Private A CITY WITH NO SKY

[Aadihr Lidos]

A CITY WITH NO SKY

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

Denon didn’t sleep. It blinked. Fluorescent signs washed over polished transparisteel towers like false stars, flickering in a sky that no longer breathed. Even the rain—artificial, recycled—fell in predictable pulses from skyward vents.

Aadihr stood still beneath it.

One hand rested gently on the head of his staff. The other brushed faintly against a wall of smooth, soot-dark duracrete—his fingers passing over a seam, a scuff, a place where old stone met new steel. His head was tilted slightly downward, but the blindfold spoke of nothing fragile. It was embroidered Armorweave, a gift from Azurine Varek – cut from her own cloak. Stitched with words which still grounded him, and drawn cleanly over the space where his eyes would be, were he not born Miraluka, a well trained one at that.

He had been here before.

Not in body, Not him but in memory, someone elses. Or perhaps in mourning. The enclave once beneath this district had collapsed decades ago in a hidden war few cared to remember. Construction teams had found no bodies, only fragments: scorched phrik, crystal dust, ceramic shards half-buried in old sanctum stone. And now, the Force whispered—louder each night. It whispered in dreams. In voices echoing where there should be silence. The Order had sent him to investigate

His robes were layered cream and ocean-blue, flowing gently with the warm wind of passing transports. Despite the city’s heat, his presence felt calm—cool, in that way grief sometimes was when it no longer struggled. Between the white hair and weariness, he could easily be mistaken for an old man – though was only just hitting his late twenties. He knelt.

A pale hand swept slowly across the duracrete edge until it came to rest on a broken panel embedded in the wall—a panel that should not hum. That should not speak. Beneath his touch, the whisper bloomed.

"She didn't leave. She was waiting. I was late."

The echo was faint, a single thread. But he let it pass through him. The voice of another time. A padawan? A master? He couldn’t tell. Not yet.

Yet someone else was coming. A presence detected in the spectrum of the Force, still a ways away.

The Force shifted around him—its surface disturbed. Not dark. Not threatening. But... liminal. A ripple walking upright.

He didn’t rise. He only smiled faintly, brushing his rain-dampened white hair behind his ear as he turned his head slightly toward the approach.

"You're not lost, are you?"

He said it gently, but still uncannily from over his shoulder, having given no sign of recognition until the words were spoken.

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

The voice barely carried, but was quieter here, quiet in that strange way only cities could be. Not still, just... listening.

Acier stepped into view from the alley mouth, boots skimming across a glistening duracrete path slick with neon-pink runoff. His jacket hung loose at his sides, weighed down by rain and something heavier. His snowy dreadlocks, soaked and half mattered, stuck to his cheeks. Only his eyes moved, taking in the blindfolded figure with caution.

"I'm not lost." he answered "Just looking."

The feeling had started three nights ago. A pressure in the Force, not crushing, but constant, like a presence leaning just behind his shoulder. Acier ignored it at first. But now, it was something he could no longer pass over. It was here. Here, in the broken seams of the upper city. He wanted to do something about it.

The boy's gaze narrowed slightly on the blinfolded figure, curiosity beginning to stir behind his eyes. The man had white hair like his own, but he wasn't old. Late twenties, maybe. It wasn't just the hair of the blindfold that stood out, though. There was something else. Something... different.

Taking in a measured breath, Ace closed his eyes and listened. He could feel a tremor in the Force, not the raw tremor of fear or aggression, but something steadier. It was gentle, like water lapping at stone. It carried a quiet sorrow, tempered with acceptance - not defeat, but endurance. When he opened his eyes again, their rim caught a flicker of understanding: behind the blindfold, this man had walked across his own loss a long time ago. There was no pride in his stance, only presence.

It was unspoken, but Acier knew this man was Force-sensitive. Like Valery Noble and Pisti Caleida - it seemed... refined. He couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be the third Jedi he met. Immediately, the snowy-haired youth felt a sense of trust toward the blindfolded man.

