[IRW Aylhr] Penumbra - SD242502.02 - Summoned by a Shadow Pt 2 - Riov Rhae'go tr'Neyl

A Mission Post by Riov Rhaego tr'Neyl
Mission: Penumbra
Location: Pardek Estate, Ch'Rihan
Timeline: 2 Weeks Previous

[Pardek Estate, Ch'Rihan]

Moonlight bathed the vast orchards in silver, the dark rows of ryllh trees stretching endlessly toward the horizon. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, carrying with it the scent of ripening fruit and damp earth from the nearby Thural River.

The estate itself stood in quiet defiance of time. A sprawling structure of polished stone and sweeping archways, its presence was as formidable as the woman who ruled it. No sentries, no outward signs of security, only the stillness of power so absolute it needed no overt display.

The sound of boots grinding against stone broke the silence as tr'Kalas stepped out first. He adjusted his robe before turning back to Rhae'go, studying him in the cool lamplight.

"She is waiting for you in the orchard," he said, voice steady, unreadable. "I suggest you do not keep her waiting."

Without another word, Galan turned and strode toward the estate's main entrance, disappearing beyond the heavy stone doors.

Rhae'go was left alone with the path ahead.

Beyond the courtyard, lanterns glowed in the trees, their warm light flickering between the branches. The orchard stretched in neat rows, and in the distance, beneath a gnarled old tree, a single figure sat at a small table, a cup of dark liquid in hand. She did not look up as he approached, seemingly absorbed in the slow, deliberate motion of stirring her drink.

Jhu t'Pardek had not changed. Her silvered hair was carefully arranged, her dark robes impeccable, yet it was the air around her- the quiet, unshakable gravity- that had not dulled with age. The soft scrape of her spoon against the porcelain cup was the only sound that greeted him as he neared.

At last, she set the spoon down and lifted her gaze, sharp eyes taking him in with the weight of a woman who saw everything.

"So," she said, leaning back in her chair with the ghost of a smile. "It appears I have a grandson again."

The earthy scent of the orchard pulled him back to childhood, to memories half-buried but never truly forgotten. How many times had he raced through these very trees, laughing with his cousins and the servant children? The gentle rustle of leaves, the sweet perfume of ripening fruit, and—above all—the old but unmistakable voice that had just spoken his name.

Nostalgia threatened to drag him under, but Rhae'go steadied himself, drawing in a slow breath to keep his emotions at bay.

Melancholy took root instead as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. His knee struck the table leg harder than intended, sending the porcelain above rattling in protest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his grandmother's slight squint, a near-imperceptible flicker of disapproval. Once, he might have missed it. Now, he saw it for what it was, a tiny crack in the fortress she had built around herself.

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"How convenient," he mused, voice low, sharp. "To pick and choose between life and death, as if you were some omnipotent deity." His gaze bore into her, studying every flicker of reaction. "Do you see yourself as a god, then, Praetor Pardek?"

The melancholy bled away, giving rise to something colder, sharper- venom. In his youth, he would never have dared to speak to her like this. But perhaps it was time to stop treating her as something untouchable.

The dead don't simply rise.

Jhu t'Pardek's fingers curled lightly around the handle of her porcelain cup, her grip steady despite the sharpness in Rhae'go's words. For a moment, she did not respond. Instead, she brought the cup to her lips and took a slow, measured sip, as if savoring the bitterness on her tongue. Only then did she set it back down, the delicate clink against the saucer, the only sound between them.

Her eyes, sharp as ever, regarded him with something between amusement and scrutiny. "A god?" she echoed, her voice smooth as silk but carrying the weight of something far more cutting. "Kuoku, you give me far too much credit. I am simply an old woman with a failing body and an unimpeachable memory."

She folded her hands in her lap, the corner of her mouth twitching, but it was not quite a smile. "But I see that your exile has done wonders for your sense of theatrics. I assume this is the part where I am meant to be wounded by your venom, to recoil in shame for the grave injustice I inflicted upon you."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "And yet, here you sit before me. Breathing. Whole. Perhaps it is not I who sees myself as a god, but rather you who believes yourself resurrected."

Jhu let the words settle before reaching for a small knife resting beside a bowl of sliced ryllh fruit. She picked up a piece and slowly cut into it, the blue-tinged juice pooling slightly on the plate. "You should eat. It is the first good thing you have been offered since you returned home, I suspect."

Her gaze lifted to meet his again, and this time, something colder lurked beneath the surface. "But by all means, Kuoku, tell me…what has brought you back from the grave?"

Rhae'go bristled at being called Kuoku but kept his anger from showing. As always, her words were as precise as a sharpened Kaleh, slicing through him with effortless cruelty. He forced a subtle smile, his expression carefully neutral. A part of him, the child that once played in these orchards wanted to flee, suffocated by the weight of her presence. She was a force, her centuries of experience pressing down on him like an iron vice.

