Private A Quiet Pull

[Lyra Ventor]

Diso – Tal'ren's Landing

Lyra hadn't meant to be here.

Diso wasn't on her charts, wasn't on her route plan, and definitely wasn't on the short list of worlds she trusted enough to land on without good reason. But her ship's portside stabilizer had made that decision for her, shrieking loud enough mid-flight that she'd been forced to drop out of hyperspace and reroute to the closest port with a functioning repair bay. Tal'ren's Landing wasn't pretty, but it was practical—and practicality had saved her life more than once.

The moment she stepped off the ramp, she regretted it. The air was heavy with exhaust and heat shimmer, the kind that stuck to skin and made sounds feel too loud. Cargo haulers drifted overhead like slow metal whales, and the constant drone of engines vibrated through the ground beneath her boots. Diso was a city that had grown upward for centuries, stacking metal over stone until history was buried under transit routes and market squares. It felt like a place trying very hard to forget what it used to be.

Lyra leaned against a support pillar outside the repair bay, arms crossed as she watched the mechanic disappear inside with her stabilizer module. He had the gait of someone who didn't know the meaning of urgency. She could be here for hours. Maybe longer. The thought made her jaw tighten. She hated being grounded—hated the feeling of her ship being out of reach, caged and silent.

But even that wasn't what put her on edge.

There was something about Diso that didn't sit right. A pressure she couldn't shake. A quiet prickle beneath her ribs she'd felt only a handful of times in her life, always before something she couldn't explain. She'd once convinced herself it was intuition—just instinct, sharpened by experience, nothing more. Lately, though, she wasn't so sure. Lately, it lingered too long to ignore.

She tried. Stars knew she tried. But the sensation held firm, tightening behind her eyes, pulling her attention away from the port and toward the city beyond. A direction, subtle but insistent, like the faintest tug of gravity toward something she couldn't see.

Finally, she pushed off the pillar with a quiet, annoyed exhale. "Fine," she muttered under her breath. "You win."

She slipped into the flow of foot traffic and let her feet carry her where that strange pressure pulled. The port district gave way to broader streets filled with vendors calling out discount prices, travelers arguing over maps, and droids weaving between the crowds, effortlessly balancing crates in servo-claws. Lyra drifted past it all with practiced ease, her gaze flicking between alleyways and archways as the hum beneath her skin intensified.

The city changed as she walked. Neon and durasteel slowly receded into older construction—stone foundations too ancient for the glittering structures above them, walls etched with worn patterns that didn't match the city's current aesthetic. It was like stepping through layers of time, each block peeling back civilization until only the bones of Diso remained.

Lyra slowed, breathing steadying without her meaning to. Whatever had been pulling her…she was close now. Close enough to feel the air shift, heavy and still, like a place holding its breath.

She turned down a narrow street, half-lit and quiet. The noise of the port seemed to fade behind her, swallowed by thick walls and winding corridors that hadn't seen map updates in decades. At the far end of the street, an archway rose from the stone—old, deliberate, and incongruous with the modern beams that had been built around it, as though the city had tried to grow over something it couldn't erase.

Lyra's eyes traced the seams where ancient masonry met new durasteel. This wasn't just old. This was forgotten on purpose. Her chest tightened. The pull inside her sharpened with a clarity she didn't understand. And then she saw him.

A lone figure stood near the base of the archway—still, deliberate, focused. He didn't move, didn't speak, and Lyra didn't approach. She watched from a distance, her steps slowing to nothing as she took in the scene. He wasn't a dockworker. He wasn't a tourist. And he didn't have the air of someone who had wandered here by accident.

She didn't know who he was. She didn't know what he was doing. She only knew that her instincts—those frustrating, impossible instincts—had led her straight to this spot…and straight to him.

Lyra stayed where she was, tension curling low and steady beneath her ribs, eyes fixed on the archway and the man before it. She didn't call out. Didn't announce herself. Didn't dare break whatever strange, quiet pull had brought her to this forgotten corner of Diso.

For a long breath, she stood there. Watching, listening, and feeling the weight of something old stirring beneath her boots. She hadn't come here for mysteries. But it seemed Diso had one waiting for her anyway.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

The world had been in older records, the places few of them went to even the jedi. Really he only knew of the locations because he could pass the bioscanners. A benefit of his maker but it wasn't always a good thing.. the last time he had been in one of the observatories he had killed his master. The outskirts of the city were where he had found himself following the coordinates... at least that was what the computer said. The Jedi Master stood like a statue hewn from living marble, a head taller than any of the guides who were around him. The harsh light glinted off the sweat-sheened muscles of his bare chest and the tight sash that covered the formless eyes.

He was in his absolute prime; every corded fiber of his arms, the thick slabs of his chest and the defined ridges of his abdomen were not for show, but a testament to a life of relentless discipline. He stood not with defiance, but with an unnerving stillness, his hands loose at his sides. His broad shoulders were squared, his head cocked as if listening to a distant song. For him, the world was not dark. His mind, unfettered by sight, expanded through the force as he was moving towards something... and then it came to him. A feeling in the force while he was moving towards it. His hand coming down to touch the ground where he could feel the sensations in the ground.

He was moving almost at a glide while he could feel the port and the city. Her face mostly wanting to ignore it and all of the people so that he wouldn't have to put up with as much noise and distractions. He didn't do his duties as a shadow when there were less councils.. much less saw how many of them acted. He allowed the force to swirl around himself as he could hunt allowing the force to be brought to himself.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra hadn't expected to see anyone out here.

