Building Bridges

Posted on Mon Dec 29th, 2025 @ 9:16pm by Bomoor Thort & Bruta Thort

1,486 words; about a 7 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VIII: Broken Chains
Location: Strategy Room, Red Raptor
Timeline: Day Two (Two Months After Bespin)

The blue-white holographic form of Bruta Thort flickered intermittently as it projected from the large strategy room comm unit. Several months ago, Thane had stood looking at the same man, telling him of his son's injuries in the wake of the tragedy on Öetrago that had killed his mother Mumin. He had said that Bomoor needed time to recover before making contact but, in reality, his wounds were not the real barrier to communication. It was the paralysis of speaking to a father who had not been a part of his life since he was an infant, with a quarter of a century of Jedi indoctrination between the relationship they had then and whatever they were to each other now.

"You have nothing to apologise for, Bomoor," Bruta said at last, voice gravelly, holding back an emotional weight beneath. He had listened while Bomoor unpacked decades of absence, the fall of his faith in the Order, and the moment the Jedi asked him to betray Thane. "You were so young when that Jedi watchman came to us. You did not choose the Jedi. I chose for you. I am angered to hear it was built on a lie. But I am more sorry that I was foolish enough to offer them you, my son."

Bomoor leaned forward slightly, studying the older Ithorian’s face as though searching for landmarks in unfamiliar terrain. The creases were deeper now, but there was a stubborn familiarity to them, like a homeworld seen from orbit: recognisable, but distant. "I have learned more in the last year than in all my time with the Jedi," he replied. "Most in the Order mean well, but they were raised on a misreading of what a Jedi is meant to be. I could not endure it any longer, not when they asked me to turn on Thane. If I had not walked their path first, I would not have recognised the lie for what it was."

Bruta’s gaze softened, a subtle shift that carried more weight than words could. He was still a stranger to Bomoor. But he was a strangely comfortable one.

"You do me a kindness to say so," the diplomat echoed, "But I will still carry the weight of that decision. Not just for you, but for your dear mother too: I think she always knew that the decision was wrong but she had faith in you and you have shown that you are strong enough to grow past their limitations and forge your own path with people you truly can trust. That friend of yours, Thane: he is a good egg, I think. I certainly know he has your back."

Bomoor chuckled faintly, "That he does. I am glad you were able to talk to him. Speaking of Thane, he has been working hard to uncover traces of the dark side cult we are hunting down right now. I wanted to speak to you about whether you could aid us in this."

The older Ithorian's eyes grew more troubled, "Yes, Chancellor Hul has filled me in on the cult and their network of evil dealings. I know it was one of their dark Jedi that was responsible for killing your mother and countless others from the movement. I certainly want to do anything I can to bring them down, along with GalactaWerks."

Bomoor nodded slowly, the faint smile fading as he gathered his thoughts, “Thane’s investigations have taken him down some unexpected paths,” he began, reaching to the console beside him. A soft chime sounded as he transmitted a small bundle of encrypted files to the comm buffer, “We’ve been looking into various records for traces Axion’s cult but it was an unexpected source: an old Alderaanian folk tale that caught Thane's eye.”

Bruta’s hologram leaned forward, the flicker of light catching the deep lines around his eyes, “Go on.”

“An obscure reference to a Djinn with a glowing red crystal that made a bargain with the noble House Wyrd,” Bomoor continued, “A cursed bargain but one that has led the house to flourish against the odds for many years, and not just as a legend. While not a key house of New Alderaan, Wyrd survives and it could well be from a very real connection with the cult of Axion. What Axion gains is not entirely clear, but there is power in those old houses that could lend itself to useful political and social connections.”

Bruta’s brows rose, the reaction sharp despite the distortion of the projection, “House Wyrd? I know the name in passing. As I recall, they’re isolationists. Traditionalists. They barely speak to the Senate, let alone outsiders.”

“Perhaps that is the point,” Bomoor said. “It could be the perfect place to hide. A puppet lord with the cult pulling the strings. Thane’s uncovered other patterns: unusual visitors, sealed correspondences, resource transfers that don’t match their public accounts. Nothing conclusive, but enough to suggest infiltration rather than alliance.”

He hesitated, then pressed on. “We need a way in: a legitimate one. Thane has his family title, even if he has never formally used it: Prince of Caanus.” The words felt strange in his mouths, as though he were not talking about his friend of many years, “House Wyrd would not ignore a formal approach from Caanus’ heir, especially if it came through the proper diplomatic channels.”

Bruta exhaled, a low rumble of consideration. “And you want me to open those channels.”

“I know it is a difficult ask all of a sudden,” Bomoor said gently. “We could ask the chancellor, but it may be too loud coming from him. Your position would make more sense if you have precedent for making introductions for trade and diplomacy between the sectors: they would take your introduction seriously.”

He paused, letting the weight of the request settle. “We don’t intend to go in guns blazing. Not yet. We only need to get close enough to see the truth for ourselves. If House Wyrd has been compromised, we can root it out quietly and shut down another arm of Axion's influence. If they haven’t, then we avoid sparking a political firestorm.”

Bomoor’s large hands folded together, a gesture both hopeful and apologetic, “I wouldn’t begrudge you if you said 'no', but the cult is a real danger and they are clever. If they get wind of us digging into House Wyrd, there may be nothing for us to find if we leave it too late.”

Bruta’s expression shifted; not refusal, but the slow, thoughtful weighing of a man who understood exactly how delicate such a request was, “Politics is a subtle game, Bomoor” he murmured, “But it is a game I have dedicated my life to, perhaps at the expense of the others in my life. But, if I can use these skills to help you, then perhaps it will in some way make amends.”

Bomoor exhaled, relief soft but unmistakable, “Thank you. Truly.”

Bruta lifted a hand, halting the sentiment before it grew too heavy, “Do not thank me yet. This will require a little finesse and I might not be able to pull it off. If the rumours are true, House Wyrd does not open its doors easily, but the conflict on Öetrago has given me a larger voice in the sector and Alderaanians do love a good cause. Perhaps some outreach to the houses for support would make sense at a time like this and they certainly won't want to be outdone by the Caanans."

Bruta’s hologram steadied, the faint smile fading into something more solemn, “I will begin the outreach within the next cycle. Discreetly. If House Wyrd responds, you will be the first to know.”

Bomoor bowed his head, not out of formality, but gratitude, “That is all we can ask.”

“For now,” Bruta added gently, “take care of yourself, Bomoor. You have been through so much and carry more than any one being should. Do not let this hunt consume what remains of you.”

The words struck deeper than Bomoor expected. He managed a small nod, “I will try.”

Bruta gave a final, reassuring tilt of his head: the closest show of compassion the holoprojector would allow, “May Mother Jungle guide you, my son.”

The projection dissolved into a wash of blue static, leaving the strategy room dim and quiet once more.

Bomoor stepped back and sat down on one of the chairs, exhaling slowly. The room was now still, but the faint sound of the engines gave him the reassurance of life continuing around him. There was work ahead: dangerous, delicate work. Yet for the first time in a long while, he did not feel as though he was walking into it alone.

He reached for the console, preparing to inform Thane of their new lead.

House Wyrd awaited.

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