"What grave?" His voice was steady, though the accusation burned beneath the surface. "You may have abandoned me, Grandmother, but others did not. I lived, not in shame, but through it. Through the lies you and your ilk wove around my mother's death like a shroud."

His gaze flicked to the ryllh fruit before him, its turquoise juice pooling around the glinting silver of the knife in her hand. He knew better than to challenge her in a battle of wits, she would dismantle him with a mere glance. Instead, he chose blunt force.

"Much like you carve into that ryllh, Grandmother, the words you had Galan deliver to me all those years ago cut straight through my heart." His voice tightened with controlled fury. "And now, you summon me here and act as if nothing has passed between us? Did you think I would forget?"

His fist struck the table with a sharp crack, sending the empty teacup skittering across the surface before tumbling into the grass below.

"Or did you think I would forgive you?"

Jhu t'Pardek did not flinch. She did not startle, nor did she reach for the fallen cup. Instead, she regarded him with the cool patience of a predator who had seen the tantrums of prey before. The night breeze stirred the edges of her robe, rustling the leaves above as if the very orchard itself were holding its breath.

She exhaled softly, an unimpressed sigh, before picking up the knife once more and slicing another piece of fruit. The thin sliver curled away from the blade effortlessly, glistening in the lamplight.

"Forgiveness." She said the word as though it were an amusing relic of a forgotten time, a concept she found neither useful nor relevant. She set the knife down and finally looked at him, her gaze as unyielding as stone.

"I did not summon you for forgiveness, Kuoku." Her voice remained even, as if his anger had not even grazed her. "And I did not summon you so that you could remind me of what was done. You waste your breath, and we both know you do not have the luxury of wasting anything."

She gestured absently to the fallen cup, still lying in the grass. "Tell me, does breaking porcelain soothe you? Does it lessen the weight of your name? Does it erase what was taken from you?" A small, humorless smirk played at her lips. "No? Then you should be more careful with your hands."

She let the silence stretch for a moment before continuing, her voice dipping lower.

"I do not regret what I did." There was no softness in the words, no apology. "I regret that it was necessary. And I regret, most of all, that you believe I abandoned you."

Jhu leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the table, fingers steepled in thought. "Do you know what I regret even more?" Her tone was quieter now, almost conversational, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "That you still believe this is about you."

She sat back, reaching for another piece of fruit, this time offering it to him—whether in a genuine act of reconciliation or calculated provocation was unclear.

"I summoned you because you are in danger, Rhae'go. But if you are too blinded by your wounds to see that, then perhaps you are as much your mother's son as I feared."

Rhae'go clenched his jaw at the mention of his mother, the insult searing through him like a burning coal. A retort sat on the tip of his tongue, hot and ready, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to take a slow, measured breath. The anger simmering within him ebbed, though not entirely. Instead of rising to the bait, he leaned back, his posture loosening as if her words held no weight.

It wasn't the insult that concerned him, it was the other thing she had said.

"Danger?" His frown deepened. "I am always in danger, Grandmother. The question is," his gaze sharpened, voice edged with impatience "are you going to keep speaking in riddles like a Vulcan, or will you be direct for once?"

Jhu t'Pardek let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rich with amusement, though it did not reach her eyes. She set the fruit down untouched and leaned back in her chair, studying him with something between satisfaction and exasperation.

"Ah," she sighed, tilting her head ever so slightly. "There it is. The impatience of youth, the demand for clarity where none is freely given. You speak of Vulcans, but they would at least have the discipline to see beyond the surface. You, Kuoku, want the truth served to you on a platter." She tsked lightly, shaking her head. "How very… human of you."

She let the words settle, gauging his reaction before continuing.

"You are, of course, correct. You have always been in danger. You are the son of Ameh'ah tr'Neyl, and her sins, real or fabricated, are a shadow that has never left you." She gestured vaguely toward him. "You wear that uniform, you command a warbird, but you are still an exile in all but name. And yet, someone saw fit to bring you back to the Empire's center."

Jhu's fingers traced the rim of her teacup, her expression thoughtful. "And now, you have been assigned to a most… delicate matter." She arched a brow. "A Senator, murdered. In silence. On a neutral world. No grand proclamation, no public scandal, just a body, and many, many unanswered questions."

Her gaze locked onto his, and now there was no amusement in her voice, only something sharper, something heavy with intent.

"You see, Kuoku, I make it my business to know things. And what I know is this: Senator Chavek tr'Parneas was no fool. He did not simply happen to die on Eternity. Nor was his presence there as innocent as it seems."

She let the words settle, watching his expression carefully. "And neither was your mother's death."

Jhu picked up her cup again, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a quiet clink. "Two tragedies, years apart. One marked as treason, the other hidden from the public eye." Her fingers tapped lightly against the porcelain. "Tell me, Rhae'go… do you think the Elements are playing a game with your fate, or do you see the pattern yet?"

[To be continued]

Kuoku is a Rihannsu word that translates to "child." It can be used affectionately or condescendingly, depending on the speaker's tone and intent.

This is an automated email, please don't reply to this message.