The city's outskirts were quiet enough that her own footsteps sounded too loud, crunching softly over the dust as she followed that same tug that had been gnawing at her since she landed. The noise of the port had faded behind her long ago, swallowed up by the empty stretches of stone and half-buried foundations that marked the city's oldest quarter. She thought she was alone out here. She wasn't.

Her gaze caught on movement before her mind fully processed it—a tall, motionless figure standing among the broken paths where ancient stone met the skeletal remains of modern scaffolding. For a heartbeat, she thought he was carved from the same rock: a statue, impossibly still, sculpted into the shape of a man. But then the light shifted and she saw it wasn't stone at all—it was flesh, bronzed by the sun, marked by sweat and discipline, every line of his form cut with precision as if the world had honed him the way a blade gets sharpened.

He stood with a stillness she had only ever seen in predators and monks—not tense, not poised to strike, simply present in a way that made the air around him feel…aware. Like the world itself bent slightly around him.

Lyra stopped without meaning to, boots rooted to the cracked earth.

Her first instinct was to step back. Her second was to run. Her third—the one that always got her in trouble—was to stare and try to understand what, exactly, she had walked into.

He didn't turn toward her. Didn't shift at her approach. His head tilted instead toward the ground, fingers brushing the surface as though feeling vibrations she couldn't hear. It was the way he did it—calm, deliberate, like the planet whispered secrets straight into his bones—that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Force-user. The thought wasn't spoken, but it felt carved into her mind all the same.

Not the casual brush of a telepath, not the clumsy pulse of a novice. This was different. Old, trained, precise. She could feel him moving through the Force, as others moved through the air, without effort or hesitation. She'd felt Jedi before—or at least people close enough to them—but never like this, never with this kind of gravity.

Lyra swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud her breathing sounded in her own ears.

Whatever he was searching for, it wasn't her. Whatever he was tracking, she had accidentally walked straight into the path of it. Figures. Her life had never given subtle warnings.

She stayed still, keeping the distance between them, not daring to interrupt whatever he was sensing. Something in the ground, something below them, something older than the city itself—she could feel a faint echo of it too, more instinctive than conscious. A pressure that had dragged her across half a district and now hummed beneath her boots like a living thing.

Lyra let out a slow breath.

She hadn't come here for Jedi business. She hadn't come here for ancient secrets or Force-laced ruins or anything taller and more dangerous than a malfunctioning stabilizer.

But the moment she saw him—the way he moved without moving, the way the Force thickened around him like a second skin—she knew exactly what kind of trouble she'd wandered into. It was the kind that didn't let people walk away easily.

So she stayed where she was, hands loose at her sides, heart steadying as she watched the stranger trace meaning into the dust with senses she couldn't begin to understand.

Whatever he was hunting…her instincts whispered she was already part of it. Whether she wanted to be or not.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

The feeling remained... the scents in the air shifting as he sifted through them. Dirt, metal, rock, bone... the taste of stone and tang of older things. Blood, danger and power. Where he needed to go he was not entirely certain but he could feel the force herre. There was always more below the surface of the planets. Their histories had the force influencing them in some way even if it was the negative he knew where they feared or rejected it.... Then there was another scent on the air. Work clothing, female, clean hair. He didn't need to tilt or move his head to look as he found her in the force... his mind following and searching for her. He did and moved quickly but didn't make a sound. His training was one thing but he was naturally light footed.. a hunters instinct to make disturb the environment unless he needed to.

The distance between them shrank, and the effect was different for senses. Not with noise or grime, but with something unsettlingly clean. The air around the powerful, still figure was scented almost subliminally of summer rains, laced with jasmine and peaches a smell that had no business existing in this corner of exhaust and dust. Up close, his unique nature was undeniable; the furred covering as pale as smoke, the edges a tawny hue, sharp as yellow wine. His physical presence cast two shadows: one black and sharp-edged on the ancient stone, and a second, translucent one that seemed to waver in the Force like heat haze. When he shifted, a brief, internal thought played on his lips, a smile more to himself that was gone in a flash, like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge.

He observed her when he was closer though for a moment but held a hand up and then the other in the universal gesture of no harm... well as much as he could. "It is alright. I do not mean harm towards you. I came in search of the remnants of something older then the city." The jedi master said it with a look on his face when he bowed his head.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

The moment he stepped close enough for her to really see him, all rational thought fled her mind in a spectacular, chaotic burst. She'd felt someone approaching—yes—but she hadn't expected this. Not the impossible softness of his fur, pale as smoke and touched in warm gold at the edges; not the impossible scent of rain and jasmine and sweet fruit drifting off him like he carried another world on his skin; not the two shadows his body cast, one mundane and one shimmering like a living heat-mirage in the Force. Her breath caught outright, her heart stuttering into something wild and embarrassed in her chest. Nineteen years of surviving, flying, bluffing, and scraping by had absolutely not prepared her for a figure like him stepping into her space with that kind of quiet, devastating presence.

She didn't step back. She couldn't. Her brain had abandoned the concept of movement entirely.

