Private A Different Kind of Strength

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya walked beside him in thoughtful silence for a few moments, letting his words settle rather than rushing to answer. The path curved upward through alternating bands of sunlight and shade, the monastery breathing around them in its quiet, unhurried rhythm. Farther down the terraces, the voices of students beginning their morning lessons drifted through the air, blending with the rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of water moving through the irrigation channels. It was a peaceful sound, one that seemed to invite reflection rather than conversation.

When she finally glanced toward him, the warmth in her expression no longer carried the careful distance it had when they first met. "I think most people spend so much time protecting what already exists that they rarely stop to ask what they would create if given the opportunity." Her gaze moved to the gardens surrounding them, trees that had taken decades to mature, stone walls softened by flowering vines, beds of herbs tended by generations of hands. Everywhere she looked, she saw the quiet evidence of patience.

"Protection matters," she said softly. "More than many people realize. Everything you see here exists because someone protected it long enough for it to become something more. Growth is not a replacement for survival. It is what survival makes possible." When she looked back at him, her smile held a quiet sincerity. "Which is why I never doubted you could learn this. You already understand commitment, discipline, and patience. Most people think gardening is about plants. It is mostly about returning."

The breeze stirred her hair as they approached the stone building ahead. She slowed without thinking, matching his pace as naturally as breathing. When he spoke of wanting to learn what he could help grow rather than what he could protect, something in her eyes brightened with quiet approval. "That may be the most important difference of all." There was no lesson in her tone, only agreement, honest, unforced, and touched with curiosity.

"You know," she added, a trace of amusement softening her voice, "when you first arrived, I expected you would spend several days studying this place before deciding whether you trusted it." A soft laugh escaped her, warm and genuine. "Instead, you accepted tea, adopted a garden, and volunteered yourself for philosophical conversations before noon." The teasing was gentle, but the fondness beneath it was unmistakable. "I am beginning to suspect you are more adaptable than you give yourself credit for."

By then, they had reached the doorway of the seed store. Nitya rested her hand against the weathered frame before stepping inside, the scent of dried herbs, earth, and old wood greeting them immediately. Shelves lined the walls, filled with carefully labeled containers gathered from across Oralis Prime and from worlds neither of them had likely visited, vegetables, medicinal herbs, flowering plants in every imaginable color, each one carrying a story of where it had come from and who had tended it before.

She paused just inside and looked back at him, her voice warm with invitation. "Come. Let us see what sort of future you are inclined to plant."

Then, after the briefest pause, her smile deepened with quiet humor.

"And try not to choose anything carnivorous."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened as they walked, his attention lingering on her observation longer than he initially expected. Growth is what survival makes possible. There was a simplicity to it that made it difficult to argue against. For years he had treated survival as the destination. The objective. The measure of success.

Yet standing here, surrounded by evidence of decades of care, he found himself confronting the possibility that survival had only ever been the foundation. A necessary beginning. Not an ending.

His gaze drifted across the terraces once more. The gardens suddenly seemed less passive than they had earlier. Not merely alive. Intentional. When she spoke of returning, a faint smile touched his expression. “Returning,” he repeated quietly.

Of all the skills she had listed, that was the one he had not anticipated. Discipline. Patience. Commitment. Those were familiar companions. Returning was different. Returning implied attachment. Choice. The willingness to come back when nothing compelled you to do so.

He found that thought unexpectedly appealing. Her teasing earned a low laugh from him. A genuine one. “My faith in the lessons imparted upon me for much of my life had been waning for some time. That is why I came here. Looking for guidance to another path,” Marrok stated softly. “I feel compelled to point out, however, that the tea was very persuasive.”

His eyes drifted toward her, amusement lingering. “And in my defense, I was led into the philosophical conversations under somewhat false pretenses.” A beat passed. “Had I known gardening was merely an elaborate recruitment strategy for self-reflection, I might have been more cautious.”

The humor softened. Though the truth was he wouldn't have been. Not anymore. The observation that he might be more adaptable than he believed settled warmly. He had spent so much of his life defining himself through consistency that adaptation often felt suspiciously close to compromise. Now he wasn't so certain.

Perhaps flexibility and integrity were not opposites. Perhaps growth required both. As they entered the seed store, Marrok paused just inside the doorway.

The scent hit him first. Earth. Wood. Dried herbs. Life preserved in anticipation of becoming something else. His eyes moved slowly across the shelves, lingering over containers and labels with a kind of fascination he would never have predicted a day ago.

Each one represented possibility. Potential waiting for attention. Waiting for someone to return. The realization struck him with surprising force.

When Nitya spoke again, inviting him to choose a future, Marrok found himself smiling before he could stop it. The phrase should have sounded absurd. Instead it felt strangely accurate.

His gaze moved over the rows of seeds, thoughtful. Then her final warning reached him. He looked at her. The smile broadened slightly. “That's disappointing.” His tone was perfectly serious. “For a moment I thought cultivating a carnivorous plant might allow me to combine my previous skill set with my new one.”

A brief pause followed. Then his eyes returned to the shelves. “Though I suppose if the goal is growth rather than survival, I should probably choose something less inclined to consume its neighbors.”

His gaze lingered over the collection, but he found himself speaking before selecting anything. “There are too many possibilities.” The admission was quiet. Honest. Not overwhelmed. Just aware.

“For most of my life the correct choice was usually obvious, in my eyes. Limited. Defined by circumstance.” He looked back toward her. “This feels different.”

A small silence followed. Then, with a faint warmth in his expression: “Though if choosing reveals something about the person making the choice...” his eyes moved back to the shelves, "I suspect I should be careful.”

The humor lingered only briefly before something more thoughtful emerged. “Or perhaps not.” For the first time in a very long while, Marrok found himself wanting the choice to reveal something. Not about the warrior he had been. But about the person he might become.

Marrok studied the rows of seeds and saplings for several long moments before his attention settled on a small fruit tree waiting for transplant. It wasn't the most practical choice. It would take years before it produced anything worthwhile.

Years.

Once, that would have been enough reason to dismiss it entirely. Instead, he found himself stepping closer. "This one," he said quietly. Because a tree wasn't planted for tomorrow. It was planted because you expected to return.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him move through the seed store, her attention less on the shelves than on the way he approached them. Earlier that morning, he would have treated the decision like a tactical problem, something to be solved through efficiency and elimination until only the correct answer remained. Now he wandered among possibilities instead, moving from one shelf to the next without forcing certainty from uncertainty. The change was subtle enough that a stranger might never have noticed it, but to Nitya it felt significant. She had spent the morning watching him loosen his grip on habits that had once defined his life, and nowhere was that more apparent than here. He was allowing himself not to know. He was allowing himself to consider.

Her smile deepened when he tried to defend himself against the tea. "I should have known better than to underestimate its influence," she replied with mock gravity. "The tea has been quietly recruiting people into self‑reflection for generations. We simply take credit for its successes." The humor lingered as she watched him study the rows of seeds and saplings, struck not by his uncertainty but by the absence of the frustration that would once have accompanied it. He was not trying to force an answer into existence. He was letting the decision emerge in its own time, and she suspected he was learning more from that than he realized.

When he admitted there were too many possibilities, she nodded. "That feeling never entirely disappears." Her gaze drifted across the shelves, taking in the countless futures resting dormant inside paper packets and clay pots. "There are always more possibilities than any one life can contain. Eventually, we stop asking which choice is perfect and begin asking which one feels worth returning to." It was a philosophy woven through every corner of the monastery: that meaning came not from choosing the ideal path, but from choosing where to place one's care and returning often enough for that care to matter.

His honesty about limited choices and defined paths moved her more than she expected. There was a quiet courage in watching someone stand before an open future after years spent confined by necessity, not the dramatic kind sung about in stories, but something gentler and far rarer. When he stopped walking, she followed his gaze to a young fruit tree resting among several others. At first glance, it was unremarkable, slender, and flexible with youth, years away from offering shade or fruit. It was not the practical choice. It was not the most efficient choice. Which was why, the moment he spoke, understanding settled across her expression.

