Private A Journey Without Command (Flashback)

[Iandre Athlea]

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

 

[Arthor Vane]

Cademimu V, a planet with history for war and military. Once used to make weapons for the Galactic Republic a long time ago, now sits as an unfamiliar planet to Arthor. But, the force pulled him here during his pilgrimage.

Arthor was a Jedi warrior that followed only the voice of the Force. Where its hand guided him was where he traveled, when its whispers spoke to him, he listened. Today he was directed to this industrial planet for reasons unknown. The only feeling he had was, he had someone to meet. Someone lost and broken.

His azure armor and robes held close to his body as he walked the busy streets before him, weaving through the crowd like wind through canyons, avoiding and maneuvering a path for himself. Those who came to close to him felt a sense of confusion and would wander away from him until they moved past him. A simple mind trick he had taught himself over the years of study.

The force ushered him forth like a soft breeze and a calm whisper, beckoning to its desired destination. He looked down at his datapad to take in general information of the planet, as he kept walking.

“Hm.”

A soft but deep voice escaped his chest as his blue eyes fell to the screen. Information scrolled through the datapad as he took it in, using the force to drip feed the information to him. At this rate he could learn the full recorded history of the planet in minutes, but it would mostly be surface information.

His gauntleted hand reached up as his fingers stroked the stubble on his chin.

“Interesting.”

His footfalls continued.

The force continued to beckon him as he continued to read and walk, that was when he accidentally bumped into a random lady, his datapad dropped and his eyes widened just slightly in surprise.

“Oh, pardon me, I uh…”

He reached down to retrieve his datapad from the ground.

“I was not watching where I was going.”

He looked at the lady before him, another force user, but he could tell there were deep cracks and fractures within. He paused as he looked at his datapad for any damages then pocketed it.

“I’m new here.”

He offered a soft smile.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The impact was light, but it was enough to pull Iandre from the quiet, rhythmic drift she had settled into.

She had been walking without direction, her path guided more by instinct than intention, with her awareness turned inward rather than toward the crowded streets. The press of people, the hum of the city, and the constant motion of life continuing without pause all felt distant and muted—until they weren't.

Her gaze lifted as he spoke, steady and assessing, though not unkind. For a brief moment, she said nothing, observing him in the way she had been trained to observe everything: posture, tone, and presence.

Then, there was the Force.

It brushed against her awareness almost immediately. It was not sharp or invasive, but undeniably present. Grounding herself with a small, quiet breath, she finally responded.

"You are not the only one," she said, her voice even despite the faint distraction lingering at the edges of her thoughts. Her eyes flicked briefly to the retrieved datapad, confirming its safety before returning to him.

She studied him again, more deliberately this time.

"You said you are new," she continued, her tone observational rather than leading. "So am I. It seems we are both still…adjusting."

Her posture remained composed but relaxed, her hands resting loosely at her sides.

"You should still watch your surroundings," she added, a trace of dry practicality slipping into her tone. "Not everyone will be as forgiving of an accidental collision."

There was no hostility in the remark; if anything, it was a quiet courtesy. Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer, as if weighing something she had not yet decided how to name, before she gave the slightest inclination of her head.

"Are you injured?"

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

His gaze found hers when she posed her question, his eyes then flicked over their surroundings, taking in the area and its architecture.

“Yes, very new here.”

A nervous chuckle left him as his eyes fell back to her.

“Adjustments are always to be made, for the path is ever changing.”

He spoke aloud to her before his mouth shut.

“Sorry, an old saying my once Master had taught me. Not everything is predictable, especially in an ever changing galaxy.”

His hand came up to his forehead gently rubbing it as his smile softened.

“I usually am very watchful, but I was following a feeling.”

He paused.

“Injured? Oh it would take a lot to injure me, not that you aren't a lot just uh…hmm.”

His fingers tapped his lips as he thought of his next words.

“Sorry, I don't talk to many people, I usually travel alone and for numerous days, sometimes weeks.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out some old parchment, a star map of sorts.

“I'm on a pilgrimage visiting ancient Jedi temples and sights, soul searching you could say. The force pulled me here.”