When he lifted both hands in that universal gesture of peace, she saw them—large, steady, claws retracted, careful—and instead of danger, all she felt was an absurd, swooping awareness that her face was suddenly very, very warm. Her gaze flicked up to his eyes, and the bow of his head only made it worse. Something deep inside her—something instinctive, curious, hopelessly overwhelmed—leaned forward before she consciously decided to move at all.

"I— uh—I…" The words tangled uselessly.

He was close. Close enough that if she reached out—if she just extended her fingers—

She didn't even realize she'd done it until her hand hovered inches from his chest, trembling in the air like that moment in the holo of Captain America stepping out of the pod—pure, raw awe and confusion wrapped into one reckless impulse. She hadn't touched him yet, was barely breathing, but the pull was real, undeniable, the Force humming faintly between them like it wasn't sure whether to warn her or encourage her.

Her fingers finally brushed him—just barely. The texture was nothing like she expected. Warm. Silken. Alive. Her breath hitched audibly.

"I—um—sorry," she blurted, mortified even as she couldn't quite make herself pull away. "You just—you startled me. And you're—you look—different up close. Not bad, different! …you know…impressive. In a…in a very noticeable way."

Her cheeks burned. Every nerve in her body felt like it was lighting up at once.

She forced herself to retract her hand, fingers curling quickly as if she'd been caught doing something forbidden—and maybe she had. "Sorry," she whispered again, softer now, eyes darting anywhere but his. "I've just…never met anyone like you."

Her heart still hadn't settled. Her hand still tingled from the fleeting touch. And the Force—traitor that it was—whispered that this was only the beginning.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

The strangeness from the force was here.. the closer he had gotten the more he could see it and he observed the girl as she seemed to be reacting to him? To the force? She was able to shake it off for a moment as he looked down at her and gave a nod of his head. "It is fine." He said it while looking his head towards her. The small gesture something he didn't give many as the blind didn't really need to worry about eye contact. "I am called Syn a jedi master." He said his name and a title. Good enough for now as his movement was slower to not startle her. Allowing the girl to watch and observe. "I came here searching for something buried, I was not expecting the force to be as strong around here let alone a person."

He said it but stood there and kept his hands at his side. "I can guess that what brought you out here is much the same thing that brought me but there is still much more to go." He straightened himself up while moving a little back to give her the chance to breathe and if needed collect herself. "I am not sure about a few things but I know this. There is danger out here and if what I seek is near then there will be more dangerous things attracted to the power of it. I do not recommend being out here alone if you can help it." He didn't say it in a way that would imply she was incapable more the aging master just giving the advice. Still he offered a dagger thin smirk.

"Though the force was string around you, enough to make these miraluka eyes notice which is rare. I'd ask if you had training but you are young if you were to be traveling alone." He said it while standing there and he waited. Largely to hear her speak with a clear head hopefully but he reduced some of his presence in the force to make it less oppressive. he knew most masters and jedi used excessive control to dampen their presence in the force but it wasn't something that he preferred. Let them know you are coming and it gives them the chance to rethink their choices before running away.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra held her ground when he spoke, though her shoulders went tight at the sound of his title. Jedi Master.
That explained the weight in the air.
Explained the way the world seemed to bend around him.

But knowing didn't make any of this feel less strange.

She exhaled slowly, steadying her pulse, and met the direction of his sightless gaze with cautious clarity. "Lyra," she said quietly. "Just… Lyra. I don't have much else to go with."

He didn't crowd her. Didn't lean closer or press into her space. When he stepped back, she felt her lungs finally unlock. The pressure simmering at the edge of her awareness—quiet, constant, irritating—dimmed just enough that she could think again.

But it didn't vanish.

The ruins behind him still tugged faintly at her ribs, pulling like a thread she desperately wanted to cut. She forced herself to ignore it.

"I didn't come looking for anything buried," she said, brushing a windblown strand of hair from her cheek. "My ship's in for repairs. I was killing time. Then… something felt wrong. Off. Like there was a pressure in my head telling me to move."

Her gaze flicked toward the ancient stone beneath his hand.

"It brought me here," she admitted. "That's all."

When he spoke of danger, he didn't do it like a warning meant to intimidate. It was the voice of someone who'd lived inside danger long enough to recognize its scent before it took shape. Lyra's stance shifted, her fingers brushing the grip of her blaster—habit, not threat.

"I'm used to being alone," she said with a slight, almost dismissive shrug. "Most of the time, it's safer that way. Fewer people to disappoint. Fewer to slow you down."

A pause, a breath.

"But I'm not dumb enough to ignore someone who knows more about the Force than I ever will."

Then he said it—he felt something around her.
And her whole body went stiff.

She looked away, jaw tightening at the implication.

"Look… whatever you think you sensed? It's nothing special."
Her voice stayed even, but there was a guarded edge under it. "I'm not a Jedi. I'm not anything like that."

She rubbed a palm down her thigh, grounding herself.

"I've always had good instincts. That's all. Pilots get feelings sometimes. Gut reactions. You fly long enough, you learn to trust them." A tight shrug. "That's it."

She met his face again, eyes narrowed in wary defiance.

"What brought me out here wasn't the Force. It was—pressure. Or maybe I was restless. Or the city felt wrong." She shook her head. "Don't overthink it. I'm nobody's apprentice. No one trained me. I don't… do any of that."

But the way the air felt—thick, expectant—made her stomach twist.

"Danger?" she echoed quietly. "Yeah. I believe you."