Acier took a step closer, careful and not intrusive. Tucking a damp loc behind his ear he spoke up "I've felt echoes from here. Not sure what, but..." he paused "It carries... something. People around here are nervous too."

He was happy to find a Jedi here, or at least someone more trained than he was.

Aadihr Lidos

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

A CITY WITH NO SKY

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

The voice had gone quiet again. But it wasn’t gone. Just... Waiting in its recursive loop, an echo tied to the space. A lost memory imprinted to... Something.

Aadihr didn’t move—not quite. A shift of balance, a breath drawn slowly through parted lips. His hand stayed on the fractured panel, fingers gentle, careful, like it might crumble if he acknowledged it too directly.

"She was waiting."

Yes. He’d heard that much. But memories like these were fleeting, fled when chased.

"I'm not lost." he answered "Just looking."

“Good.” The answer came softly, almost distracted. “It may be useful to have a good set of eyes on this.”

He rose—fluid and deliberately, his blindfolded visage still carrying the expression of focus, as if staring at something distant. The rain pattered across his robes in soft beats.

Up close, the stranger was young, but not unmade. His aura frayed at the edges. Sensitive. Wounded. Unfinished. But something in the way he stepped closer—quiet, deliberate—spoke of trust that had survived worse. Aadihr offered no title. No name. Just silence, still Listening.

“You feel it too.” Not a question. “It’s old, what’s here. What you’re feeling. Not a spirit, not quite. Closer to a... memory caught in glass.”

He turned his hand palm-up, revealing the source of his concentration. A shard of scorched glass no larger than a fingertip—its surface webbed with fractures, its edge humming faintly with unseen resonance. A piece of window, maybe. Or temple light.

“Take this,” he said. “Gently. Like a story that doesn’t want to be told again.”

The shard sang faintly in the Force—melancholy, patient, just loud enough to reach those willing to listen rather than reach.

“Don’t chase it,” Aadihr murmured, half to himself. “Just stay still long enough for it to land.”

Spoiler: Psychometric Reading

Shadows on marble. Dust in lamplight. A door stands open where none should be, and cold wind curls through the floor like it forgot how to knock.

A voice; owner of the memory. Female, young, afraid, clutching to discipline with a white-knuckled grip.

"She didn't leave. She was waiting. I was late."

"I thought—" a breath, quick, swallowed "I thought she made it to the archives."

"I told her to go. I told her—"

"...but her lightsaber was still warm when I found it."

The scent of scorched silk. A blade, extinguished too late. The feeling of someone’s footsteps carved into the Force like claw marks across calm water.

A second voice. Older, less clear.
"...evacuate the initiates. Seal the chamber. Do not look back."

"...if they breach the lower vaults, we sever the spire."

A high chime—alarms once, or music, or prayer. It's unclear now.

Then the crack of stone under pressure. A whimper held in the throat of the Force. A rush of light and a wall of heat. Then silence.

She didn’t run. She waited.
He came back anyway. Too late for rescue. Just in time to be remembered.

A brave, kind, fool.

A breath. A shift. The city blinked again, in the present

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

“Good.” The answer came softly, almost distracted. “It may be useful to have a good set of eyes on this.”

Acier paused, brow raised in silent question. Was... was that some sort of self deprecating joke?

Thankfully, the man clarified - he explained what it was they'd both been feeling. Some kind of residual imprint, a remnant of something long gone but not forgotten, still echoing in the Force... whatever that meant. This was all still so new to him.

When the blindfolded man revealed the scorched shard of glass, Acier's eyes lowered, studying it carefully - like it might speak if he stared hard enough.

Ace's hand hovered above the shard for a moment too long. His fingertips trembling just shy of its fractured edge. He hesitated - not out of fear, but confusion. He wondered what it was he was supposed to feel. Jaw tensed, rain trickled down his temple and he gently closed his eyes. Heeding the man's words, he wouldn't reach out. Instead, he would stay still, he would listen.

