Ascending Legend
The transport did not linger.
Its engines faded into the distance with a low, receding hum, leaving behind a silence that felt older than the stars themselves. Iandre did not watch it go, choosing instead to stand exactly where she had been left. Her boots settled onto the cold, unforgiving duracrete of the landing platform, her posture remaining upright more out of a lifetime of habit than any remaining strength. For a long moment, she simply breathed, letting the recycled, metallic air of Cademimu V fill her lungs.
The atmosphere of the city world was different; it was neither harsh nor welcoming, but simply present. It was a place untouched by the weight of her past and entirely indifferent to the storm she carried within her, caring nothing for who she had been, what she had lost, or the ideals she had once stood for. There was something almost merciful in that anonymity.
Her hand tightened slightly at her side where the lightsaber hilt rested, familiar in a way that cut deeper than any blade. It was Aisha's weapon, and she had not let it leave her since the moment she found it, since she had knelt at a grave that should not have existed, marked by a war that had stolen more than it had ever returned. That felt like a lifetime ago, a remnant of another life back when she was still a Padawan and loss was something she was taught to endure rather than a place she was forced to live inside.
Her thumb brushed over the worn metal, tracing a spot where years of use had softened the edge. The contact grounded her, not gently or kindly, but firmly enough to remind her that she was still here and still standing.
"I found you," she murmured, her voice quiet against the vast, urban expanse. It was not a revelation or even a sense of relief, but a heavy truth that had simply come too late.
Her gaze lifted slowly to take in the horizon, where the world stretched out in a jagged silhouette of high-rises and distant transit lines. Everything here was untouched by the lives she had lived before stepping onto this surface. There were no expectations in this city, no ranks to hold, no commands to give, and no titles waiting to be spoken. The realization that there were no roles to step back into settled in her chest with a dull, steady ache.
She exhaled, her breath leaving her more slowly this time as she leaned into the isolation.
"I do not know what I am supposed to be now," she admitted softly.
The Force did not answer her directly, just as it had remained silent when she stood at Aisha's grave trying to reconcile memory with reality. Yet, the void was not entirely empty. There was a presence here, something quiet, patient, and waiting. Iandre lowered her gaze, her grip on the saber loosening just slightly as she allowed that stillness to settle around her rather than pushing against it.
This was not a mission. There was no objective to complete, no enemy to defeat, and no command to follow. There was only a path that remained unseen and undefined, making it feel more daunting than any battlefield she had ever stepped onto.
"Then I will begin," she said at last.
The words were not fueled by strength or certainty, but they were real. She stepped forward, moving away from the landing pad not as a soldier or a title, but just as Iandre. For the first time since everything had been taken from her, that felt like something she might one day learn how to carry.
Arthor Vane
Its engines faded into the distance with a low, receding hum, leaving behind a silence that felt older than the stars themselves. Iandre did not watch it go, choosing instead to stand exactly where she had been left. Her boots settled onto the cold, unforgiving duracrete of the landing platform, her posture remaining upright more out of a lifetime of habit than any remaining strength. For a long moment, she simply breathed, letting the recycled, metallic air of Cademimu V fill her lungs.
The atmosphere of the city world was different; it was neither harsh nor welcoming, but simply present. It was a place untouched by the weight of her past and entirely indifferent to the storm she carried within her, caring nothing for who she had been, what she had lost, or the ideals she had once stood for. There was something almost merciful in that anonymity.
Her hand tightened slightly at her side where the lightsaber hilt rested, familiar in a way that cut deeper than any blade. It was Aisha's weapon, and she had not let it leave her since the moment she found it, since she had knelt at a grave that should not have existed, marked by a war that had stolen more than it had ever returned. That felt like a lifetime ago, a remnant of another life back when she was still a Padawan and loss was something she was taught to endure rather than a place she was forced to live inside.
Her thumb brushed over the worn metal, tracing a spot where years of use had softened the edge. The contact grounded her, not gently or kindly, but firmly enough to remind her that she was still here and still standing.
"I found you," she murmured, her voice quiet against the vast, urban expanse. It was not a revelation or even a sense of relief, but a heavy truth that had simply come too late.
Her gaze lifted slowly to take in the horizon, where the world stretched out in a jagged silhouette of high-rises and distant transit lines. Everything here was untouched by the lives she had lived before stepping onto this surface. There were no expectations in this city, no ranks to hold, no commands to give, and no titles waiting to be spoken. The realization that there were no roles to step back into settled in her chest with a dull, steady ache.
She exhaled, her breath leaving her more slowly this time as she leaned into the isolation.
"I do not know what I am supposed to be now," she admitted softly.
The Force did not answer her directly, just as it had remained silent when she stood at Aisha's grave trying to reconcile memory with reality. Yet, the void was not entirely empty. There was a presence here, something quiet, patient, and waiting. Iandre lowered her gaze, her grip on the saber loosening just slightly as she allowed that stillness to settle around her rather than pushing against it.
This was not a mission. There was no objective to complete, no enemy to defeat, and no command to follow. There was only a path that remained unseen and undefined, making it feel more daunting than any battlefield she had ever stepped onto.
"Then I will begin," she said at last.
The words were not fueled by strength or certainty, but they were real. She stepped forward, moving away from the landing pad not as a soldier or a title, but just as Iandre. For the first time since everything had been taken from her, that felt like something she might one day learn how to carry.
Arthor Vane