He gave her space, and she took it, drawing in a steadier breath. Her stance remained ready, balanced, unwilling to soften entirely.

"I can take care of myself," she said, softer but still firm. "I've been alone a long time, and it's worked out fine."

Another glance toward the buried archway.

"But if something out here draws predators… then maybe being alone right now isn't the smartest option."

She brushed her hair back, boots crunching lightly as she shifted her weight.

"Just don't get the wrong idea," she added, tone dry. "I'm here because I wandered into a bad part of the city. Not because some mystical pull wanted me involved."

Her eyes lingered on the ruins—on the place her instincts kept dragging her toward.

"And once I know what I'm dealing with, I'm gone. Back to my ship. Back to normal."

If the Force whispered otherwise, Lyra ignored it.

Completely.

"You lead," she finished at last, voice steady. "I'll follow—until I figure out what's pulling us both into this."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave her a look as she spoke mostly of acknowledgement. "I understand." It was simple but she wasn't a force user or at least she wasn't trained. her talk of being a pilot and having instincts was classic but he wasn't one to preach about how all life was part of the force and could feel it. The agreement to come with him even if only so whatever was happening wasn't a risk well he bowed his head. "As you wish." He said it but stood there for a moment while moving. He adjusted his belt and sabers so that the clips were more side and front based while she was behind him. Taking a moment to orientate himself to it where he could feel the strongest feeling within the force itself.

He didn't ask her name, she wanted to see what had brought her and go. He could understand that while he was walking and the older areas gave way to forest and then overgrowth. The broken stone visible beneath roots, leaves and grass that came between cracked. The stone getting olderr while he followed with the force guiding him and only stopped at buildings searching with the force. One hand tapping the ground to make the smallest vibrations that he would be able to follow and feel in the force to map the area. He found a way to go and moved silently towards one of the trees as he started lifting it up and moved it to the side to reveal a hole going down.

"Do you have a rope?" He asked for her to be able to move down when he was looking into it and could sense the bottom of the hole. He crouched over it and offered a place she could come and look down as he was making parts of the hole and area larger. Enough to jump down, the force would let him cushion his fall but she needed or wanted to likely do it on her own which was fine... just needed the line to lower herself down there and it would give them something if they needed to get out in a hurry. "What we want is down there potentially and it is the easiest means to get down there without heavy digging equipment."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra fell in behind him as he adjusted his sabers and belt—and immediately regretted looking up. He was shirtless, the blindfold stark against his skin, every muscle shifting with slow, deliberate precision. Not posed, not showy. Just…there. Unavoidable.

Perfect, she thought sharply. A shirtless Jedi built like a war statue. That's exactly what I needed today.

She kept her face still, but inside she shoved the distraction into a mental box, slammed the lid, and sat on it.

The deeper they walked, the more the ruined outskirts swallowed the city behind them. Syn moved like a man who never questioned a step — blindfolded, listening, feeling the terrain beneath his feet with a certainty she couldn't match. Lyra forced her gaze to stay on the path, not on the way the shifting light caught the lines of his back and shoulders.

Stars, Ventor. Focus. Dirt, trees, forgotten ruins, danger. Not—Her jaw clenched. Not that.

When he touched the ground and the air seemed to tighten around them, she swallowed the urge to stare. When he lifted the fallen tree—effortlessly, like it weighed nothing—she exhaled through her nose, sharp and controlled.

"What in the—" she muttered under her breath, then stopped herself. No point in reacting. He was a Jedi. This was normal for him.

The hole beneath the tree yawned open, cold air drifting up. Lyra leaned in to look, keeping her eyes strictly on the stone—not on him crouched beside it, broad shoulders bending the shadows around him.

"It looks…ancient," she said, voice steady despite the hitch in her chest. "Whatever's down there wasn't meant to be found easily."

When he asked about rope, she seized the task like a lifeline. "Oh—yeah. Rope. I've got rope." Thank the stars.

She dug into her satchel, fingers moving fast, needing something to do besides accidentally staring at him like an idiot. She anchored the line around the trunk, tugging it hard enough to feel the fibers stretch.

"Should hold both our weight," she said, glancing nowhere near his torso. "Unless you're planning to drop straight down again, in which case…I'll meet you at the bottom."

Her tone was dry—armor against the fluster trying to creep into her veins.

She clipped her harness on and stepped beside him, keeping a careful amount of space between them.

"You can go first, or I can," she said. "Doesn't matter to me." She glanced into the darkness, then added, half under her breath: "And if I miss a step down there, it's because the ground is uneven. Not because you're—" She swallowed the rest. "—distracting."

She prayed the blindfold meant he hadn't caught that slip. But somehow, she doubted it.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave her a look for a moment but didn't make any acknowledgement either way. Turning his head to look down when he spoke. "I'll make sure it is fine." He said it and stood up tall and at the ready for a moment. Hands going up as he lept slightly stepping forward and went down into the hole. The air coming up carrying the scent mixed with the old earth before he was free falling. The force coming from him to cushion and slow his fall. One hand going to the wall to be able to guide himself down and moving as he fell quickly enough to create grooves Lyra could use to come down into the hole. His senses going out as he listened to the echoes and the vibrations in the force to develop a mental map of the area.