"Most people choose herbs first," she said softly as she stepped beside him. "Something useful. Something quick. Something that rewards their effort within a single season." Her eyes lingered on the sapling before lifting to him. "You chose the one thing in the room that requires faith." There was no judgment in her voice, only admiration. Her fingertips brushed a leaf with gentle care. "A tree asks for patience in a different way. You care for it, knowing much of its future exists beyond your reach. Some of what it becomes may not even be for you. The fruit may feed people you have never met. The shade may shelter someone years from now. You plant it because you believe there will be a future worth growing into."

Sunlight filtered through the windows, scattering shifting patterns across the floor. For a moment, she looked not at the sapling but at him. "At the beginning of this morning, I think you would have convinced yourself this was the impractical choice." Warmth deepened in her expression. "I am glad you chose it anyway. I think it will suit you." Something in her tone suggested she meant more than the tree.

Then, perhaps sensing her own thoughts drifting too far, she stepped back with a small smile. "Now comes the difficult part. You have to decide what kind of tree you want to plant. I, unfortunately, cannot make that decision for you."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok stood quietly beside the sapling, his gaze resting on its slender trunk as Nitya spoke. He found himself listening less to the words themselves than to the shape of the truth beneath them.

Which one feels worth returning to.

That was such a strange way to make a decision. And yet, standing here, it felt more meaningful than half the strategic frameworks he had relied upon throughout his life. For years he had chosen based on necessity. Risk. Probability. Need.

This was the first time in a very long while he had chosen something simply because he wanted a future with it. The realization settled warmly in his chest.

Her comment about the tea drew another quiet laugh from him. "I knew it." He shook his head slightly. "The tea was clearly operating with hidden intent from the beginning."

The dry humor lingered as he glanced toward her. "I should have requested a full briefing before accepting it." The smile remained for a moment before his attention returned to the sapling.

When she spoke about faith, however, the humor faded into thoughtfulness. Marrok was silent for several moments. Long enough that he became aware of the sunlight shifting across the floorboards beside them. Long enough to recognize that her observation had struck something deeper than he expected.

Finally, he exhaled. "That's the strange part." His voice was quieter now. "Until recently, I would have told you that faith was something I understood."

His eyes remained on the young tree. "I was a Jedi. I trusted the Force. I believed in duty, in service, in the idea that our actions mattered." A faint pause followed. "But standing here..."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm beginning to realize how often I replaced faith with action." The admission came slowly. Carefully. As though he was examining it while speaking.

"If something worried me, I acted. If something felt uncertain, I prepared. If something mattered, I took responsibility for it." His gaze lowered briefly to his hands. "I called it faith because the intentions were good."

A small breath escaped him. "But perhaps faith would have been allowing some things to unfold without trying to control every outcome."

His attention returned to the sapling. A tree. Years of growth. A future he could not entirely shape. People he would never meet benefiting from choices made today. The concept should have felt uncomfortable. Instead, he found it oddly reassuring. For once, the future did not need to be secured through vigilance alone. It simply needed to be given the chance to arrive.

When Nitya said she was glad he had chosen it, Marrok looked toward her. The warmth in her expression caught him more effectively than any philosophical observation had. For a moment, he found himself studying her rather than the tree. The sincerity. The quiet approval. The ease that seemed to exist around her as naturally as sunlight around the monastery.

He suspected she meant more than the tree. And he suspected she knew he understood that. The realization left him unexpectedly pleased. "I think," he said softly, "the version of me who arrived here this morning would have argued against it for at least an hour."

A faint smile touched his mouth. "He would have produced several excellent reasons why a medicinal herb was the superior choice." His eyes drifted back to the sapling. "He also would have been wrong."

Then came the difficult question. What kind of tree? Marrok studied the collection for a moment longer. Not looking for the correct answer. Just listening to what felt right. A strange process. One he was slowly learning to trust. Eventually, he stepped toward a young fruit-bearing variety, one whose eventual harvest would feed far more people than himself.

His hand rested lightly against the edge of its container. "This one." The decision felt remarkably calm. Not forced. Chosen.

He glanced toward Nitya again. "If the lesson is learning to grow something beyond myself..." A small pause followed. "Then it seems appropriate to choose something whose purpose is to eventually nourish others."

His expression softened slightly. "And if I'm fortunate..." His gaze returned briefly to the tree. "...perhaps I'll still be around when it bears its first fruit."

The thought carried a different kind of hope than he was accustomed to. Not hope for survival. Hope for continuation. And for the first time, Marrok found himself genuinely wanting to believe in it.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya stood quietly beside him as he spoke, her attention resting on him with the same patient steadiness she had offered since morning. The seed store felt almost unnaturally still now, sunlight filtering through the windows in soft bands of gold that illuminated drifting motes of dust and the countless small futures waiting on the surrounding shelves. She didn't interrupt when his words slowed. She had begun to notice that his most important thoughts often arrived that way, not as declarations but as careful realizations, as though he preferred to examine an idea from every angle before allowing it to belong to him.

When he spoke of faith, her expression softened not because she thought he was wrong, but because she suspected he had finally reached the question beneath the question. For a long moment, she said nothing at all. Then she looked down at the young tree resting between them. "I do not think action and faith are enemies," she said quietly. "Sometimes action is how faith expresses itself." Her fingers brushed lightly across one of the leaves before withdrawing again. "But there is a difference between caring for something and believing you are solely responsible for its existence." There was no criticism in her tone, only understanding. "I think you learned that if something mattered, then it was your responsibility to hold it together. To protect it. To anticipate every danger before it arrived." A faint smile touched her lips. "And I suspect that belief served you very well for a very long time."

Her gaze lifted toward him. "But eventually responsibility can become so familiar that it begins to occupy places where trust once lived." The observation settled gently between them, not a lesson, not an argument, simply something to consider. When he admitted that the man who had arrived that morning would have spent an hour arguing for medicinal herbs, a quiet laugh escaped her. "Yes," she said with complete sincerity. "I believe he would have prepared charts." The warmth in her eyes brightened. "Possibly several charts." She could picture it easily: the version of him who measured every choice by utility, who treated uncertainty as a problem to solve rather than a possibility to explore, who might never have chosen something simply because it felt meaningful.

Her attention returned to the fruit tree he had selected. Of all the options available, she found herself unsurprised by this one as well. Even now, after everything he had admitted, his instinct remained outward‑facing. He thought about nourishment. About the contribution. About what might benefit others long after his own immediate needs had been met. There was something quietly beautiful about that. When he explained his reasoning, the warmth in her expression deepened. "I think that is exactly why you chose it," she said softly. "You see yourself as someone who protects people. Even now, when you are trying to imagine a different future, your instinct is still to nurture rather than possess."

Her eyes lingered on the sapling for a moment before returning to him. "A fruit tree is patient. It spends years becoming what it was meant to be. It does not rush its purpose." A faint smile curved her lips. "Which means it may end up teaching you as much as I do." The humor softened into something quieter when he spoke of still being present for its first harvest. For reasons she could not entirely explain, that simple hope touched her more deeply than any grand declaration could have. Perhaps because it was not really about the tree. It was about allowing himself to imagine a future where he remained. A future that stretched beyond survival. A future worth returning to.

Nitya's gaze held his for a moment, gentle and unguarded. "I hope you are," she said quietly, and for a moment her attention lingered on him rather than the sapling between them. "I think this place would be better for it, and I'd like to see what this becomes." The words were simple, entirely sincere. Then her smile returned, lighter this time. "And when it finally bears fruit, I expect you to share." A small pause followed. "After all, I am the one who introduced you to the dangerously persuasive tea."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened carefully, his gaze resting on the young tree between them as Nitya spoke. He found himself turning her words over slowly, examining them not for flaws but for truth. Action and faith were not enemies. He nodded slightly. “I think you're right.”