His fingers brushed the surface and he listened, like the shard might speak if he was quiet enough. Ace's breath slowed. The Force hummed beneath the noise - soft, distant, like a whisper behind a closed door. He listened harder. Not with his ears, but with everything.

Then it hit him. Not a sound. Not a flash. Just... dissociation. Cold marble, distant voices, light slanting through dust.

Emotion followed, it wasn't his. Panic pressed tight in a girl's throat, discipline gripped like a weapon, something warm beneath her hand. A lightsaber, maybe? Or a memory? Both? Ace couldn't make out her features, or see the shape of the room. It was all fuzzy, like opening your eyes underwater.

The pressure snapped back. Ace recoiled with a sharp gasp, jerking his hand away from the shard as if it has burned him. Stumbling a step back, he braced himself against the nearest wall, hear hammering in his chest.

"...What? What just happened?" his breath came shallow, eyes darting as if he was still there... wherever he just experienced. "I... I didn't see it all. I don't even know if I saw anything. I just-" he broke off, shaking his head "It was like someone else's feelings were inside me. Then it was gone..."

Ace stared down at his hand, fingers flexing slowly as if he was checking that he was still here - still him. His eyes then fixed on the man "Is that... is this like your special gift?"

The freckle faced youth drew in a breath, grounding himself. The damp weight of the alley returned, the hum of air traffic and the whisper of rain. All of it.

Aadihr Lidos

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

A CITY WITH NO SKY

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

Aadihr gave the newcomer time to feel the echo. The boy’s hand had snapped back like the shard burned—because in a way, it had.

The moment lingered.

The Force still thrummed, the memory still present in its recursive loop.
Rain coiled in rivulets off his sleeves. His voice, when it came, was low and even, like he didn’t want to scare the echo away.

“It’s never just a vision.”

He crouched again, setting the shard where he found it. Left it where it lay, humming faint on the duracrete. Acier’s breath was still off. Aadihr let it be. Let him have the space.

“What you felt—that was real. Memories that were not yours. But very real.”

A faint mirthless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Something has disturbed a piece of history and now the whole neighborhood could feel it - or at least feel that something is off.

“The Force remembers things people imprint onto the world around them. That’s all psychometry is. Listening to what still aches.”

His head turned slightly, as if tuning to a far frequency.

"I wouldn't say it's my special gift - I know a few who could claim such, however. I merely dip a toe into memories they can thoroughly explore.”

A beat. The Miraluka's head turned toward Acier’s still-flexing hand. “You came back quicker than I did with my first reading.”

He paused again, one hand resting on the top of his staff like it might keep him from floating too far into thought. Then, with a breath that felt less like a sigh and more like a reset, he added—

“Right. Names. That’s probably a thing I should’ve led with.”

A half-smile touched his lips, crooked and rain-damp.

“I’m Aadihr.”

His tone carried no pomp nor self-aggrandizing fanfare.

"My gifts are with... other forms of perception," he continued, lifting the blindfold to reveal the complete lack of eyes, a trait shared by his kin.

The Force shifted again.
A gutter down the alley steamed, faint but unmistakable. And from beneath the soft gurgle of runoff, something ticked.

Slow. Mechanical. Old.

Aadihr rose without comment, head tilted slightly toward the sound. The blindfolded man moved toward the steam, each step purposeful, his staff touching the edge of the alley wall like it might read something deeper than sight could follow.

“There’s more. When echoes break out like this... someone uncovered something, and now the pent up past is polluting the present, in a way.

A pause. Then a faint, almost casual gesture to Acier as he walked.

“You’re welcome to follow. Or take a moment to breathe. Both are good choices.”

The rain kept falling. Something below was stirring.

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Ace's breath stabilised as the blindfolded man explained to him what he'd just experienced. He called it... psychometry - it allowed people like them to experience echoes of history that had imprinted on objects. Acier felt a sense of wonder and curiosity upon hearing this. The Force had so many applications, he was only scratching the surface with his rudimentary ability to lightly shove people with the Force.