Then he crouched landing with an impact tremor as he brought a hand down and it touched the ground. The echo rebounding around the hole when he looked up and he couldn't see how far he had went but the air was much cooler down here, stale while he moved with his foot. "It is around ninety seconds to drop if you are going at a middle pace and there are grooves in the stonework if you need a guide." He said it using the force to carry his voice when he was moving to avoid being struck if she dropped down quickly. He would be able to move and catch her with the force or there was the chance she kicked something loose coming down and didn't want to get hit.

He could feel the rest of the hole around himself as the smells of old stone, metal, decay of the plants that came down here... other things from bones and old rotted hair and meat. Creatures that had fallen down and been hurt or things that were thrown down into here. He was reaching into it and he could feel the chill in the air as no heat could reach it from the sun for the moment.. Skittering in the darkness from a thousand bugs and legs before his hand came out and they were leaving quickly. He allowed the air to shift around himself for a moment altering it with the force so it wasn't entirely freezing but would also allow the girl Lyra to come down smoothly.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

The moment Syn stepped off the edge and dropped, the breath caught in Lyra's chest — not from fear for him, but from the sheer effortless confidence of it. One second, he was standing beside her, all steady strength and unreadable calm, and the next, he was gone, swallowed by the dark.

She leaned over the edge just long enough to watch the last trace of motion disappear.
Of course, he made falling into a bottomless ruin look graceful.
Of course he did.

The cooler air drifted up, brushing across her skin, carrying a mix of earth and age and something she didn't want to identify. She swallowed hard and anchored her gloves more firmly before clipping her harness into the rope.

His voice reached her a second later—steady, controlled, carried by something more than acoustics.

Ninety seconds. Middle pace. Grooves in the stone.

"Right," she muttered under her breath. "Simple. Just climb into the creepy hole after the half-naked Jedi who falls on purpose. Totally normal day."

She eased herself over the edge—slow at first—boots finding the first groove Syn had carved on the way down—practical, clean cuts. Of course, he made even his descent useful.

Halfway down, the temperature dropped further, brushing her arms with cold that seeped through the fabric. The smell hit next — old stone, wet decay, the soft musk of things that had died down here long before either of them existed.

Lyra grimaced. "Ugh. Fantastic. Love that."

The rope creaked faintly as she continued downward, breath controlled, keeping pace. She was good at climbs—salvage work made that a necessity—but the constant awareness that Syn was waiting below, silent in the dark, did nothing to help her focus.

Don't think about that. Don't think about him staring up at you. Don't even think about him at all.

She forced her attention onto the next foothold instead.

By the time her boots touched the last few grooves and the ground began to glow faintly from Syn's presence, altering the air, she dropped the final meter with a soft thud. Her boots hit the cool stone beside him.

Lyra straightened, brushing dust from her gloves, absolutely refusing to look impressed with anything—especially not him.

"Could've warned me about the smell," she said dryly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Feels like someone dumped half a menagerie down here over the last few centuries."

She finally glanced at him, a quick look she regretted immediately. Even in the dim, he radiated that same calm command of space, shirtless, blindfold, shifting slightly as he turned toward her.

Lyra dropped her gaze fast, pretending to inspect the floor.

"I'm down," she said, clearing her throat. "Lead the way before I start imagining things moving in the dark." She paused—just a fraction too long—then added: "And…thanks for not dropping anything on my head."

If her heartbeat was louder than she wanted, she pretended it was echoes from the cavern.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He listened as she came down and touched the floor. Standing tall enough to listen to her before he nodded. "There are at least twenty distinctive scents of decay here alone and worse. Watch your footing." He said it with a bow of his head though and was moving into the dark soundlessly. His sight just as good in the dark as the light while instincts told him where the wet stone was. He continued as the chamber led off into a smaller passage that he was rising himself up over branches that had fallen down and bone. Using his boot and hand to balance while he made long strides pushing further and further inwards. The sensation in the force coming to him as it led in deeper.

THe next chamber was smaller but it sloped downwards, letting him grip the wall as he moved and spoke. "There is something wet on the stone and moss growing. It makes the stone slick for stepping." He said it while going further in and downwards. Using the contours of the downward sloping ceiling to guide him with a climb so he was going slow enough and not disturbing anything. He could stop and catch her if she slipped while following deeper. He followed it down when at the bottom there was more things he could smell... and more he could hunt. The sounds moving away from them as her starting climbing up and up on the ceiling offering a hand once he was up there. "It loops up and then back overr. The scents animals are getting stronger of the closer we get."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra stepped aside to let him move ahead, adjusting the strap of her satchel across her shoulder as Syn's voice echoed through the chamber. Twenty distinctive scents of decay. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at that.

"Fantastic," she muttered. "Exactly the kind of thing every pilot dreams of on their day off."

She followed, bootsteps careful, each one placed deliberately where the stone looked dry or slightly raised. The air down here felt thick—cooler than the surface, but stale in a way that made the back of her throat prickle. Her flashlight cut narrow beams through the dark, catching flashes of broken roots and bone.

Syn's silhouette ahead of her was hard not to watch.

Shirtless. Balanced. Moving with a silent confidence that made the space around him feel smaller than it was. Lyra kept her gaze mostly on the ground, but every time he lifted himself over a fallen root or shifted his weight against the wall, her eyes flicked up before she could stop them.

Stars, Ventor. Focus. You're in a hole full of bones. This is not the time.

She cleared her throat quietly, forcing her attention back to her footing.