His voice was thoughtful, absent of the certainty that would have accompanied such an admission only a day earlier. “Action can absolutely be an expression of faith.” A faint pause followed. “The problem is that I convinced myself every action was faith.”

His eyes lowered briefly. “In truth, a great deal of it was paranoia.”

The word felt strangely liberating once spoken aloud. Not self-condemnation. Recognition. “I was always looking for the next danger. The next failure point. The next thing that might collapse if I wasn't watching closely enough.”

A quiet breath escaped him. “Some of that was responsibility. Some of it was experience.” His gaze lifted toward her again. “But some of it was fear pretending to be wisdom.”

The admission settled between them without shame. Only honesty. “And I think that's the part I'm trying to stop.”

When she agreed with his mention charts, the seriousness broke almost immediately. Marrok let out a genuine laugh. This time there was no restraint in it. “There absolutely would have been several charts.”

His hand made a small gesture through the air. “Comparative growth rates. Yield projections. Maintenance requirements. Seasonal risk assessments.” Another low chuckle escaped him. “Nothing was done prior to now without being very sure.”

The humor lingered warmly. “And somehow I suspect that version of me would have completely missed the point.”

His attention returned to the sapling as Nitya spoke of why she believed he had chosen it. The observation touched something in him. He had not consciously thought of it in those terms. Yet hearing it spoken aloud, he recognized the truth immediately.

His instinct had never really been possession. It had always been stewardship. Protection. Helping something continue. The difference now was that he was finally imagining a future beyond merely keeping things intact.

A fruit tree is patient. It spends years becoming what it was meant to be. Marrok found himself studying the slender trunk with newfound appreciation. Not for what it was. For what it represented. A future that unfolded gradually. A purpose that could not be rushed. Something that became itself through time rather than force. There was a lesson there.

Perhaps several.

And for once he did not feel compelled to extract them immediately. When Nitya said she hoped he would still be here, that the monastery would be better for it, Marrok felt something settle quietly inside him. Not surprise. Not even embarrassment. Just warmth. Simple and direct.

His gaze met hers and remained there for a moment longer than either of them might have allowed earlier that morning. “I'd like to see what it becomes too.”

The words came softly. And they were not entirely about the tree. Then her demand for future fruit drew a faint smile back to his face. “Ah.” His tone carried mock understanding. “So this was all a long-term acquisition strategy.”

He nodded solemnly. “The tea. The philosophical guidance. The gardening lessons.” A small pause. “You've been securing future fruit rights from the beginning.”

The smile lingered. Then softened. “I think that's a fair arrangement.”

For a moment he simply stood there, looking at the young tree. Then he reached out with the Force. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool of defense. Just a gentle extension of intention. The sapling rose carefully from its place among the others, floating through the air with deliberate precision until it settled lightly into his waiting hands.

Marrok looked down at it. A future. Small enough to hold. Large enough to change him. Then his eyes lifted toward Nitya once more. There was no hesitation now. Only quiet certainty. “Will you help me plant it?”

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him quietly as he spoke, her attention lingering not on the sapling but on the honesty behind his words. There was something profoundly different about hearing a man like Marrok speak of fear without trying to disguise it as strength. Most people spent years constructing stories around their wounds, wrapping them in nobler language so they would be easier to live beside. Marrok seemed to be doing the opposite. Piece by piece, he was stripping those stories away and examining what remained underneath them. She suspected that it required more courage than many battles ever had.

When he admitted that some of what he had called wisdom had really been fear, her expression softened. There was no satisfaction in being proven right, only a quiet appreciation for the trust required to say such a thing aloud. "I think most people discover that eventually," she said gently. "The fortunate ones discover it before fear convinces them it is the only way they can survive." Her gaze drifted toward the young tree resting in his hands. "The habits that protect us are rarely the problem. The difficulty begins when we forget they were meant to serve us and start serving them instead." The observation settled naturally into the stillness between them, neither heavy nor demanding, simply another truth offered for consideration.

His laughter about charts drew a smile from her. "Several charts?" she repeated, amusement warming her voice. "Only several?" She shook her head lightly. "No. I think there would have been appendices." The image came to her far too easily: comparative growth rates, maintenance schedules, projected harvest outputs, all carefully organized and thoroughly reviewed. The warmth between them eased further as she imagined it. There was something reassuring about his company now, not because he was simple to understand, but because he was making the effort to understand himself.

When he spoke of future fruit rights and long-term acquisition strategies, the smile remained. "You discovered my plan," she replied. "The monastery survives almost entirely through carefully managed produce agreements. The tea is merely phase one." The humor lingered for another moment before softening as she watched the sapling rise gently into his hands. What caught her attention was not the use of the Force itself. She had seen countless people move objects through the Force. It was the way he did it. There was no urgency in the motion, no demonstration of skill, no need to prove competence. The tree settled into his hands with a care that revealed far more about him than any explanation ever could.

For a moment, she found herself looking at him rather than the sapling, noticing how naturally that gentleness emerged when he stopped believing everything needed to be defended. Then came his question. Will you help me plant it? Something warm stirred quietly in her chest. The request was simple, but the answer felt equally simple. "Yes." The word came without hesitation, without qualification, without the careful consideration she usually gave most things. A faint smile touched her lips as she stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing the side of the container while she examined the young tree.

"I would like that," she said softly. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and there was warmth there, but also something steadier. Something that felt very much like a promise. "Besides, it would be a poor lesson if I handed you a future and then left you to figure it out alone." The words were light, but entirely sincere. She had offered him a place here, a plot of earth to care for, and the possibility of something that might outlast both the morning and the reasons that had first brought him to the monastery. It seemed only natural that she should help him begin.

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the terraces outside, where sunlight spilled across the gardens, and the plot they had already chosen waited patiently for its first occupant. The image brought another small smile to her face before she looked back at him. "Fortunately," she added, a thread of humor returning to her voice, "we have already solved the most difficult part. You have a place for it, which means neither of us will need to spend the afternoon debating soil conditions, irrigation patterns, or whether your fruit tree would thrive better three meters to the left." Her eyes brightened with amusement. "Though I suspect the version of you from this morning would have enjoyed that discussion far more than either of us should admit."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened quietly, the sapling resting lightly in his hands as Nitya spoke. There was something strangely reassuring about hearing her describe the difference between habits serving a person and a person serving their habits. He could see the truth of it now with uncomfortable clarity.

For years he had believed vigilance was a choice. Only recently had he begun to recognize how often it had become a reflex. A requirement. A master.

His gaze lowered briefly to the young tree. "It is an unpleasant realization," he admitted quietly. "Discovering that something which once protected you has slowly become the thing deciding how you live."

A faint breath escaped him. "But I suppose unpleasant realizations are still preferable to remaining blind to them." There was no bitterness in the words. Only acceptance.

The mention of appendices earned an immediate chuckle. Marrok actually shook his head. "That's fair." The amusement lingered in his expression. "There would have been appendices." His eyes narrowed slightly in mock contemplation. "Possibly supplementary charts."

A pause. "Cross-referenced." The smile that followed came easily. "And color coded." For perhaps the first time that morning, he could look at the person he had been only hours ago and feel something other than obligation toward him. Not embarrassment. Not regret. Just distance. As though he was looking at someone he understood, but no longer entirely inhabited.

When she agreed to help him plant the tree, something warm settled in his chest. The simplicity of the answer affected him more than he expected. Yes. No hesitation. No negotiation. No conditions. Just presence.

Marrok found himself studying her for a moment longer than intended. The sincerity in her expression. The ease with which she offered companionship. The growing realization that she seemed to mean exactly what she said.

His gaze softened slightly. "Thank you." The words were quiet. Entirely genuine.