His arms outstretched, gesturing toward the area around them before his arms settled to his sides.

“The Light guides and it provides.”

His eyes settled back on her.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre listened with a steady but distant attention, her gaze suggesting that she was only partially anchored in the current moment. His words reached her in uneven fragments, yet she remained silent, offering neither interruption nor any attempt to correct the rhythm of his speech.

At the mention of following a vague feeling, a subtle shift passed over her expression as if she were recognizing something faintly familiar within his struggle.

"No," she said quietly, her head shaking once in a slow, deliberate motion. "That is not a poor reason at all."

Her eyes lingered briefly on the ancient parchment he produced, noting the visible weight of its age and the gravity of its purpose, before she finally returned her focus to him.

"A pilgrimage," she repeated, the word sounding softer this time as if she were testing its resonance rather than claiming it for herself.

A small, pensive pause followed as she let the idea settle between them.

"I do not think I would call my own journey by that name," she admitted after a moment, her voice remaining even while carrying a quiet, undeniable weight beneath the surface. "The truth is that I am not entirely certain what it is I am doing yet."

There was no trace of embarrassment in the admission; it was offered with a simple, grounded honesty. Her gaze drifted briefly past him, drawn toward the restless movement of the surrounding city, before she pulled her focus back to the man standing before her.

"But I suppose that I am here for reasons not so different from your own," she added thoughtfully. "I am merely trying to understand where I am meant to go next."

She exhaled softly, grounding herself in the reality of the present.

"And no," she said, her voice turning more direct and simple, "I am not injured in the way you might suspect."

A faint pause hung in the air, followed by a slight shift in her tone—it wasn't quite humor, but it was certainly lighter than the words she had spoken before.

"Though you may wish to practice the art of speaking with others more often," she added with a ghost of a smile. "Such things tend to become much easier with repetition."

Her gaze held his for a long moment, neither probing for secrets nor guarded by suspicion, but remaining entirely present.

"If the Force truly brought you to this place," she said quietly, "then perhaps the purpose of that arrival was intended for more than only you."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

He let her speak her mind and her piece. Though her feelings behind her words seemed fractured and lost as well.

He caught that.

In his years of experience with emotions and how to care for himself in times of despair or even just being lost, he learned its signs.

This lady showed those signs. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to a distance as if she too were searching for something but could not find it.

A softness came over his gaze after she admitted to not knowing what her next steps or even current steps were.

A chuckle escaped him as he thought on her suggestion.

“I suppose you would not be entirely wrong on that, I could probably use more social interactions.”

His thoughts lingered on her prior statement, his very nature simply refusing to let him drop it and focus on the Force itself.

“Your compass has lost its direction…”

The words came out quietly and softly as if pulled from him and given a voice.

Almost like a switch his expression and body language seemed to change from aloofness to something sharper, something honed and weathered, tempered into control.

His very voice seemed to mimic the very presence his body took.

“You have suffered a great loss.”

Though his eyes gave off a sharp intent, there was something else in them, a genuineness to listen. To be an ear or a mouth to guide her.

“The Galaxy does not pull its punches, especially to those who have felt so deeply for another.”

His hands gently rested on his sides as he looked around to the various people walking around them, then his eye fell onto a diner just across the street.

“When was the last time you had a hot meal?”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not respond immediately.

His words did not startle her, but they did not pass unnoticed either. The shift in him, the sudden clarity, the way his voice carried something more deliberate than before…she felt it. Not as intrusion, but as recognition.

Her gaze lowered slightly, not in avoidance, but in consideration.

"Perhaps," she said quietly.

It was neither agreement nor denial. Just acknowledgment.

At his next words, something in her posture stilled. Not defensive. Not closed. Just…held. As if naming it too directly might give it more weight than she was prepared to carry in that moment.

She did not confirm it. She did not deny it.

Instead, her attention shifted when he spoke again, offering something simpler. Grounded. A question. Her eyes followed his briefly toward the diner across the street before returning to him.

"Before I left Bastion," she answered.

The words came easily, but there was distance in them, as if that moment already belonged to a different version of herself.