As the chamber narrowed and sloped downward, she gripped a protruding piece of stone, testing it before committing her weight. Syn's warning about the slick moss was no joke—her boot shifted once, sliding half an inch, and she braced immediately.

"Noted," she said, voice tight but steady. "Trying very hard not to break my neck today."

He moved slowly through the downward stretch, careful, controlled, and Lyra followed his path like it was a navigational chart—matching his steps, avoiding the wet patches, occasionally using the same handholds he'd brushed seconds before.

The smell grew stronger the deeper they went—animal musk, damp fur, old death. She grimaced.

"Really hope whatever lives down here isn't the territorial type."

When Syn climbed up toward the ceiling, Lyra blinked, momentarily thrown by the angle. It took her a second to adjust—then she followed, reaching for the same sections of stone he used to balance himself. She slipped once—not badly, just enough that her heart jumped—but Syn was already paused above her, steady and ready.

She didn't need catching, but the fact that he could have caught her easily did something uncomfortable to her stomach.

"Thanks," she said quietly, taking the last step up. She didn't meet his face. She didn't dare.

He offered a hand to help her onto the higher ledge. Lyra hesitated—just a breath—before taking it. His grip was warm, strong, and annoyingly steady. She released his hand as soon as she had her balance.

"'Animals are getting stronger' is not my favorite sentence you've said today," she said under her breath, scanning the tunnel ahead.

The darkness swallowed sound in strange ways. Something skittered far ahead—claws on stone, multiple legs. Lyra steadied her breathing.

"So…deeper?" she asked, keeping her tone clipped and practical. "Or do we want to talk about what counts as 'animal' down here before we walk straight into it?"

Her voice was calm. Her pulse was not.

And the worst part?

Somewhere in all the fear and focus and dripping stone…she was still stupidly aware of him.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"We could if you want to." He said it and found a place her could hold on with his boots and one hand. The other going to his belt as it pulled a bottle of water in a slip compartment. He offered it for a moment with a small look waiting if she took it and returned it. Either way he spoke while he was looking. "Deeper will be more, I am not hear more air flow which means there may be smaller shafts to the surface but nothing large enough to crawl out of. So this may be one of the few chances to turn back if you do not want to come." He said it while turning his head to look at her and remained for a moment. "The deeper we go the more the force will likely increase in its pressure."

He said it as he could see it, he could feel it going further and waited only enough for her decision before moving. Slowly and carefully towards the lip that went. "There is a drop." He said it and dropped down into the darkness as the skittering became louder... the sound of something clacking for a moment as he could see it coming out fo the wall fast. The jedi masters sniffed scents on the air of rotting things from the pit he had dropped down into. He could see it now in the force when he moved. The crunch of bone under heel as he landed from the high lip and took off at a run through the chamber. Screeches coming for a moment when something heavy was attempting to give chase.

There was hot breath and something else coming when he heard the crashing of two larger things smashing into each other chasing him. The screeches of rage and then of pain that came from flesh and bone being torn into. He lept over a tumbling corpse as he ran and brought himself to the edge of a pit of mud. His jaw clenching for a moment when he came down smashing two fists into the egg sac of the adult which got a scream... his fists digging into the flesh and going in while the putrid scent came but he stayed at it allowing the force to guide him along with momentum down deeper and deeper into he was on the ground. With a pool coming over his head that didn't do much to wash anything off.

He stood there for a moment when the thing was falling over and more things were alerted to his presence in the mud pit. He didn't wait as they rushed. The force guided his hands when he allowed a stillness to wash over him and the visceral combat stayed there. He used the mud in the pit as water was leaking into the cave from above to slip out of the grip of a beast... and then he was behind it and smashing into it. Others skittered away before he stood tall but could feel the force further down now. His senses going to it and the water was washing him off. "It is clear for the moment." He said it standing under the water as it was falling down and using it to get the bits off of himself.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra accepted the water from him before she fully realized what she was doing. His hand brushed hers—warm, steady, unshaken by the descent or the darkness—and she felt a small, traitorous jolt run up her arm. She covered it by immediately tilting the bottle back for a quick drink, letting the cool liquid cut the stale air that clung to her throat. When she passed it back, she kept her expression carefully neutral, refusing to dwell on the quiet intensity behind the way he watched her. "Thanks," she murmured, keeping her voice low and perfectly even, even though her heartbeat had picked up in a way she did not appreciate. "I needed that."

His words about turning back weren't dramatic—they were simply factual, delivered with the calm honesty of someone who meant it as a favor, not a challenge. That somehow made it harder to brush off. She glanced at the narrow space behind them, then at the darkness ahead. Turning back wasn't an option; not for who she was, not with whatever this feeling was dragging her deeper. "I'm not turning back," she said, firm and quiet, letting the sentence stand on its own. She didn't explain herself further. She didn't need to. He seemed to understand, or at least respect her choice, which was more than she expected from a Jedi. The ones she'd heard about in stories didn't usually leave much room for her kind of independence.

But before she could say anything else, before she could even fully brace herself, he said, "There is a drop," and vanished over the ledge. No hesitation. No warning. Just a controlled fall into blackness, his tall, shirtless frame swallowed by the dark before her mind finished processing the movement. Lyra swore under her breath and stepped quickly to the edge, leaning just far enough to hear rather than see the chaos unfolding below. Sounds rose from the depths—violent, echoing, primal. Something skittering. Something slamming. Something screaming. The kind of sounds that made the back of her neck prickle and every survival instinct she possessed shout at her to leave, leave, leave. She gripped the rope tighter, knuckles whitening, trying to picture what the hell he could be fighting down there, and knowing she really didn't want the answer spelled out.