When she spoke about not leaving him to figure it out alone, his attention lingered on her a moment longer. There it was again. That strange unfamiliar feeling. Not dependence. Not obligation. Partnership. And he found he liked it. More than he probably should after a single morning.

Then came the observation about soil conditions and irrigation debates. A long sigh escaped him. Not frustrated. Resigned. Amused. The sound drew a faint smile to his face. "Unfortunately..."

His gaze drifted toward the terraces outside. "I think you're right." Another breath followed. "The version of me from this morning would have absolutely wanted that discussion."

His expression grew thoughtful. "He would have spent hours ensuring the choice was correct before allowing himself to begin." A small pause. Then he looked back toward her. "And the frustrating thing is..."

The smile returned. "I know he'd have considered that wisdom."

His eyes shifted briefly to the sapling before returning to her. "But standing here now, I find I'd much rather do it the simple way." The admission surprised even him.

No exhaustive preparation. No certainty. Just beginning. With guidance. With trust. His grip on the container loosened slightly. "I'd rather walk out there and plant it with your help than spend the afternoon constructing increasingly elaborate reasons why I should wait." The realization felt oddly freeing.

Then his brow furrowed faintly. Not with concern. With curiosity. Marrok looked at her for a moment. Really looked at her. The warmth. The patience. The way every conversation since arriving had somehow led him toward answers he had not expected to find.

A quiet laugh escaped him. "You know..." He shook his head slightly. "I'm not entirely convinced this represents some profound transformation on my part."

His tone was lighter now. Honest. "Maybe the change has less to do with me than I'd like to admit." His eyes met hers. Steady. Warm. "Maybe it has more to do with your presence."

The words settled between them naturally. Without calculation. Without retreat. Just truth. Then, before the moment could become too serious, the corner of his mouth lifted again. "Though if that's the case, I'm sure there are several charts we could construct to prove it," he finished the statement with a whispered chuckle and an awkward wink.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya listened quietly as he spoke, her attention never leaving him, even when his gaze drifted toward the sapling in his hands. The seed store had become very still around them, the scent of earth and drying herbs mingling with the warmth of sunlight filtering through the high windows. Somewhere outside, a breeze moved through the terraces, carrying the distant sounds of the monastery as it continued its day. Yet for the moment, her focus remained entirely on the man standing beside her and the realization he was carefully unfolding before himself.

When he admitted that vigilance had become something that dictated how he lived rather than simply serving him, she nodded slowly. There was no satisfaction in being proven right, only the quiet understanding that came from having watched many people arrive at similar truths. The habits that protected a person often became difficult to distinguish from the person themselves. Untangling them took time. More importantly, it took honesty. "I think that is true of many forms of strength," she said gently. "The things that help us survive difficult years are often reluctant to step aside once those years have passed. They become familiar. Necessary. Sometimes they begin answering questions we never asked them."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the young tree resting between them before returning to him. "Fortunately, awareness tends to be stubborn. Once something has been seen clearly, it rarely agrees to become invisible again." There was no judgment in her voice, no suggestion that the realization should have come sooner. Only the simple acknowledgment that some truths arrived when a person was finally ready to see them.

The conversation gradually lightened after that, and the image of Marrok surrounded by color-coded charts, supplementary appendices, and carefully organized projections finally drew a quiet laugh from her. She did not bother suppressing it this time. "Yes," she said with complete certainty. "The color coding confirms it." The warmth in her expression suggested she was enjoying the image entirely too much.

When his thanks came, simple and sincere, her gaze softened. She did not brush it aside or diminish it with false modesty. Instead, she accepted it exactly as it was offered. "You're welcome," she said quietly. The words carried no ceremony and no distance, only the simple acknowledgment that she meant what she had offered and had never considered doing otherwise.

Then came the observation about her presence. For perhaps the first time since they had met, Nitya looked genuinely caught off guard. It was not dramatic enough for most people to notice, but there was the slightest pause before she answered, a brief flicker of surprise that appeared and vanished almost immediately. She had spent much of her life being remembered for her conclusions, her advice, or her work. Very few people stopped to acknowledge the effect of her presence itself.

The awkward wink that followed did not help matters. A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it, warm and entirely genuine. "I am relieved to hear there are charts available," she replied. "I was beginning to worry we might have to rely on incomplete evidence." The humor lingered in her eyes for a moment before settling into something gentler. "Though I think you are giving me too much credit."

For a few moments, she simply considered him, studying the man standing before her rather than the conclusions he was drawing about himself. "People only change when they are ready to," she said softly. "Someone else can offer perspective, but they cannot do the work for them. You arrived here looking for a different path, Marrok. I think that matters more than you realize." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the tree before returning to him. "The willingness was already yours. I may simply have happened to be standing nearby when you chose to use it."

As they turned to leave the seed store, Nitya stepped closer to the sapling and rested one hand lightly against the container supporting its roots. Not because it was heavy. Not because he needed help carrying it. Simply because sharing the weight felt appropriate. The gesture was small, practical, and somehow more meaningful because of that.

Her eyes lifted to meet his once more, warmth and quiet amusement lingering there with effortless ease. "Come," she said. "Your plot is waiting for us." Then, after the briefest pause, the smile returned. "And if we spend much longer discussing the philosophy of gardening, the tree may decide to plant itself."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened quietly, the sapling still resting lightly in his hands, though he noticed without thinking that Nitya's hand now shared the weight of its container. It was such a small gesture. Practical. Unassuming. And yet he found himself appreciating it far more than its simplicity suggested.

She hadn't taken the burden from him. She had simply chosen to carry it with him. That distinction stayed with him.

Her words about awareness refusing to become invisible drew a slow nod. "I hope you're right." His voice was thoughtful, quieter than before. "Because I don't think I'd want to go back."

His eyes drifted toward the terraces beyond the doorway. "I've only been here a morning..." A faint smile touched his expression. "...and already the way I looked at the world before feels... smaller." Not wrong. Simply incomplete.

When she accepted his thanks without dismissing it, Marrok found himself smiling almost imperceptibly. It was another unfamiliar thing. Most people deflected gratitude. She simply received it. As naturally as everything else she seemed to do.

Then came her response to his observation about her presence. Marrok caught the hesitation. The smallest pause. He wasn't sure he would have noticed it a few hours ago. Now he did. Not because he was searching for weakness. Because he was paying attention.

His smile softened. "I don't think I am." The words were gentle. Matter-of-fact. "You may not be responsible for the choice." His gaze met hers steadily. "But I don't think those choices would have come this easily standing beside someone else."

There was no grand declaration in it. Just an observation. One he believed.

When she suggested she had merely happened to be nearby, Marrok considered it for a moment. Then gave the faintest shake of his head. "I've spent most of my life around capable people." His expression warmed slightly. "Very few of them made me want to become a better version of myself."

The admission surprised him only after he had spoken it. Yet he found he had no desire to reclaim it. It was true.

As they turned toward the doorway, he became aware of her hand resting lightly against the container. Again, she wasn't taking it from him. Just sharing it. The symbolism wasn't subtle. Nor did it need to be. Marrok adjusted his grip slightly, not to compensate, but simply to make carrying it together easier. The movement felt instinctive. Comfortable.

Her final remark about the tree planting itself drew another low chuckle. "I'm beginning to suspect that would save us an impressive amount of philosophical discussion." He glanced down at the sapling. "Though after everything we've asked of it this morning..."

A faint pause. "It has probably earned the right to remain silent."

Then he looked toward the terraces where his small plot waited. Toward the place that, only an hour earlier, had simply been an empty piece of earth. Now it felt different. It already belonged to a future.

Marrok drew a slow breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. When he spoke again, his voice carried an ease that had not existed when he first walked into the monastery. "Lead the way." A small smile lingered. "I think we've kept the poor tree waiting long enough."

Then, with quiet amusement warming his tone, he added, "And I'd rather not discover whether it agrees with your gardening philosophy enough to plant itself out of impatience."