Unsure if the man could even see, Acier raised an inquisitive brow. The man's comment about Ace 'coming back quicker' than he did his first time, Ace wondered if this was a good thing or a bad thing? His analytical mind working to deduce if coming back faster meant he had better recovery? Or he had an inability to stay within the memory for longer.

His thought process was cut short when the man introduced himself - Aadihr.

"Acier." he responded promptly, before allowing Aadihr to continue.

Acier's mouth slightly hung agape over the sight of Aadihr's eyeless face. No eyes... Acier knew what he was. He had heard tales from Red about people like Aadihr. Miraluka - they were all Force-sensitive but at the cost of their sight.

The air had changed. Again.

Something shifted, he wasn't sure what exactly, only that it had. Like the echo hadn't fully faded but instead... bled outward. He couldn't hear it, not like before, but he felt it - ever so slightly. Like static brushing his thoughts.

Ace's gaze flicked back to Aadihr, just as the Miraluka began to move. Each step he took was slow, deliberate. His staff tapped against the duracrete, as if reading more than the surface - more than even Ace could.

“You’re welcome to follow. Or take a moment to breathe. Both are good choices.”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden offer. Ace hesitated for a moment. He probably should catch his breath and let the whole experience settle. But the weight in the air hadn't lifted. Whatever they'd stirred up... it wasn't done yet.

The Force thummed faintly through his fingertips - like a memory trying to form. He didn't want to sit with questions, not again. His feet moved before he even made the decision.

"Wait," he called, jogging to catch up beside the taller man "I'm coming."

Maybe he could learn some more things from the Miraluka.

The further they went, the more Acier felt it again - that low pressure behind his eyes, the tickle at the base of his spine. Ace's steps slowed for half a second, his breath hitching just slightly.

"You feel that too?"

His eyes flicked upward toward the twisting pipework above them, water trailing down rivulets like veins through the old steel. His fingers brushed the wall as he passed - just a fleeting touch, half-expecting it to answer. Nothing came this time. There was still more to learn.

"How are we supposed to fix this?" he paused "Can we fix this?"

Aadihr Lidos

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

A CITY WITH NO SKY

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber pike

Aadihr slowed his pace and Acier caught up. There was a certain measure to the Force tonight—a beat beneath the rain, a low hum where memory bled into stone.

He listened to the questions in full, waiting before providing an answer. Not because he doubted his response, but because he needed to translate a memory into emotion, and emotion into words.i

“Sometimes,” he said at last, “the Force doesn’t want it fixed. Just... witnessed. An observer to dilute the pain. Like a, well, like a cyst I suppose. Something that had lanced the memory and it is simply bleeding outward as pressure releases.”

He ducked beneath a bundle of rusting cable, its insulation eaten away by rain and time. He still pondered over his words even as he spoke them - failing to find another analogy, he returned to the medical metaphor.

"Sometimes, there's something wrong. An... infection, a splinter at the source. Something that shouldn't be there preventing the past from healing."

Just ahead, the alley narrowed into a pinch—almost nothing. But there, behind an old waste pipe, something glinted.

"The truth is, these memories are everywhere, attached to everything. Most are simply blind to them, unless the echo is particularly potent, or the seer especially sensitive. Or born a Kiffar, I suppose. Met a kiffar Padawan by the name of Kaelos Vryn a few times. They can read into echoes as naturally as I see through the force. The detail and clarity they can read is... humbling, I think is the word to use."

A chunk of permacrete. A collapsed panel. And just beneath it, a corner of tilework still intact—circular, etched with pale sigils dulled by age. The edges were heat-seared. But unmistakable.

Jedi masonry.

Aadihr crouched again, fingers tracing the faint edge of an embedded tile. Beneath it, lodged in the broken channel of the wall, was something small—metal, scorched and half-welded into the crevice.