When his voice finally drifted up—calm, steady, as though he hadn't just torn through half a subterranean ecosystem—it snapped her from her frozen moment. "It is clear for the moment." Clear. Sure. Right. Lyra blew out a tense breath and muttered under her breath, "Clear. Fantastic. Love that for us." Her boots searched for the first foothold, and she forced herself into motion, refusing to let fear or imagination slow her pace. The descent was steep and slick, the stone cold beneath her gloves, the rope damp from the air. Twice her boot slipped slightly, once enough to make her stomach drop, but she caught herself immediately. The alternative—falling while a Jedi waited below—was more embarrassing than the danger itself.

The chill deepened as she descended the final stretch, and when her boots hit solid ground, she straightened quickly, brushing dust from her gloves and lifting her chin with practiced nonchalance. She opened her mouth to say something practical—something normal—and then she looked up. And everything inside her stuttered.

Syn stood beneath a thin fall of water, rinsing blood and mud from his arms, shoulders, and the broad planes of his chest. The water traced every line of well-defined muscle with infuriating clarity, glistening under what little light filtered through the cavern. His hair was slicked back from his face, the blindfold darkened and clinging to the sharp structure of his features. And his pants—stars above, why—were soaked enough to cling to him in a way that made Lyra's brain short-circuit for a fraction of a second. She felt heat flood her cheeks so abruptly that it almost stung.

She tore her eyes away so fast her neck protested. Her gaze landed on the wall—damp, mottled stone, perfectly uninteresting—and she stared at it as though it held every answer to every mystery in the galaxy. "Uh—good," she managed, clearing her throat in a way she hoped passed as dust irritation. "Good. Clear. Great. Wonderful." Her voice only wobbled once, but once was too many. She crossed her arms immediately, hoping it would look casual instead of defensive.

"Just…let me know if anything else down here wants to eat us," she added, valiantly pretending she hadn't just seen far more of him than her concentration could responsibly handle. She dared a glance back—pure reflex, pure mistake—and instantly looked away again when she realized the water was still streaming over him, still outlining things she absolutely did not need catalogued in her memory. Stars, get it together, Ventor. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She wished he would put a shirt on, or the water would stop, or the universe would grant her even one moment free of visual distraction.

She cleared her throat again, this time a little more determined, and kept her focus resolutely forward. "Whenever you're ready," she said, regaining her steady tone. "We should keep moving before whatever made those sounds decides it wants a second round."

She didn't look back again. Not on purpose. Not when she could help it.

Unfortunately…she was already very aware that she wouldn't forget the image anytime soon.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave her a nod of his head with that. "They shouldn't be coming back for now, they don't have the numbers." He said it as he finished up and moved shaking some of the water off before he was walking over to her and looking down. "You are doing well, the good news is we are that much closer to where we need to get. The bad news is that water is a sign there is some river or water chamber above us so a blaster might crack destabilize the rocks and we could be drowned if we are unlucky." He said it as a means to distract her... she was certainly interesting. He stood there for the moment though while looking towards the way they needed to go.

"THe other good news is that there is less scent of decay and rot... more sulfer and geothermal vents. So it is going to get hot down here." He said it and if there was an observatory like on the other worlds then it made sense to tap into a geothermal vent. For sustained power at least. He offered her another look as he turned to walk. "Watch your footing, there is the internal gunk and other parts strewn about." He could smell all of it as he moved.. allowing the force to guide him into a tight space as it remained dark but the air shifted. The tang of metal came from the stone as well as the scent of paints. The standard type you would use to denote locations and dangerous areas.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra kept her eyes fixed on a particular, extremely safe section of cavern wall while Syn finished rinsing off beneath the thin waterfall. She listened to the sound of water striking stone, listened to him shift his weight, listened to each movement that told her he was coming close, and did everything in her power not to turn her head. It was ridiculous how aware she was of him; not in a dramatic or swooning way, but in a deeply inconvenient biological way she had no intention of acknowledging out loud. So when he stepped toward her, dripping water from his shoulders and shaking droplets from his hair in a way that absolutely did not help her mental stability, she forced herself to breathe slowly and school her expression into something resembling unimpressed professionalism.

She finally looked up when he spoke, meeting his blindfolded gaze—or at least the place where she assumed his gaze would have been if he could see. His voice was steady, confident, grounded in a way the darkness wasn't. "They shouldn't be coming back for now; they don't have the numbers." It was the kind of reassurance that came from experience rather than optimism, and Lyra found a small knot of tension uncoiling despite herself. He shook a last bit of water off before walking over, and she had to stop herself from taking a reflexive step back — not from fear, but from the sudden unwanted awareness of how close he was and the faint, clean scent of water and stone clinging to him now that the rot was washed away.

"You're doing well," he said, and the quiet sincerity of it nearly made her look away again. Compliments weren't something she handled gracefully under normal circumstances, much less while standing in subterranean death tunnels next to a shirtless Jedi. Her brows rose slightly as he continued, explaining the danger of the river above them, the unstable stone, the potential of drowning if they were careless with blaster fire. Practical. Logical. And it helped—gave her something tangible to latch onto that wasn't the distracting line of his shoulders. She nodded, folding her arms tightly. "Good to know," she muttered. "Exactly what I needed to hear down here—that we might accidentally trigger an underground tidal wave."