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya walked beside him in comfortable silence after his words faded, neither of them in any hurry to fill the quiet that settled naturally between them. The weight of the young tree rested between their hands as they left the seed store together, and she noticed, without allowing herself more than the smallest smile, the way he had adjusted his grip so that carrying it became easier for them both. It was such an ordinary thing that most people would never have given it another thought. Yet to her it spoke of something that had been quietly changing throughout the morning. Earlier, he would almost certainly have insisted on carrying it alone, convinced that accepting help somehow diminished his responsibility. Now, without discussion or hesitation, he had simply made room for another pair of hands. She doubted he even realized he had done it.

The thought warmed her more than she expected.

They stepped back onto the terraces where the morning had grown brighter while they had been inside. Sunlight spilled across the winding paths in broad bands of gold, touching dew that still clung stubbornly to leaves and petals until the gardens seemed scattered with tiny stars. Somewhere farther down the hillside, a bell rang softly, answered almost immediately by the distant laughter of younger students beginning their lessons. Life continued around them with its familiar, unhurried rhythm, and Nitya found herself thinking that the monastery had always possessed a remarkable talent for making moments like these feel entirely ordinary, even when they quietly changed the people living through them.

When Marrok admitted that he did not wish to return to the person he had been that morning, her expression softened with quiet understanding. She believed him. More importantly, she believed he believed it. "Awareness has a curious way of refusing to disappear once it arrives," she said gently. "You may ignore it for a time. You may even argue with it. But it rarely allows itself to become invisible again." Her eyes drifted briefly toward the terraces stretching below them before returning to him. "I do not think you are leaving that version of yourself behind. He brought you here, after all. I think you are simply allowing him to become something larger than he believed he could be."

His words about her presence lingered with her as they continued walking. She had tried, however unsuccessfully, to deflect the compliment, not because she doubted his sincerity but because she had never been particularly comfortable placing herself at the center of another person's growth. Yet hearing him return to it with such quiet certainty made the argument seem unnecessary. Instead, she accepted it in the same spirit it had been offered. "Then I am grateful our paths happened to cross," she said softly. "Not because I think I have changed you, but because I have had the privilege of watching you change yourself." A faint smile touched her lips. "That is a rather rare thing to witness."

His joke about the sapling planting itself drew a quiet laugh from her, the sound warm and entirely unforced. She looked down at the little tree nestled securely between them as though genuinely considering the possibility. "I have known a few gardeners who would insist their plants possessed opinions," she replied. "Though I suspect that says more about the gardeners than the plants." The amusement lingered in her eyes for another moment before softening into something gentler. "Still, after everything we have asked of this poor tree today, I think it has earned a little patience from us."

The path curved gently around a low stone wall before opening once more onto the terrace where the plot she had shown him earlier waited, its freshly turned soil untouched beneath the morning sun. It looked no different than it had an hour before, and yet it no longer felt empty. The simple knowledge that someone had chosen it had altered it in subtle ways that could not be measured. It was no longer merely a patch of earth. It was a beginning.

Nitya slowed as they reached it, turning slightly toward him while keeping one hand beneath the container that held the sapling. "Then let us not keep it waiting any longer," she said, the warmth in her voice carrying the same quiet invitation that had guided him since they first shared tea together. "The hardest part is already behind you." Her eyes met his with gentle certainty before drifting toward the waiting soil. "Everything after this is simply returning."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok walked beside her without feeling the need to occupy the silence. The realization arrived quietly. Earlier that morning, he would have searched the quiet for purpose. Filled it with questions. Turned it into another lesson to master.

Now...

It was simply pleasant. He found himself listening instead—to the bell echoing through the terraces, the laughter carried on the breeze, the gentle sound of leaves shifting overhead. None of it demanded anything from him. It simply existed. And, for perhaps the first time in years, he allowed himself to exist with it.

Her words about awareness refusing to disappear drew a thoughtful nod. "I think that's what makes it unsettling." His gaze lingered ahead along the winding path. "You can never quite return to the certainty you had before." There was no regret in the observation. Only acceptance.

When she spoke of the man he had been that morning not being left behind, but becoming something larger, Marrok exhaled softly. "I like that better." A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. "I've spent enough time believing growth required abandoning parts of yourself." His fingers adjusted slightly beneath the container they carried together. "It seems more honest to think those parts simply... find their proper place."

When she thanked him for allowing her to witness the change, Marrok's attention settled on her. There was something quietly humbling about the way she accepted the compliment—not enlarging it, not diminishing it. Just receiving it. He found himself smiling.

"I suppose we're both fortunate, then." His voice was calm. "Because I don't think I've ever met someone who made becoming better seem... peaceful."

He chuckled quietly at himself. "I suspect I always assumed personal growth was supposed to involve considerably more suffering."

Her comment about opinionated plants earned another laugh. "I've known soldiers who spoke to starfighters before missions." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "They claimed the ships flew better afterward." A small pause. "I'm fairly certain the starfighters never admitted to it."

His eyes drifted down to the sapling between them. "So perhaps gardeners and pilots have more in common than either group would care to acknowledge."

They rounded the final curve, and his gaze settled on the small plot waiting beneath the morning sun. An hour ago it had been empty earth. Now…It felt unmistakably his. Not because he possessed it. Because he had chosen to care for it. That distinction mattered. More than he would have expected.

Nitya's final words settled into him with quiet certainty. Everything after this is simply returning. Marrok stood looking at the waiting soil for several long moments. Then he looked down at the young tree cradled between them. "So much of my life has been measured by departures." His voice was almost contemplative.

"The next assignment. The next deployment. The next place to leave behind." A slow breath filled his lungs. "I don't think I've ever measured part of my life by returning."

His gaze lifted toward Nitya. There was warmth there now, no longer tentative. Only genuine. "I think I'd like to learn what that feels like."

He looked back toward the plot, then carefully shifted his stance, ready to lower the sapling into the waiting earth. The motion was unhurried. Deliberate. Not because he feared making a mistake—But because beginnings, he was discovering, deserved as much care as endings.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya stood quietly beside him, her hand still resting beneath the container holding the young tree, listening as his thoughts unfolded with the same patient attention she had offered since the morning began. She found herself smiling, not because of any single thing he said, but because of the way he was saying it now. The words no longer sounded like conclusions reached after careful analysis. They sounded like discoveries. There was a quiet difference between the two, and she suspected he was only just beginning to notice it himself.

When he spoke of no longer believing that growth required abandoning the person he had been, she gave a small nod of agreement. "I think we spend too much of our lives believing we must become someone entirely different in order to become someone better," she said gently. "But the people we were are not obstacles waiting to be discarded. They are the reason we know which direction to keep walking. Wisdom rarely comes from erasing our past. More often, it comes from understanding it well enough to stop letting it make every decision for us."

His observation about peace drew a warmth to her expression that lingered longer than she expected. She had never considered that the way she approached people might appear unusual until he placed words around it. "I do not believe growth requires suffering," she admitted after a thoughtful pause. "Suffering teaches us many things whether we ask it to or not, but I have never believed pain deserves the credit for everything that follows it. Sometimes people change because someone offers them kindness at the right moment. Sometimes they change because they are finally given enough quiet to hear themselves think." She looked toward him with the faintest smile. "I find those changes are often the ones that last."

His comparison between pilots and gardeners drew another soft laugh from her, the sound carrying easily across the terrace. "Then perhaps every profession develops its own harmless superstitions," she replied. "Though I admit I would rather inherit the company of opinionated plants than temperamental starfighters." Her gaze drifted briefly to the sapling resting between them. "Plants are generally much more forgiving."

When they reached the little plot waiting beneath the morning light, Nitya remained still for a moment, allowing him to look at it without interruption. She understood now that he was not merely seeing a place where something would grow. He was beginning to see a place that expected him to return, and she thought that might be the more important lesson of the morning. Only after the silence had settled comfortably between them did she glance toward the young tree they carried together.