He pried gently, reverently.

It came loose with a snap of warped durasteel.

A pin. A broken clasp of a Jedi’s outer robe. One side was stamped with Serenno steel markings, the other still charred.

He turned it in his hand.

The pressure came almost instantly. Old. Worn smooth like riverstone.

“Another echo,” he murmured, then offered it to Acier, palm up.

“If you’re ready – less potent, at least it looks to be. This one should be... quieter. But no less true.”

A pause, and then something like a warning—only softer.

“Don’t expect answers. They rarely arrive in order, and seldom without more questions.”

The Force bent slightly around them as the memory flashed once again.

Spoiler: Psychometric Reading

There is no screaming here. No alarms. No blood.

Just dust. Soft. Thick. Coating everything.

A deep chamber lit by blue flame. Meditation bowls overturned. A datapad blinking faintly under a bench.

And a voice—older, careful, refusing to panic.

“I don’t hear them anymore.”

“The last corridor held. I think.”

A hand wipes clean a section of tile. Someone is writing again, carving with the Force into the floor. Words not meant to be read, but to be remembered.

“If this chamber is breached, the records will not survive.”

“And so—I commit it to memory. We'll send someone who can still feel it once it is safe to return.”

A pause.
They didn't want to acknowledge it. The gnawing thought that it would never be safe to return. Hope dwindled.
A low breath. A quiet motion in the dark.

“She didn’t leave. I know that now. I wasn’t late. I was alive. That was the mistake.”

Then a chime.

Faint. Barely audible. A soft mechanical hiss. And silence.

The clasp still smells faintly of incense and carbon.

Aadihr didn’t speak right away - he remained unnervingly still, seeming slower to pass through the memory, as if dazed in a daydream.

The echo took its time retreating. When it did, the wind in the alley had shifted again—more directional now, drawn toward a stairwell obscured by collapsed fencing and grime-covered signage.

Aadihr recovered
He rose slowly.

“It’s pulling us deeper. This was left with intention. Though I think the message may have been received much later than they intended."

His tone was calm.

But beneath it, his throat had begun to tighten.

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Acier listened intently as the Miraluka answered his questions with patient clarity. He appreciated it more than he let on. There was so much he didn't know, so much he hadn't even known to ask, but what Aadihr shared with him felt invaluable. Ace wondered, not for the first time, whether Aadihr could see him. Or was it more like feeling? The thought tugged a faint smirk at the corner of his lips.

It was then Aadihr seemed to find something. Ace couldn't tell what it was at first, but he tracked the Miraluka's movements carefully, like he might learn from the way he moved. Aadihr retrieved a broken clasp, worn and scorched, and after a quiet moment - extended it toward him.

Ace hesitated. He braced himself, knowing what might come. Though Aadihr had reassured him this echo would be gentler than the last, it was still an experience he hadn't yet learned to trust. Not fully. Not yet. But if he wanted to understand, really understand, he'd have to let the Force speak, and learn to listen.

Ace drew in a slow breath and reached for the clasp. The moment his fingers touched metal, the chill met him, soft this time. Not the sharp punch of the first reading, but something quieter. Muted. Like a song played through fog.

Spoiler

His breath stilled. Eyes fluttered shut. The world around him dimmed. The rain became muffled, the alley walls felt farther away, and beneath it all, something shifted. Not sight. Not sound. But presence. Then came the image.

Faint light. A chamber wrapped in dusk and silence. The smell of incense and old smoke clung to the air. Meditation bowls scattered across the floor. A datapad blinking gently from under a bench. Dust hung like mist.

A voice. Older. Measured.

"I don't hear them anymore."

Another voice, younger, strained with uncertainty.

"The last corridor held. I think."

Ace didn't see the speakers, not really. He felt them. Their emotions pressed against him like waves against stone, tension wrapped in control. Panic being held back by purpose.

His fingers tightened slightly around the clasp. A hand, someone else's, wiped at a dusty tile. Revealed the broken crest of the Jedi Order, faded, etched into the floor like a forgotten prayer.

