber of his being.
Thrawn's eyes did not shift from the empty casket, but the Syndic knew he was aware.
After the service, Thurfian watched from a distance as Thrawn remained seated, not leaving the burial plot until his skin greyed from the bitter lick of rain and wind.
Finally turning away from his office window, the Syndic silently mused that if another family member had to enter the earth soon, he hoped it would be Thrawn.
IV.
He had wanted Thrawn to be stripped of his name.
Originally the Patriarch hadn't been aware of the Supreme Generals proposition, just as Thurfian hadn't entirely given a damn regarding a single word that left Ba'kif's mouth.
The man coddled Thrawn for far too many years, treating him as a son rather than the servant of the Ascendancy that he was.
"If you are to attend the proceedings, then it should be you, Supreme General who removes his honor chains." Thurfian spoke purposefully as his fingers steepled.
The Patriarch watched as strain colored Ba'kif's cheeks; if the man was any less honorable, Thurfian was sure he would have been verbally assaulted.
The Supreme General's voice was tight when he finally parted his lips. "I will not, your Venerate."
Thurfian raised a single dark eyebrow. "As I'm aware, Thrawn is a member of my family, you may have the final say in what happens to him, but I hold jurisdiction over his honor."
Ba'kif remained firm as he shook his head. "I will not."
The Patriarch's lips pursed as indignities danced on his tongue.
"Gentlemen," Senior Aid Thivk's voice soothed. "There must be compromise."
Thurfian lazily inclined his head, not bothering to catch the older man's pleading stare.
A worn sigh passed Ba'kif's lips as his shoulders angled downwards. "Exile." He paused, a muted sadness touching his features. "Thrawn will be exiled."
Thurfian didn't speak as understanding laved his skin. "Fascinating," he mused aloud. "A trailblazer in both breaking the law and its repercussions."
The Supreme General's glare was cold as he spoke. "He will be given two days to assemble his affairs before he is taken to an uninhabited planet where he will spend the rest of his days."
Clasping his hands, Thurfian leaned forward in his seat. "I accept your means to an end." The Patriarch paused dramatically. "However, I ask that he leave the Ascendancy as he arrived, by Kivu origins."
"Your Venerate," Thivik's exhausted voice cut in once more. "Thrawn has done great things for the Mitth household, you cannot allow your personal vendetta to obscure your judgment."
For a moment, Thurfian allowed the total weight of his stare to bore into his aids gaze. If it were any other occasion, he would have personally ripped into the man for defending Thrawn. But it didn't entirely matter; the former Senior Captain was leaving; his name remained the most minor matter regarding his tainted accomplishments.
Thrawn was banished, chastened to a life of solitude and fruitlessness, never to defend nor help ever again.
"Alright," Thurfian agreed, if only to bring them a minute closer to Thrawn's partisan trial. "He stays a Mitth, but he no longer possesses any connection to the family or its members."
"Then it is finished." Ba'kif said as he rose in his seat.
Thurfian's head impassively inclined. "So, it is."
It was a moment the Patriarch wished he could have frozen in time.
As Thrawn's honor chains fell to the floor with a harsh, metallic clatter, Thurfian remained unable to pull his gaze away from the former Senior Captain's dim eyes and rigid posture.
Thurfian savored every moment as the tribunal winded down, from the muted pain that etched every line on Thrawn's face to the disbelieving gasps that rang through the gallery as the sentence was passed.
Reclining in his seat, the Patriarch found his gaze locked with Thrawn's as the proceedings echoed in the background.
For a heartbeat, the two merely stared at each other, oblivious to the thankless future nor barren past.
Thrawn did not blink as the Patriarch's thirty years of hatred flooded his lungs – Thurfian was glad for it.
As quickly as it had begun, the glimpse fractured as the disgraced Chiss was ushered out of the room.
Relishing in the sweet, agreeable taste of victory, Thurfian left the gallery, not bothering to steal a glance at the vacancy left behind him.