"I'm afraid there is one small step before we can plant it," she said, amusement warming her voice as she looked from the sapling to the untouched soil. "The tree has chosen its future rather admirably, but someone still has to dig the hole." The gentle humor remained in her smile as she released the container and reached for the nearby spade resting against the low stone wall. Holding it out toward him, she added, "Fortunately, this part is considerably less philosophical."

His words about departures stayed with her, however, long after the smile had softened. She looked across the monastery grounds where generations of trees had been planted by hands that had long since returned to the Force, each one quietly continuing a story its caretaker had never lived to finish. When he admitted that he wanted to learn what it meant to measure life by returning instead of leaving, something settled quietly in her heart.

"I look forward to your returning," she said simply, the sincerity in her voice requiring nothing more elaborate. There was no promise beyond that, no expectation placed upon him, only the quiet certainty that if he came back, someone would notice. Someone would remember. Someone would be glad to see him again.

As they stood together beside the waiting plot, another thought surfaced, one she had not intended to speak aloud until it escaped almost of its own accord. Her gaze wandered across the terraces before lifting toward the distant mountains that marked the edge of the valley, and there was something thoughtful in her expression that had not been there before. "May I ask you something?" she said quietly. She waited only long enough for the question itself to settle before continuing. "Do you think I should leave here more often?" Her eyes remained on the horizon rather than on him. "Return to the wider galaxy, meet more people, see more of what lies beyond these gardens?" A faint smile touched her lips, touched with curiosity more than uncertainty. "Or do you think there is value in remaining where people know they can always find me?"

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened without interruption, his attention resting on Nitya with an ease that would have surprised him only a few hours earlier. Her thoughts about growth not requiring the abandonment of the past resonated immediately.

He nodded once. "I think that's what I've been trying to do for years." His voice was quiet, reflective. "I kept believing there would be a version of myself that finally left all the earlier versions behind."

A faint smile touched his expression. "It seems they were never meant to be left behind." His gaze drifted briefly toward the young tree. "They simply needed a better purpose."

Her words about kindness lingered longer. Marrok stood with them in silence for several moments. He had lived among warriors. Among Jedi. Among people who believed hardship refined character because hardship had refined theirs. Rarely had anyone suggested that peace could shape someone just as profoundly. He found himself believing her.

"I think..." he began quietly, "...I've probably given suffering too much credit."

His eyes met hers. "It taught me many things." A small pause. "But it wasn't the only teacher." His smile softened. "I'm beginning to suspect kindness leaves lessons that are harder to forget."

The conversation about starfighters and opinionated plants earned another quiet laugh. "I'll concede the point." He glanced down at the sapling. "If this tree begins expressing opinions, I promise to take them considerably more seriously than I ever took the starfighters."

Then came the spade. Marrok accepted it almost automatically before looking down at the untouched plot. He blinked. "...Right." The single word escaped before he could stop it. His cheeks colored faintly.

Of course. A tree required...A hole.

He cleared his throat softly and began studying the small plot with an intensity that bordered on tactical. His gaze shifted from one corner to another. Then toward the sunlight. The surrounding plants. The spacing. His brow furrowed. He crouched slightly, looking from different angles with almost comical seriousness. There had to be an optimal location. Surely there was. "...There is probably a correct place," he murmured mostly to himself.

A beat passed. Then, realizing exactly what he was doing, he sighed softly through an embarrassed smile. "I may not be entirely cured yet."

Her quiet statement about looking forward to his returning drew his attention immediately back to her. The words were simple. But they settled somewhere surprisingly deep. He found himself smiling in return. "I think..."

His voice was softer now. "I'll have an easier time returning knowing someone will notice." No flourish. No attempt to make it grander than it was. Just gratitude.

Then she asked her question. Marrok stood very still. He hadn't expected it. The thoughtfulness in her voice told him she wasn't asking casually. He followed her gaze toward the mountains before answering. A small, awkward smile crossed his face. "I have known a great many Jedi who claimed the ultimate goal was balance."

He gave a faint shake of his head. "Though, if I'm being honest..." A quiet breath escaped him. "They were usually talking about the Force."

His gaze returned to her. "I've spent enough time chasing ideals to become suspicious of them." The corners of his mouth lifted gently. "I think balance is an illusion."

He let that settle for a moment. "Life isn't lived on perfectly even scales." His voice remained calm. "Sometimes we're called outward." He glanced toward the distant horizon. "Sometimes inward." Then back to the monastery around them. "Sometimes we're exactly where we're supposed to be."

Another small pause. "I don't think the Force wants you to satisfy an abstract idea of balance." His expression warmed. "I think it wants you to become more completely yourself."

His eyes held hers steadily. "So..." He smiled. "Do what makes you happy." The answer felt remarkably simple. Once Marrok couldn’t imagine himself giving a year prior, maybe not even a week ago. "And trust that the Force will find plenty of work for you there."

He looked around the gardens one more time. Then toward the distant mountains beyond them. "If that happiness ever includes seeing more of the galaxy..." A faint trace of dry humor returned to his voice. "...I'd be happy to show you around."

His smile broadened just enough to betray that the offer was entirely genuine. "I know a few places that don't require charts to appreciate." A thoughtful pause followed. "...Though I'll admit I'm beginning to suspect I'd enjoy seeing them through your eyes more than I ever did through my own."

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya listened without interrupting, her attention resting on him with the same quiet steadiness that had become so natural between them over the course of the morning. She found herself smiling when he spoke about earlier versions of himself finding a better purpose rather than being left behind. It seemed such a small shift in perspective, and yet she suspected it would change far more than either of them could presently imagine. There was something quietly hopeful in watching a person stop trying to escape who they had been and begin asking instead what those experiences might become. She thought that was a kinder way of growing, and perhaps a truer one as well.

When he admitted that he had given suffering too much credit, she nodded almost imperceptibly. "I think many people do," she replied. "Pain announces itself so loudly that it becomes easy to believe it deserves recognition for every lesson that follows. Kindness is quieter. It asks for very little attention, and perhaps because of that, people often fail to notice how deeply it changes them until much later." Her smile warmed slightly as she looked at him. "I suspect it has been teaching you all morning."

His promise to take the opinions of trees more seriously than those of starfighters earned another soft laugh, one that lingered even after he accepted the spade and immediately began surveying the plot with almost military concentration. She watched him examine angles, spacing, and sunlight with complete seriousness before the realization finally caught up to him, and his embarrassed admission drew unmistakable amusement to her expression. For a few moments she allowed him to continue his inspection before stepping quietly to his side.

"I believe," she said with the gentlest trace of humor, "that before we decide precisely where the tree belongs, we should probably give its roots somewhere to go." She nodded toward the untouched ground between them. "The hole comes first." Her eyes brightened with warmth as she added, "Fortunately, gardens are wonderfully forgiving. They rarely insist on perfection before allowing something to grow."

His quiet admission that returning would be easier knowing someone would notice settled more deeply than he likely intended. Nitya lowered her gaze for a brief moment, allowing the sincerity of it to rest between them before answering. "Then I shall notice," she said simply. "Whether you return in a month or a year, I expect I will still look toward this little tree from time to time and wonder how both of you are getting along." A faint smile touched her lips. "It would be disappointing to have to ask the gardeners whether it had adopted someone else."

When he answered her question about leaving the monastery, she became very still. She had expected practical advice, perhaps even encouragement to travel more widely. Instead he spoke about becoming more completely herself, and she found those words lingering in the quiet long after he had finished speaking. Her gaze wandered toward the mountains surrounding the valley, thoughtful now, her expression touched by a kind of reflection she rarely allowed herself.