Then, a chime. Faint. Barely audible. Followed by a hiss. Mechanical. Final. Silence.

Ace's breath caught. The silence stretched for a second too long, and then he exhaled, like surfacing from deep water.

His grip loosened on the clasp, not quite letting go yet. The memory hadn't clawed at him like before, but it still left something behind. A weight in the chest. A hush in the back of his thoughts. As if the Force itself was still holding its breath.

Ace opened his eyes slowly, lashes damp from the rain. The alley came back into focus, dim, wet, cold. But different now. Like the world was wearing the same expression he was. Quiet. Considering.

He blinked once. Then again. Aadhir spoke up, commenting on how these imprints were left on purpose. Thoughtlessly, Ace nodded in agreement.

"…That one was different," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "I think they knew they couldn't come back."

He paused, deliberating before continuing to speak - processing what he'd just witnessed.

"They weren't afraid. Not really." His brow furrowed. "But something was coming for them."

His thumb absently brushed the clasp before he passed it back to Aadihr. Ace didn't speak further, he wasn't sure he could. His throat was tight again, but this time not from fear. It was something else. Something harder to name. Instead, he looked at the Miraluka, wordless, waiting, like maybe Aadihr already knew the question he hadn't figured out how to ask.

Rain trickled from the awning above, pooling in slow-growing circles on the duracrete. Somewhere in the dark, steam hissed softly from a rusted vent. And beneath it all… that pressure. That presence again. It was different this time. Closer.

Ace felt it at the edge of his awareness - not a memory, not yet - but the tension of something stirring. A weight shifting under layers of time. He wondered if his companion could feel it too. More than likely.

His fingers twitched at his sides, that tightness in his throat pressing into his chest now. Not fear. But anticipation edged with gravity - like the next step forward might matter more than the last.

He took it anyway.

Aadihr Lidos

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

A CITY WITH NO SKY

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

The clasp settled back into his hand like a sigh. Not reluctant—simply weightless. Like a thing that had finally spoken its piece.

Aadihr folded his fingers around it.

"It's from the Purge era..."

He watched Acier—not with eyes, but through what could be more accurately described as a sphere of perception. Organics projected auras in patterns and colors reflective of their alignment, intentions, emotions. Inorganic things appeared translucent, as if the duracrete streets and plasteel buildings were made of glass. The echos themselves were like a particularly stubborn after-image, clinging to particular objects.

The young man’s emotions were not volatile; rather, they rang clear, like a half-tuned instrument—earnest, strained, aching for something unnamed. The Force swirled around him like it hadn't decided what shape he would take yet.

He reminds me of Brander .
Not in presence through, perhaps, but in the quiet steady ripples of his force-aura, the look of someone engaged, learning everything they can. Not exactly the same as his younger Padawan, but the pattern rhymed.
If only I could teach like this when I'm actually trying to.

"You're doing well," Aadihr said, just stating fact.

He tucked the clasp into the folds of his belt sash, then leaned back against the wall, shoulder brushing cool durasteel. His voice gentled further.

"Psychometry has a... gravity to it. You don't just touch the past. Sometimes it touches back. Sometimes it leaves impressions that aren't easy to explain, or ones you don't notice until later. Headaches. Shifts in perception. In particularly rough cases, sudden memories that aren't yours."

A pause. The rain tapped steadily on rusted pipes above them.

"You handled that with grace. Especially for a first timer. You're definitely right. They knew they wouldn't be coming back."

Frankly, Aadihr needed a moment to ground himself – a situation like that doesn't end happily, and experiencing it firsthand was going to be tough.

He tilted his head slightly toward Acier, blindfold catching a hint of the scattered light.

"If you don't mind me asking..." His tone grew more casual, a small lilt of quiet amusement reappearing as his unintentional mystique receded a touch.

"How did all this start for you? The Force drawing you here, I mean. Or was it something else that brought you here?"