A small pause followed.

"I have not given it much thought since," she added, quieter now.

Her gaze lingered on the diner again, not with hunger exactly, but with a kind of quiet awareness that she had been neglecting something basic. Something human.

She exhaled softly.

"It seems…that was an oversight."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

His hand gently gestured toward the diner, offering her to come with him.

“Would you care to join me? I haven’t had a decent conversation in a long while and you look as if you could use some food.”

The air around him seemed lighter, not weightless but unburdened. A sense of ease that seemed to roll off of him as he slowly made his way towards the small diner, holding the door open for her.

He had noticed something as he walked with her. The sense to keep moving, that pull from the force, it had ceased once he had found her. The realization caused him to pause and think for a moment.

Was he to help her with her feelings of loss and confusion, or was he to guide her on the same pilgrimage.

His stomach growled audibly reminding him of where they were now. His hand placed itself over his gut as a nervous chuckle escaped him.

“I have been fasting for weeks now. Just about anything sounds good at the moment if I’m honest.”

He walked with her to the table, allowing her to sit first before he took the seat in front of her, eyes on the door.

He never kept his attention off of the exits of buildings, especially when one was so vulnerable while dining.

“How long have you been traveling?"

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not immediately accept the invitation, her gaze lingering on the diner for a moment as if she were weighing the sheer simplicity of the offer against the immense weight of everything she had been carrying. It was not a hesitation born of distrust or caution, but rather a profound sense of unfamiliarity with the mundane concepts of sitting, eating, and speaking without a driving purpose. To her, the idea of a simple meal felt distant, like a memory from a life she no longer fully recognized, yet she eventually stepped forward to meet the moment.

"Very well," she said quietly, moving with him toward the door and inclining her head in a small, soft acknowledgment as he held it open for her.

The warmth of the diner settled around her almost immediately, providing a stark and welcome contrast to the cool, indifferent air she had left behind on the street. For a brief moment, she simply existed within that warmth, allowing herself to absorb the subtle shift in the atmosphere before following him to the table. She sat with the same controlled precision that governed all her movements, though there was no true rigidity in her posture; it was merely the lingering habit of a woman who had spent a lifetime moving with intention.

At his question, she paused to consider her answer, her voice sounding calm but noticeably quieter now that they were within the more contained space of the booth.

"A little over a week, I think, though it may have been longer," she answered, her gaze drifting briefly to the table between them as she realized she had not been keeping track of the passing days with any real precision. "Time has felt less structured lately, as if the hours are blurring together without anything specific to anchor them."

There was no complaint in her tone, only a weary observation of her own state of mind, and a faint pause lingered between them before she added a final, simple truth.

"In truth, this is the first time I have actually stopped to rest."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

He had taken note of her hesitation, not out of skepticism but more out of something else. He offered her a warm smile while she sat down.

“A week of travel without rest can certainly weigh on anyone. Even soldiers and warriors need to know when to rest.”

A waitress came by setting down two waters and two menus before moving to another table. Arthor gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement before she had moved on.

“It sounds to me like you had lost something that made you whole.”

He picked up his cup taking in a small sip before setting it back down.

“That can make someone lose some sense in purpose…”

He spoke quieter now, only to her.

“If I may ask, what happened?”

The question hung in the air between the both of them for a moment before he continued.

“You strike me as someone with discipline and authority. As someone who has led and as someone who has taken heavy blows and kept moving.”

He sat back in his booth, arms crossed over his armored chest.

“It takes a lot for someone of that caliber to turn into a wanderer.”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not answer him right away. Her gaze rested on the water for a moment, observing the still and undisturbed surface before her attention shifted back to the table between them. There was a quiet deliberation in the movement that followed, suggesting not a moment of hesitation, but one of profound choice.

Slowly, she reached within the folds of her cloak. When her hand emerged, it carried the weight of something far older than the conversation, an artifact that seemed to pull at the very air of the moment. She set the lightsaber gently on the table, the worn metal catching the ambient light in muted, tired reflections. It was not displayed with pride, nor was it hidden with any lingering sense of shame; it was simply placed there, a silent witness to a history long buried.