"I have spent so long trying to become the person I believed others needed," she admitted softly. "A daughter. A sister. A Jedi. A teacher. Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking whether those things were also making me more myself." She smiled faintly, though there was more contemplation than amusement in it. "Perhaps that is why your answer surprised me. I asked whether I should leave, and you answered a question I had not realized I was asking."

The offer to show her more of the galaxy brought her attention back to him, and this time the warmth in her expression carried something lighter, touched with quiet anticipation rather than uncertainty. "I think I would like that," she said. "Not because I believe I need to leave here in order to find myself, but because there are still places I have never seen, histories I have never walked through, and people I have never had the opportunity to meet." Her eyes held his comfortably. "Perhaps the monastery has taught me that returning matters. It has not taught me that one must never leave."

She looked once more toward the waiting patch of earth before lightly resting one hand against the handle of the spade he still held. "Now," she said, the hint of humor returning to her voice, "before we solve the meaning of life, shall we begin with something considerably more manageable?" Her smile broadened just enough to brighten her features. "Dig the hole, Marrok. The tree has already demonstrated far more patience than either of us."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok listened as Nitya spoke, the spade resting comfortably in one hand, the young tree still cradled between them. Her words about kindness settled into him with the same quiet persistence that everything else she had said seemed to possess. She was right. He hadn't noticed its influence while it was happening. Only now, looking back over the morning, could he see how gently she had guided him—not by dismantling who he was, but by making space for who he might become.

His gaze rested on her for a moment. "You may be right," he admitted quietly. "I don't think I noticed it while it was happening." A faint smile followed. "I suppose that's rather fitting."

Then she laughed. Again. The sound carried effortlessly across the terrace, bright and genuine enough that it seemed almost to belong with the breeze and the gardens themselves. It caught him completely off guard. Not because she was laughing at him. Because hearing her laugh did something unexpectedly light to his own heart.

He hadn't realized until that moment how much he enjoyed being the cause of it. His humor had never struck him as particularly remarkable. Yet somehow, around her, it seemed to find its mark. He found himself hoping—not for the first time that morning—that it would happen again. The thought lingered pleasantly as he looked away for a moment, hiding the small smile that had appeared almost on its own.

Her reassurance that she would notice his return settled even more deeply. Marrok looked back toward her, warmth plainly visible in his expression now. "I think..." He paused, choosing the words with care. "...that's one of the nicest things anyone has said to me in quite some time."

There was no embarrassment in admitting it. Only gratitude. Knowing someone would look for him—not because duty required it, but because they genuinely wondered how he was doing—felt strangely profound.

As she reflected on becoming who others needed her to be, Marrok listened without interruption. He understood that instinct. Perhaps more than she realized. When she admitted his answer had addressed a question she hadn't known she was asking, he felt an unexpected measure of relief.

He had wondered, however briefly, if he had overstepped. Instead, she had understood. More than that—She had accepted the answer. His smile softened.

"I'm glad." The words were simple. Entirely sincere. "I wasn't certain it was mine to answer."

Then came her acceptance of his offer. Not dismissed. Not politely avoided. Accepted. Something quietly joyful stirred inside him. He had imagined the offer disappearing into the morning like so many casual promises people exchanged. Instead...

"I think I'd enjoy that very much." His voice was calm, though the warmth beneath it was unmistakable. "There are worlds I've visited that I scarcely remember because I only ever saw the mission." A thoughtful pause. "It would be nice to see them again." His eyes met hers. "For different reasons."

Then her hand rested lightly against the spade. Marrok blinked once before letting out a quiet, resigned chuckle. "Yes, Master Gardener." The teasing came easily now. "I've apparently delayed the actual gardening long enough."

Turning toward the waiting plot, he finally pressed the spade into the soil. The earth yielded more easily than he expected. He worked steadily, no longer trying to locate the mathematically perfect position, simply choosing a place that felt right and letting the work become what it was. Simple. Physical. Present. After several careful minutes, he paused and looked down into the hole.

It was neither enormous nor shallow. Just large enough for the young roots to spread comfortably. He seemed quietly satisfied with that. Setting the spade aside, Marrok lowered himself onto one knee beside the opening and looked at the waiting sapling in his hands.

Then he glanced up toward Nitya. The corners of his mouth lifted. "I don't suppose..." A soft chuckle escaped him. "...it's quite as easy as just dropping it in the hole?"

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him work without offering instruction, her hands folded loosely before her while the morning carried on around them with quiet indifference. The scrape of the spade through the earth, the soft fall of loosened soil, the distant voices drifting across the terraces all blended into a single, unhurried rhythm. She noticed, perhaps more than anything else, that he had stopped trying to solve the garden and had simply begun participating in it.

That pleased her more than the hole itself ever could.

When he finally stepped back to inspect his work, she looked down into the freshly turned earth before lifting her eyes to him again. There was no perfect circle, no measured precision that would have satisfied the version of Marrok who had arrived that morning. The edges were a little uneven, one side slightly deeper than the other, and yet it was exactly what it needed to be.

"It looks very suitable," she said with quiet approval. "More importantly..." A faint smile found her lips. "You stopped worrying about whether it was perfect."

The warmth in her expression lingered as she watched him kneel beside the opening, the young sapling still resting carefully in his hands. His question drew another soft laugh from her, gentler this time, less touched by amusement than by affection for the earnestness behind it.

"It would certainly be quicker," she replied, stepping down beside him until she was kneeling in the soil as well. The fabric of her robes settled easily against the earth without the slightest hesitation, as though she had done this a thousand times before. "But the tree has made a long journey to arrive here. It deserves a proper welcome."

Reaching out, she rested one hand lightly against the container before looking toward him rather than the sapling. "The first thing we do is loosen the roots." Her voice carried its usual calm, patient cadence. "They have spent a long time growing within the shape of this pot. If we simply place them into the ground exactly as they are, they will often continue trying to live inside boundaries that no longer exist."

Carefully, she eased the young tree from its container, revealing the fine network of pale roots beneath the soil. They had begun to circle the inside of the pot, following the only path they had known. With the gentlest touch of her fingertips, she loosened the outermost strands, encouraging them outward rather than around.

"It always reminds me," she said quietly, "that living things sometimes need a little help believing they are allowed to grow beyond the space they once needed in order to survive."

She glanced toward him then, her eyes warm with quiet understanding, as though she realized the comparison had presented itself without either of them having searched for it.

"Fortunately," she added with the faintest trace of humor, "trees are considerably less stubborn about it than people."

Holding the sapling between them, she lowered it toward the waiting earth but did not release it. Instead she looked back to Marrok, inviting him into the final step rather than completing it herself.

"I think this part should be yours," she said softly. "After all, I promised I would help you plant it. I never intended to plant it for you."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok looked down at the finished hole as Nitya spoke, and despite himself, he felt a quiet satisfaction settle over him. Not because it was flawless. Because it was enough. His eyes lingered on the uneven edges for a moment before he gave a small, almost disbelieving smile.

"I did." There was a note of mild surprise in his voice. "I don't think I realized that until you said it." For someone who had measured so much of his life against impossible standards, suitable felt unexpectedly freeing.

He watched as Nitya knelt beside him without the slightest concern for the soil beneath her robes. It was such a small thing. Yet it reminded him again how naturally she belonged here. Not because the monastery demanded it. Because she had never seemed to place herself above the work that sustained it. His attention followed every movement of her hands as she carefully removed the sapling from its container.

When she explained the roots, Marrok's expression grew thoughtful. He leaned slightly closer, studying the delicate strands circling the compact earth. He found himself committing every motion to memory. The pressure of her fingertips. The direction she encouraged the roots. The care taken not to force them.

Without thinking, he began constructing the lesson into something he could repeat. Not out of anxiety. Out of genuine desire. He wanted this part of the garden to flourish. He wanted to remember how. He wanted, someday, to do this well enough that the tree no longer needed instruction from anyone but time.