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

"The Purge era?" Ace repeated but with curiosity in his tone.

Red had told him stories of Jedi but, he never mentioned anything about a Purge. Then his thoughts went back to Valery Noble and the ancient Jedi temple they explored a couple months back. She had mentioned that Jedi had temples spanning the galaxy at one point, then they were gone.

"We lost so many of them over the centuries. Buried by war, time, fear."​

Was... was Valery referring to this 'Purge era'? His mind reeled, the boy's inquisitive mind going into overdrive as he thought about it. Again, reminding himself at how little he knew about this immense galaxy he lived in. He felt small. Like a footnote in some grand story.

Acier hadn't realised that his gaze had gravitated to the damp surface beneath his feet as he had fallen into deep thought. Catching himself, his copper eyes met Aadihr - who had just praised Ace before subsequently leaning against a wall.

A small smile crept on his features "Thanks."

He continued to watch the Miraluka as he explained more about Psychometry. Ace's face was etched with focus. He didn't say anything after, he just... absorbed. Reflecting on what he had just been told. The way Aadihr had described it, it sounded a little too specific. Personal. Like he was recollecting an experience, not just informing Ace from an academic perspective.

Aadihr did it again. That... positive reinforcement. It wasn't something he was used to, and judging by how completely odd it felt to him, it was going to take time for him to get used to it as well.

Acier paused, reflecting on the Miraluka's question. He watched as water droplets fell from the tip of his snowy colored locs. It took a noticeable amount of time for him to answer.

"I have dreams. Weird ones, like... like a bad spice trip. The Force, I guess. At first I thought this was that, but then I started hearing other people talk. Saying the same thing was happening to them. Some folks were even hearing voices." he chuckled to himself quietly at that part, grateful he didn't end up hearing the same "I could feel it, this weird... pressure. Got a little heavier the closer I got. Now I'm here."

Ace let it sit for a moment, tracking the rain drops fall. Then he folded his arms and turned to face Aadihr again.

"You okay, man? It looks like this stuff takes a lot out of you." a hint of concern in his voice "What you said earlier, about 'psychometry', it sounded like you were talking from experience."

Aadihr Lidos

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

A Thread in the Rain

Outfit: Clothes, Earring, Bangle
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

A mind already working in the rhythm of the Force. “That’s not bad.” Aadihr gave a faint nod, motionless against the alley wall. “Pressure. Pull. Weird dreams. You’re describing about half of the Order’s intake assessments.”

A small grin tugged one side of his mouth, good-natured, as if making light of the symptoms would make them less intimidating.

“But yeah. If it’s leading you places like this… the Force seems pretty serious about guiding you.”

Aadihr exhaled slowly through his nose.

“I’m okay, mostly. I don’t do this a lot,” he admitted, with a shrug that rustled his sleeve.
“Psychometry... well it's something I only learned because someone I care about has to live with it every day. Can’t touch most things without gloves or headaches. So I figured—if she can carry that much, I can learn enough practice what I can with it. At least for when it matters.”
* Azurine Varek had it much worse than he did.*

He paused, tapping a knuckle lightly against the soaked rubble near his boot.

“And sometimes, I guess it does matter.”

The Miraluka shifted his weight upright from the wall and turned slightly toward Acier, as if inspecting him without eyes—though the blindfold gave no indication of where his focus rested.

“You ever train formally? Temple, Enclave, remote retreat?” A tilt of his head.
“Or is this one of those ‘the Force dragged me into weird messes and now I follow it around because saying no just makes things worse’ situations?”

There was humor in the tone—but also genuine interest. Aadihr didn’t posture. He didn’t presume. He gave room for the story Acier wanted to tell… or not.

He’s got instincts. The kind that find truth in silence.
"Either way," he added, quieter now, "it brought you to, well... here."
He was going to say the right place but he wasn't so sure chasing ancient trauma into a condemned building was really the right place for anyone.

Acier Moonbound​