"I am a Jedi," she said, her voice remaining calm even as it softened with the admission. "I come from the time of the Clone Wars."

A small, heavy pause followed as the reality of that timeline settled between them. "My name is Iandre Athlea." Her gaze lowered briefly to the hilt, her fingers brushing lightly against the cold surface of the casing before they stilled. "This belonged to my Master," she continued, the words carrying a physical weight that she refused to let fracture her composure. "I found her… recently."

She did not elaborate on the circumstances of that discovery, nor did she need to; the hollow space in her tone told the story well enough. Her eyes lifted to meet his again, steady and clear, though a deeper current of sorrow moved beneath the surface. "And now I find myself mourning her while simultaneously seeking the guidance she can no longer provide."

A faint, weary breath escaped her as she looked at him with an honesty that was entirely unguarded. "I do not know if I am truly on the correct path, or if I have merely been wandering in the dark for so long that I can no longer tell the difference. I only know that I am still walking." Her hand remained resting lightly beside the saber, neither gripping it for strength nor letting it drift far from her reach. "That search for clarity is what brought me here."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

Arthor listened to her in silence as she spoke of herself. A Jedi from the time of the Clone Wars. A time of utter sorrow and difficulty, especially for the Jedi.

When she spoke of her master, his gaze softened. To lose a master was something akin to losing a parent. He had an apprentice once. The thought of it still wrenched his chest, his hand slowly pulled the glass of water to his lips as his blue eyes remained on her.

“I had a padawan once.”

His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

“Talented, patient and vigilant. He had the makings to be a great Jedi.”

He leaned back in the chair, looking at his glass as if trying to physically see a memory.

“Now I don't even remember his voice. I had since been on my pilgrimage, visiting old and forgotten temples of our forefathers and mothers. Hoping to find…”

His voice silenced as he swallowed the dryness away from his throat.

“...something.”

His gaze fell back to her.

“We all get lost on our path, Iander. The only ones who fail to make it are those who have given up.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the air around him seemed to hum. A warmth emanated from his body, not one of heat but of a form of comfort. He was calling upon the Force.

“The Light always provides.”

His eyes opened.

“I do not think it's mere coincidence we found each other here. Two Jedi wandering the galaxy for something they do not know of.”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre listened without interruption, her hand resting lightly beside the lightsaber on the table as she maintained her gaze, neither looking away when his voice lowered nor when grief threaded through his words in ways that language could not fully contain. She knew all too well that while some losses announced themselves loudly, others preferred to live quietly in the spaces between sentences. At the mention of a Padawan, something in her expression softened visibly, her voice dropping to a quiet register as she addressed his fear of forgetting a voice.

"No," she said, "that is not a small loss, for there are absences in this galaxy that seem to grow sharper with the passage of time rather than duller."

She lowered her gaze briefly to the rim of her untouched water before lifting it again, her understanding of that pain written clearly in her eyes. When the warmth of the Force began to settle through the space between them, she felt it immediately, a gentle presence offered rather than imposed, and for the first time since sitting down, the guarded tension that had stiffened her shoulders eased by a noticeable fraction. Letting out a slow, deliberate breath, she looked at him with a newfound sense of transparency.

"You carry your faith more openly than I do," she admitted, offering the observation not as a criticism, but as a simple truth born from a life where certainty once came much easier.

The Clone Wars had burned much of that conviction away, and everything that followed in the years since had served only to test whatever fragments remained. Her fingers brushed the worn, familiar metal of Aisha's saber as she contemplated her own journey.

"I have spent so long surviving what came next that I am not always sure whether I am truly seeking wisdom, or if I am merely trying to remember the woman I was before loss became so familiar."

She met his gaze steadily then, allowing the sorrow in her eyes to remain present without attempting to hide it behind her usual composure.

"Perhaps you are right, and this was not mere coincidence, or perhaps the Force simply has a recurring habit of placing the lost in one another's path so they do not have to wander alone."

A faint, contemplative pause followed, accompanied by the slightest trace of warmth in her tone.