Her observation about roots lingering within boundaries they no longer needed settled into him with quiet familiarity. Marrok smiled faintly. "It seems gardening is determined to continue exposing me." His tone carried warm resignation. "I suspect every step has another lesson waiting behind it."

He looked again at the roots, now gently spread outward. "And this one..." A quiet breath escaped him. "I understand rather well."

When she held the sapling between them instead of finishing the task herself, Marrok's attention lifted to meet hers. There it was again. Not taking the responsibility away. Sharing it. Trusting him with the final step.

He reached forward to accept the young tree. As his hand settled around the base of the trunk, his fingers brushed lightly against hers. The contact was fleeting. Accidental. Yet it seemed to suspend the moment entirely.

Marrok paused. His eyes lifted almost instinctively to hers. For just a heartbeat he forgot the garden, the tree, the monastery itself. A faint blush colored his cheeks, accompanied by a bashful smile that appeared before he could stop it. He drew in a slow, steady breath, collecting himself with quiet dignity rather than hurried embarrassment. Only then did he gently take the weight of the sapling into his own hands.

Carefully, deliberately, he lowered it into the waiting earth. He held it there for a moment, studying its position from several angles. Then, almost reflexively, he adjusted it. A fraction to the left. Straightened the trunk. Tilted it ever so slightly until it seemed... right.

The instinct earned a small smile from him. "Some habits," he murmured softly, "are apparently more deeply rooted than others." The irony was not lost on him.

Still kneeling, one hand lightly steadying the young tree, Marrok looked back toward Nitya. There was a trace of hesitation in his expression now. Not uncertainty about the tree. Something quieter. Perhaps lingering from the unexpected warmth of their hands brushing together only moments before.

His gaze searched hers with an openness that would have been impossible that morning. "Does it..." A small pause. "...look right?"

The question carried more trust than technical concern. He realized, perhaps only after asking it, that he genuinely wanted her approval. Not because he feared failure. Because sharing the moment with her had quietly become more important than getting every detail exactly correct.

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

Nitya watched him with quiet contentment as he accepted the sapling, her attention lingering less on the tree than on the expression that had settled across his face. There had been uncertainty there when the morning began, the careful reserve of someone accustomed to measuring every word before allowing it to leave his thoughts. Now there was something gentler. He still reflected before he spoke, still considered each step with care, but the caution no longer seemed born from fear. It had become patience instead, and she found herself quietly admiring the difference.

When his fingers brushed against hers, the contact was so light it might easily have been overlooked. It lasted no more than a heartbeat before he gently took the weight of the sapling into his own hands, yet Nitya remained perfectly still for that fleeting moment, unexpectedly aware of the warmth left behind where their skin had met. She had not anticipated so small a thing affecting her quite so noticeably. Nor, if she were entirely honest with herself, had she expected the first thought that followed.

She rather hoped it would happen again.

The realization amused her more than it embarrassed her, and a small smile found its way to her lips before she could quite hide it. She lowered her gaze to the young tree between them, allowing herself the excuse of studying its roots while the quiet warmth settled gently into her heart. It had been a very long time since another person's nearness had felt so... comfortable. Not distracting. Not unsettling. Simply welcome.

She looked back up just in time to see him making the smallest adjustment to the sapling's position, straightening it with the same thoughtful precision he seemed to bring to everything he cared about. His observation about deeply rooted habits drew a soft laugh from her, one touched more by affection than amusement.

"I would be more surprised if you hadn't adjusted it," she admitted. "Besides..." Her eyes drifted toward the open space surrounding the roots before returning to him. "We can correct its placement as the hole fills with earth. The soil will settle around the roots, and the tree will shift ever so slightly as everything finds its place. It is much easier to make those little corrections now than after everything has been packed firmly into place."

She paused for a moment, her smile warming almost unconsciously as the comparison quietly presented itself.

"I have always thought people were much the same," she said softly. "The beginning is rarely the moment when everything is perfectly aligned. We make small adjustments as we go. We learn. We settle. We discover where we truly belong, often a little at a time rather than all at once."

When he finally looked back at her and asked whether it looked right, she met his eyes without immediately turning to inspect the sapling. That alone answered more than she intended. She had seen the care he had taken. The patience. The willingness to ask rather than insist. Those things mattered far more than whether the trunk stood perfectly upright.

Then, at last, she looked down at the young tree resting between them before giving a gentle nod.

"I think it looks exactly as it should," she said quietly. "Not because it is finished..." Her gaze lifted to meet his once more, warm with unmistakable approval. "...but because it has been planted with care."

She reached down then, scooping up the first handful of loose earth and letting it fall gently around the waiting roots. The sound was soft, almost musical in the stillness of the garden.

"I believe," she said with the faintest trace of playful seriousness, "that this is the part where we both get our hands dirty."

Marrok Vorr

 

[Marrok Vorr]

Objective: Get more help along a new path
Location: Oralis Prime
Outfit: Gray Robes
Tags: Nitya Xeraic

Marrok noticed the faint smile before she lowered her gaze. He wasn't certain what had prompted it. Part of him wondered if it had been the tree. Another, quieter part suspected otherwise. He chose not to examine that thought too closely. Some things, he was learning, benefited from simply being allowed to exist.

Her explanation about the soil settling drew his attention immediately back to the sapling. He looked from the roots to the waiting earth, then back again. "So..."

A faint smile touched his expression. "It doesn't have to be perfect now." The observation came more as realization than question. "There is room for adjustment."

He looked thoughtfully at the tree. "I think the version of me from this morning would have found that concept deeply unsettling." A quiet breath escaped him. "I'm beginning to find it reassuring."

When she compared people to the settling earth, Marrok listened without interruption. It seemed remarkable how naturally she found these connections. Or perhaps...They had always been there. He simply hadn't been looking.

His gaze drifted toward the terraces surrounding them, where trees of every age stood together, none growing in quite the same way, yet all undeniably belonging. "I suppose..." He spoke slowly. "...I've always imagined finding where you belong as something you discover."

His eyes returned to her. "You make it sound more like something you grow into." The distinction lingered pleasantly in his thoughts. Not a destination. A gradual becoming. There was comfort in that.

Her answer to his question settled warmly inside him. It has been planted with care. Marrok found himself looking down at the young sapling again. The words pleased him more than he expected. Not because he had done it correctly. Because she had noticed how he had done it. That mattered. Perhaps more than correctness ever could.

Then she reached for the first handful of earth. The soft sound of soil falling around the roots drew his attention completely to the task before them. Marrok smiled as her playful seriousness returned. "I've noticed," he said, his voice carrying the same quiet warmth, "that your lessons have an unusual tendency to involve dirty hands."

He reached down beside her, scooping up a careful handful of loose earth. Instead of simply dropping it, he let it fall slowly through his fingers, watching it settle gently around the loosened roots they had just freed. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing the empty spaces gradually disappear. No force. No pressure. Just patient support.

As he gathered another handful, his fingers brushed against the cool soil before pausing. "I think..." He smiled faintly to himself. "...this may be the first time I've ever found dirt... relaxing." A quiet chuckle followed. "I suspect that would surprise a great many people who know me."

Working beside her felt remarkably natural. They were not speaking because silence demanded filling. Nor were they working separately toward the same goal. They were simply...Doing it together.

Marrok became aware that, at some point, he had stopped thinking about whether he was doing it correctly. Instead, he found himself paying attention to the rhythm they shared. She gathered earth. He followed. The roots slowly disappeared beneath rich, dark soil.

The sapling remained steady between them. It was an unexpectedly peaceful kind of teamwork. One that required neither commands nor plans. Only presence. As another handful of earth slipped from his fingers, Marrok glanced toward Nitya with a quiet smile.

"I think..." His voice remained soft. "...I'm beginning to understand why people return." His eyes shifted to Nitya. He hoped what was becoming the biggest reason for wanting to be at the monastery was not one that was discovered repeatedly…that reason was Nitya herself.