Into the Dawn

Personal Journal – Altan Taneger

Dateline: 8:4:16 BBY

Location: Vandor, Corellian Sector

I always thought the first time I killed for money, I’d feel something. Pride. Shame. Regret. Anything. But there was nothing — just the smell of ozone from the blaster, the twitching corpse, and the weight of the credits in my hand. I should’ve known then where my path was headed.

Tonight I made it official. I’m Crimson Dawn now.

Not a street thug with a side hustle. Not a free agent running odd jobs for anyone with credits and a pulse. No… I bent the knee, swore my loyalty, and took the mark. Qi’ra herself wasn’t there — someone like me doesn’t rate that kind of audience. Instead, I met with one of her lieutenants in a backroom on Vandor. The whole place stank of cheap lum and desperate men betting credits they didn’t have.

They made me wait, just to see if I’d get impatient. I didn’t. You don’t survive on Corellia’s docks without learning patience.

When they finally brought me in, the room was dim, lit only by the red glow of a holo-projector cycling through images of Crimson Dawn’s territories. The lieutenant — a Nikto with a scar that looked like molten metal had once kissed his face — asked me one question:

“Are you ready to bleed for us?”

I told him I’ve been bleeding for someone my whole life. Might as well start bleeding for people who pay well.

The mark came next — not a tattoo, not some visible gang ink. Crimson Dawn doesn’t advertise its members like that. It’s more subtle. They burned a small brand into the inside of my wrist, hidden beneath my vambrace. Just a stylized crimson crescent. You can’t see it unless I want you to. But I feel it every time I move my hand, like a reminder that there’s no going back.

They laid out the rules:

• Loyalty first, last, and always.
• No dealing with Black Sun or the Pykes unless sanctioned.
• Never speak Qi’ra’s name outside the family.
• If Crimson Dawn calls, you answer — no matter the job, no matter the cost.

I nodded, because the truth is, I’ve been living by worse rules for less reward.

First job starts tomorrow. Something about a shipment on Kessel, an exchange with a Pyke intermediary who doesn’t know he’s working for us. They want me there in case it goes sideways. Which it will. Things like this always do.

As I walked out into Vandor’s night air, snowflakes caught in the dim streetlamps. The cold bit at my face, but the warmth from the brand under my armor kept spreading. Not physical warmth — more like the heat of a door closing behind me.

I’ve burned too many bridges in my life to count. This one feels different. This time, I’m not crossing to safety. I’m crossing into fire.

And I think I like it.

-- From the Personal Journal of Altan "Slee" Taneger