"Either way, I am genuinely glad that it did."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

“Like a blade that sharpens itself to be used once.”

His voice was low and quiet as his finger gently tapped his cup.

His faith…the only thing he truly had left. The only thing that kept him going. A small smile touched his lips.

“I can't hide my faith. To hide it would mean I am ashamed of it. Though there are exceptions. Keeping a low profile being one of them. But even if my cover is blown, my faith is still there.”

His voice silenced when she began to open up about her journey. About the feeling of being lost and forgetting who she was. That was all too familiar. He took a quiet slow sip of his water before placing it back down.

“Loss will always change you. There will be a part of you that dies with whoever is attached to that part of you.”

He took a quiet breath.

“You can rebuild yourself. Not replace what you lost, nothing can replace that feeling, but there is always a way to start rebuilding again.”

He paused.

“That is the hardest part. Pulling yourself out of the hole with no tools to help. But you have three options. You can either stay in the hole or you can dig deeper into it, eventually losing the guiding light that you have left, or you can try to climb back out and start rebuilding a new foundation.”

He set his glass down softly.

“But do not mistake this decision with having to do it alone.”

A soft smile touched his lips.

“I am glad the Force led us here as well. You are very good with conversation.”

A soft chuckle left him.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre remained in absolute stillness, her attention fixed not only on the words themselves but on the jagged, unpolished places they had clearly been carved from. Advice born cheaply often sounded smooth, but his carried the heavy weathering of use, the kind of weight that only came from being dragged through the dirt and back again.

Her fingers shifted, coming to rest against Aisha's lightsaber. She didn't just touch it; she anchored herself to the worn metal, drawing a cold, physical steadiness from the only piece of her past that still felt tangible.

"You speak of it as one who has climbed back from the edge more than once," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. There was no pity in the observation, only the quiet, solemn recognition of a fellow survivor.

She lowered her gaze, watching the ripples in her water mirror the slight tremor she was finally allowing herself to feel.

"When I first came out from the ground...when my pod was finally opened...I thought that was the end of the mourning," she continued, the calm in her voice starting to fray, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath. "I was given a second chance at a foundation. Purpose. Duty. A home among people who didn't even know my name, let alone owe me a life."

Her thumb brushed the hilt, tracing the familiar indents she had memorized centuries ago.

"And then I found this."

The simple words landed with the weight of a burial shroud.

"Her grave. Her weapon. It was the final, silent proof that the universe hadn't waited for me to wake up. It was the proof that the life I remembered, the only one that ever made sense, had truly ended while I slept in the dark beneath it."

She let out a slow, shuddering breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she fought for a measured control that was rapidly slipping.

"Every day since, I have carried this question like a stone in my heart. Am I honoring what came before me...or am I merely betraying it by trying to exist in a world that replaced it?"

Her eyes lifted to meet his, the sorrow there no longer tucked away. It was steady, but it was deep, an ocean of "what ifs" and "could have beens."

"I find myself caught between two ghosts. I do not know if I was meant to find my way back to the path I once knew, or if I am expected to keep walking this new one, the one that feels like a shadow of a shadow."

A faint, flickering pause followed, and for the first time, a trace of genuine warmth reached her expression, softening the rigid lines of her face.

"But I think...I think my Master would have approved of the rebuilding. Even if the stones are different."

Her fingers tightened, settling firmly over the saber as if finally claiming it as a tool for the future rather than a relic of the dead.

"Aisha was never one for sentimental ruins. She had no patience for weeping over broken things; she preferred that they be made useful again."

The ghost of a smile touched her lips, fragile, brief, but undeniably real.

"And thank you. Truly. I suspect I am only capable of this kind of honesty when the weight of carrying it alone finally becomes too heavy to bear."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

An expression of deep understanding weaved into his gaze as she spoke. From the suggestion of lostness to the breaking in her voice. Yet, he stayed as a constant. The feeling of something lighter at the end of the tunnel that elevated from him stayed in their very presence.

“As long as you are still breathing, you will always have another chance at new foundations.”

