Alters: A Star Wars AU

Chapter 3

Except for the Matriarch, Astrid hadn't expected one of the Emperor's most loyal collaborators not to be human. It was rather unusual for the Empire, where human dominance was almost absolute, and she had heard of only a few important officers whose species weren't human. As she walked through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the Star Destroyer, now donned in her role as Inquisitor, her focus was solely on the Night Brother's imposing silhouette ahead of her. His presence was commanding, nearly overwhelming, and she couldn't shake the sense of mystery that clung to him like a shadow.

Nobody knew his real name, and the sparse descriptions she'd gleaned from other officers were vague and contradictory; the only detail they all agreed on was the black, oval eyepatch that carefully concealed his left eye, partially obscured by a strand of his wavy, raven-black hair. It was as if his very name was shrouded in an aura of secrecy: after all, he never participated—or rather, the Emperor didn't allow him to participate—in any other imperial campaigns except for Project Astra, the ambitious endeavor focused on the study and exploitation of Korana.

Now that she had the rare opportunity to interact with him—or at least observe him closely—Astrid's curiosity was piqued, almost painfully so. Throughout the entire walk, her gaze never wavered from him, drinking in every detail of his movements, his appearance, and the subtle nuances of his demeanor. Despite his towering height, which bordered on unnatural for a human—but was more conceivable for a Chiss—he was lean and fit, his body built more for speed and precision than brute strength.

His very presence exuded an aura of elegant sophistication, a refinement that was only enhanced by his meticulously tailored imperial uniform. The deep, obsidian fabric clung to his frame with the precision of a second skin, every seam and crease in perfect order, each button polished to a mirror-like sheen. His dignified bearing was evident, and it was clear that every detail of his appearance had been carefully curated to reflect an image of absolute control and authority.

He walked with deliberate slowness, each step taken with an almost balletic grace, his movements fluid and measured. His gloved hands were clasped firmly behind his back, the gesture one of practiced composure, as if he was holding back a tide of hidden power. Along the way, he didn't utter a single word, his silence as oppressive as the cold steel walls around them. But from time to time, he would pause to adjust his leather gloves, pulling at the cuffs with a meticulous, almost obsessive precision, ensuring that not a sliver of the skin beneath was visible. This curious habit caught Astrid's attention, and she couldn't help but wonder why he was so obsessive about something so seemingly trivial. Was it a manifestation of some deeper insecurity, or perhaps a ritual that held more significance than she could comprehend?

His deportment was a perfect mask of composed discipline, a façade that hid the strong yet indecipherable emotions that roiled beneath the surface of his mind. He was like a puzzle wrapped in enigma, his every action calculated and precise, yet somehow brimming with a barely restrained intensity. Beneath the appearance of the perfect agent, a soldier unwavering in his loyalty to the Empire, Astrid sensed there was much more. She could feel it, a subtle, almost imperceptible tension that thrummed in the air between them, setting her nerves on edge. That sense of unease that had lodged in her throat since she first met him still hadn't left, a persistent reminder of the uncertainty he represented. Was it the Force? He was known to have a deep connection with it, a bond that ran deeper than most, but there was something else as well, something darker, more obscure, that she couldn't quite grasp.

As they passed through the large blast door that led to a vast, dimly lit room, an imperial officer dressed in a white uniform greeted them. He was a quite short man, probably in his fifties, with golden blonde hair - except for a few white strands that aging provided him - styled perfectly in a slickback, and a neatly trimmed mustache sitting just above his upper lip, slightly covering it. His eyes were dark and slender, thin ,with a slightly elongated shape, giving a sleek, refined look.

"Admiral Ideon," the Chiss finally spoke, revealing a rough, deep voice which perfectly matched his stern, angular features. His narrow, crimson eye, gleaming with a cold, calculating intelligence, fixed on the Admiral with an unwavering gaze.

"You must be the Inquisitor," Admiral Ideon responded, his own voice calm but edged with a hint of curiosity. His gaze shifted deliberately, moving from the imposing figure of the Night Brother to Astrid. Her presence was commanding, her sharp eyes reflecting the pride and determination that flowed through every fiber of her being.

She nodded firmly, each movement deliberate, as if to emphasize the confidence that emanated from her. Taking a few measured steps forward, she extended her hand. The handshake that followed was strong and unyielding, a silent exchange of respect and acknowledgment of their shared purpose.

"Given the urgency of the mission assigned to us by the Emperor himself," - the Matriarch declared, her voice cutting through the room with a sharp, commanding tone. She paused briefly, clearing her throat, her piercing gaze sweeping over those gathered - "let's start discussing the details of the plan,"

Without waiting for a response, she moved with purpose towards the large metal table that dominated the room, a structure clearly designed for meetings like that. The table's surface was polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the cold, sterile light from the overhead fixtures. The Matriarch selected one of the stiff, unyielding chairs and lowered herself into it with the grace and precision of someone accustomed to command. Once seated, she leaned forward, her posture exuding a mixture of determination and impatience. Her fingers began to drum rhythmically on the table's cold, smooth surface—a steady, deliberate tapping that echoed through the room. The sound was subtle yet insistent, underscoring her unspoken demand for attention and action.

"Shall we?" she prompted, her voice laced with an authoritative insistence that brooked no delay. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the faces of those around her, challenging them to match her resolve and focus. The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, as if the very air in the room had been drawn tight, waiting for the moment when words would turn into action.

Admiral Ideon nodded, his eyes locked on the Matriarch who sat at the head of the table. He whispered something to the Night Brother at his side, the words too low to be discerned and without further delay, he turned on his heel and swiftly made his way out of the chamber, his boots echoing softly against the cold, polished floor. The large blast door slid shut behind him with a resounding clang, leaving the remaining occupants in a heavy, tense silence. Astrid remained rooted to her spot, her posture rigid as her mind churned with a mix of thoughts and unease. Her gaze wandered from one corner of the vast meeting room to another, every detail seemed sharper, more vivid in the quiet, as if the room itself was holding its breath. Yet, despite her outward composure, her thoughts drifted far from the present, lost in a labyrinth of contemplation and hidden concerns.