Work Text:
Stent knew it was irresponsible to pay such neglect to his curfew; gods knew if Parck of any officer found him wandering the Admonitor's halls at such an hour.
Yet, the boy continued his shuffle down the fluorescently lit hallway. He may not have possessed a backup plan for getting caught, but it didn't entirely matter; the sight allowed Stent to see far enough into the future that few, if any, could sneak up on him.
Unlocking the lift with a stolen code cylinder, Stent keyed in the Grand Admiral's floor without second thoughts. Despite the unholy hour, Stent knew Thrawn would be awake; Chiss needed less sleep than their human counterpart.
Padding across the linoleum floor, the ten-year-old reached his intended destination with ease, leaving the ship's on-duty crew none the wiser about his absence. Bringing his tiny fist to the door, Stent straightened his back as his arms steadied themselves by his side. He may have been off duty, but the navigator would be damned if he didn't reflect complete and utter competence in his early teachings.
Scarcely a heartbeat later, the grand admiral appeared, his eyes dimly glittering as his gaze drifted downward to Stent.
“Bun vart'asi ozyly-esehembo Kres'ten'tarthi.” Thrawn greeted thoughtfully in Cheunh.
“Vim vah batahn ch'abcesit.” Stent echoed as he respectfully bowed his head.
Following the grand admiral inside, Stent made his way to his usual seat next to Thrawn's favorite over-fed ysalamiri, Royal.
Since Stent's arrival aboard the Admonitor, the grand admiral had begun teaching the navigator outside his allotted lessons. Instead of re-affirming the stagnant studies of tactics and the near-impossible conjugation of basics, Thrawn instructed him in the ways of their shared culture, implementing the importance of honoring their heritage no matter their distance.
"Tell me, what did you think of the reading?" Thrawn asked as he took his seat across from the boy. "Be honest."
Stent remained silent for a moment as he recalled the dim light of his questis and heavy, unpronounceable words of the essay he had been assigned.
Stroking Royal's silky fur, Stent waited until the ysalamiri started to purr before speaking. "I understood parts of it, sir," he said, choosing his words carefully. "It seemed to be grounded in some logic, but mostly unprovable statements. The author speaks of judgment as if they know it will happen. I tried to find the individual that wrote it, but nothing came up."
The Grand Admiral nodded approvingly as he reached for his own questis. "It was crafted by a sect who deemed themselves the Red Flame, a group who attempted to balance the ideals of the warrior with the belief of a higher power."
The navigator's nose wrinkled. Had he read the same piece Thrawn was discussing?
"Higher power?"
"Indeed," Thrawn hummed as he read directly from his screen. "For if judgment hurts the teeth, it doesn't mind, not judgment. Teeth pass. Pain passes. Judgment decrees what remains—the serene judgments of evolution or the judgment of a boy-king entering Csilla: "Burn it," he says, and it burns. And if a small tear swells the corner of one eye, it is only the smoke; it is no more to him than a beetle fleeing the flames of the village with her six-legged children."
The hairs on the back of Stent's neck prickled as Thrawn's lips shifted, pronouncing each syllabus of every word as if it were vital to this plane of existence. He never colored the Grand Admiral to be religious, but how could he be sure of anything? What if he accidentally insulted his beliefs? Was Stent supposed to believe these things too? The navigator felt dizzy as he attempted to formulate his words.
"Stent," the grand admiral said quietly. "Every text and artifact I share with you as a means of honing your own perception, but also as an instrument of knowledge."
"What happened to them, the red flame?"
Thrawn grimaced as he powered off his screen. "They existed long before our time, originating somewhere between the freeze of Csilla and establishment of Sarvchi." His fingers were steepled as he spoke. "They started as a means of enlightenment, a means of improving life in all reached of the Ascendancy."
Stent leaned forward as his right hand continued scratching Royal's plump head. "That doesn't seem like such a bad thing."
The grand admiral nodded solemnly. "Many individuals shared a similar sentiment. I do not believe they began their campaign with a hunger for fervor. Yet, even the most benign of Chiss and men can darken in the face of power."
"You tell me this, why?" Stent asked, his thoughts no longer prolonged on the hooks of religion but on the lesson before him. The grand admiral never spoke without reason.
Thrawn remained silent as the navigator worked through the puzzle before him.
In their past lessons, Thrawn had introduced Stent to subjects ranging from philosophy, art, engineering, and even self-defense. This reading, perhaps this warning, didn't fit one of his prior lesson categories.
Yet, realization still greeted him all the same.
"The emperor," Stent's lips moved on their own accords as his stomach tightly coiled. He had only heard whispers of the shadowy being's presence in passing but knew he was a figure who savored the fears of others.
"I know you have felt his presence," Thrawn said, his tone serious. "Do not let your guard down, navigator Stent."
For a heartbeat, the boy remained motionless as he met the dim glow of the grand admiral's eyes. "What happened to those who opposed the Red Flame?" His heart thudded in his chest.
Thrawn grimaced as his lips thinned. "They burned," he said, barely audible.