His gaze fell to the lightsaber in her fingers, the way she touched it and the way she held on to it like a lifeline that kept her going.

A soldier trapped in another time, an older time. One that hardly knew peace and quiet. With that, he knew that she was a woman who would have a hard time living in that silence.

“You feel the call to serve a duty.”

He spoke quietly.

“What do you feel is your mission? Not your master's, not the organization you affiliate yourself with, but you.”

His hands gently cupped around his glass as he looked at his reflection in the water.

“The day I lost my padawan, Eurik. He did not die outright. I tried to help him, the Jedi around me kept fighting their battle instead of helping a child who was suffering.”

His thumb gently tapped the glass letting out a soft clinking sound.

“An extra pair of hands would have been enough, but they were blinded by their drive to defeat the enemy that they forget our very purpose to guard the innocent.”

A slow breath escaped him before his fingers gently rubbed his brow.

“I wandered lost for years until I stopped in a small village of a small planet. I asked for some food, but they refused. Something about the planet believing that if they give you something then they owe you a favor. Turns out they were harassed by a spice running gang."

He leaned back in his chair as he recalled the memory.

“I came back that night after a hunch, the village was on fire. Most of the people had escaped except for one woman, trapped in the burning building.”

He looked down at his lap before he took unclasped his lightsaber hilt and placed it on the table. Ornate in blues and golds long weathered by use and time.

“I didn't think twice, I ran in, held the roof up, cleared the way of the flames and led her to safety.”

He paused for a moment.

“It wasn't the praise I received that made it feel like I did something, but it was the act of obeying my calling. My calling to protect and save the broken and innocent.”

He finally looked back at her.

“I learned at that time what my mission was.”

His gaze found hers.

“I am to protect the innocent and to uplift the broken.”

“The Jedi and Sith can have their battles and their wars, but I will always be there to find the forgotten.”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre did not answer immediately, allowing his words to settle rather than rushing to fill the space between them. She listened with the kind of attention that did not interrupt or reshape meaning, her gaze following the quiet details of him as memory moved through his voice and into the room. When he placed his lightsaber on the table, her attention lingered there for a moment, not in comparison, but in recognition of what it meant to set something like that down without defense.

Her own hand rested over Aisha's hilt, not clinging to it now, but steady, grounded.

"You chose to act, not because it was required of you, but because you could not ignore it," she said softly, her tone carrying understanding rather than distance.

Her gaze lowered briefly, turning inward as her thoughts aligned into something more coherent than they had been moments before.

"When I was trained, purpose was never something we were asked to define for ourselves. It was given to us. The Order decided, and the war reinforced it. We learned where to stand, who to protect, and what it meant to be necessary, and there was never space to question whether that purpose truly belonged to us."

A quiet breath followed, controlled but weighted.

"There was no question of what I was meant to do, only whether I could endure doing it."

Her thumb brushed the worn metal of the saber, a small grounding motion that brought her back to the present.

"When I woke in this time, I did not search for something new. I followed the first structure that would have me, not because I believed in it completely, but because standing still felt worse than moving in the wrong direction."

Her eyes lifted to meet his again, clearer now, though still carrying the quiet weight of everything she had lived through. "You asked what my mission is, and the truth is that I do not know if I have one yet. But I do know what I cannot ignore."

Her gaze shifted slightly, not away from him, but outward, as though she were looking at something just beyond reach.

"When people are left behind, when something is broken, and no one returns for it, when silence replaces responsibility, those are the moments that stay with me. I have seen what happens when they are overlooked, and I cannot be the one who walks past them."

Her fingers settled more firmly over the hilt, not gripping, but choosing. "If anything of me has remained unchanged, it is that."

A faint pause followed, her expression softening just enough to allow something quieter through. "Perhaps that is not a mission yet, but it is a beginning, and for now that is enough."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, something steadier now anchoring her presence. "You chose your purpose instead of inheriting it, and I think that may be the part I still need to learn."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

Arthor looked at his saber in silence for a moment after she spoke of purpose being given to her and then driven into her, reinforcing that it was her purpose.

To him, it sounded like a brainwashing. It was a delicate moment, so he would dare not say that to her. Thoughts like that could drive people to do things they would likely never do.

“That is the downside of people giving you a purpose in a time of war.”

He spoke quietly, in a hushed soft voice. He spoke in a way that felt more of understanding and sympathy.

“When a soldier is called to action to do a job that they are told is their sole responsibility, their sole purpose. They feel fulfilled, until the war is over.”

His thumb gently brushed over his glass before he finally took his eyes off the hilt of his saber.

“They lose themselves in the transformation for their purpose and when the silence truly falls…they can't cope.”

A small slow breath left him.

“I have seen it many times. I have helped who I could, but…”

His voice softened.

“Theres only so much I can do.”

A small smile lifted from the corners of his mouth, a way to hide a certain guilt within himself.

“But you, you are already on a path that most rarely even get to. You are searching. Most just sit still, and it is so painful to watch.”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre listened quietly, her gaze drifting down to the lightsaber resting beneath her palm. As Arthor spoke of soldiers hollowed out by war, there was no defensive spike in her presence, no sharp rejection of the comparison. Instead, a distant, introspective stillness settled over her features. He was giving voice to a ghost she had already wrestled with in the dark.

"Perhaps," she murmured, her thumb tracing the familiar, weathered grooves of the metal hilt, lines her hands remembered better than the passing of years. "Though I do not think anyone intended cruelty when they gave me purpose. The Republic was collapsing, entire systems were burning, and Jedi were dying faster than they could be replaced. Every Knight, Master, and Padawan was told that we were necessary."

She paused, letting the distinction breathe.

"Not important. Necessary."

When her eyes lifted, the grey in them was muted, heavy with history. "And when you are raised to believe that service is love and sacrifice is the highest virtue, it becomes entirely too easy to build your whole identity around being useful to others. The war taught us endurance, duty, and survival. It just never taught us how to stop."

The words hung softly in the space between them, a quiet elegy for an entire generation of peacekeepers.

"Perhaps that is why so many Jedi seemed lost even before the Order fell," she added, a faint, thoughtful breath escaping her. "We had become so accustomed to carrying the weight of the galaxy that we forgot who we were when forced to set it down."

At his mention of searching, something subtle shifted in her expression, a quiet flicker of recognition that cut through the lingering exhaustion.

"I think you are right," she admitted, the confession coming slowly, as if she were testing its weight aloud for the first time. "I am searching. Not for the past, I know better than to look for ghosts, but for where I belong in a galaxy that kept spinning without me."

For a moment, her voice stripped bare, devoid of the usual disciplined armor she carried so flawlessly.

"There are moments where I feel entirely certain I have found my place. Then there are others where everything feels borrowed, as though I have stepped into a life already in progress and am still stumbling to learn its rhythm. Perhaps this is only the first stop on that path, or perhaps the searching itself is how I become who I am meant to be now."

Her gaze locked back onto his, steadying as the vulnerability crystallized into quiet resolve.

"Either way…remaining still feels far more dangerous."

Arthor Vane

 

[Arthor Vane]

“Staying still is dangerous.”

He quietly responded to her, his gaze meeting hers, the blue in his eyes now casting a soft golden hue around his irises.

“But do not mistake stillness for rest.”

His finger gently tapped on his saber, the words that just left him slowly digesting in his mind.

“Inaction and sitting still show no willingness to get out of the hole you are stuck in. Resting is regrouping, replanning and more importantly reapproaching.”

His gaze flicked to her saber.

“You were forced to set so much down, all of it. You were not told what you should keep. In the moment that you set it all down, you set pieces of yourself in the dirt.”

Finally a server droid came by holding a holomenu of all the food they have ready to be prepped. Arthor tapped his finger on a couple of small items, then looked over to Iandre.

“Pick what you like. My treat.”

He offered her a soft smile.

“I know right now it seems impossible. But I recommend you take the rest and regroup option.”

He sat his credits on the table, ready for the droid to pick them up after she had made her choice, if she wanted anything.

“That doesn't mean you need to take a vacation. It just means you need some quiet to yourself.”

Iandre Athlea​