He went on, describing the change in scent—less decay, more sulfur, geothermal heat. She listened carefully, committing the information to memory. Traveling with him meant trading visuals for senses she didn't have, and she respected that. It also meant enduring moments like this, when he tilted his head toward her again, and she found herself too aware of the soft echo of water still dripping from his hair along the lines of his chest.

"Hot," she repeated under her breath, more to ground herself than anything. "Great. Swamp rot behind us, steam bath ahead. Really checking all the boxes."

He turned and resumed moving forward, deeper into the narrowing tunnel. Lyra followed close enough not to lose him, far enough not to accidentally brush against his arm or back — she wasn't sure which outcome she wanted less. His warning came next: "Watch your footing, internal gunk and other parts strewn about." She grimaced but nodded, lifting her boot carefully over the slick remains of whatever creatures he had dealt with in the dark. She didn't see the details—didn't want to—but the faint squelch and the metallic tang in the air told her more than enough.

"I'm watching," she murmured, stepping lightly, keeping her balance as the space began to constrict. The air thickened with heat, and the faint scent of old metal and paint met her nose—human-made, structured, intentional. Her pulse quickened not from nerves this time, but from recognition.

"Smells like someone built something down here," she said quietly, running her fingers along the stone where a faintly smoother patch suggested old construction. Her voice lowered, instinctive. "If this is geothermal…could be power routing. Infrastructure. Maybe even—"

She cut herself off, swallowing the rest.

Whatever they were walking toward…she could feel it. Not the Force—she didn't want that word—just pressure, just something tightening in the air and in her chest.

Something waiting.

And she hated how much steadier she felt walking into it with him at her side.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave her a nod as she said what it was. "Yes, it is hopefully what I came here for. An observatory that was used to corrupt an ancient jedi temple. THey were scattered and filled with objects of powers, fetishes of the darkside, treasures of the lightside and in some cases." He said it as he stopped crouching only to touch the ground. "Sometimes they were used to hold the remains of people." He could feel the force getting stronger while he moved only stopping at the edge of water as it was pungent... the smell of rotten eggs was throughout the air. He gave a small look of disgust as it flooded his senses themselves for a moment. Backing up a little and he looked up.

"The best way across will be the ceiling but it is not ideal for grip." He was looking more at it and jumped for a moment.. his clawed nails digging into the stone of it for a moment. He held himself up there while testing it with a nod of his head. Then was dropping down silently as he could feel the force around himself. Expanding it outwards to push the steam and sulfur away so that they had an area to breathe clearly as the water was boiling. He stayed there in the dark for a moment while only standing in a position so she could see him and hear but he could still defend if need be. "You may need to hang on so we can cross." He said it while adjusting his belt and sabers.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra stood there staring at him — dripping, shirtless, calm as a carved pillar — and for a moment her brain refused to cooperate. He wanted her to hang onto him. Physically. As in: wrap herself around a Jedi master's torso like some desperate vine because the only other option was boiling sulfur death.

Absolutely not.
Or… absolutely yes, because what other choice did she have?

She swallowed hard, trying to smother the heat crawling up her neck.
"Can't you just— I don't know—Force me across?" she muttered, gesturing vaguely at the poisonous water. "You're the Jedi here. Isn't that, like, your whole thing?"

He gave no immediate answer.
Just that steady, patient stillness.

Lyra's mouth moved faster than her judgment.

"Oh, come on, it can't be that hard." She lifted her hands, wiggling her fingers in the most exaggerated, mocking-magical gesture imaginable. "You know—woooo—Jedi magic. Lift-and-glide. Easy."

And then, because the universe delights in humiliating her, she actually tried to do the gesture like she meant it, flicking her wrists upward with a pretend-serious frown.

Nothing happened.

Not a twitch.
Not a wobble.
Syn didn't even shift his weight.

He just stood there — impossibly steady, impossibly composed, impossibly there — while Lyra's attempt fizzled out like a bad party trick.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Lyra's stomach dropped somewhere into the sulfur pool.

"Oh stars," she muttered under her breath, dragging both hands down her face. "That was… that was stupid. I can't believe I—I wasn't actually—" She dropped her hands and pointed accusingly at the air. "That was a joke. A joke. I wasn't seriously trying to… Force-lift you. Maker."

She turned half away, mortified, wanting to kick herself straight back up the tunnel.

"Stars above," she whispered, "kill me now."

Syn remained perfectly still.
Perfectly calm.
Perfectly unbothered.

Which somehow made it worse.

Lyra inhaled sharply and squared her shoulders, refusing to crumble completely.

"…fine," she muttered at last. "If the only way across is clinging to your—" her hand waved vaguely at his very unfair physique, "—your Jedi lumber frame, then let's just get it over with before I die of embarrassment or toxic steam."

She still didn't look at his face.
Couldn't.
Not yet.

Not after that.

She forced her voice level, crisp, professional.

"Just— tell me where to hold on. And I swear, if you ever mention that finger-waggle thing again, I'm jumping into the sulfur on purpose."

Her pulse pounded.
Her cheeks burned.
And she did everything in her power to look like a pilot facing danger…

Not a young woman quietly losing her mind over a shirtless, stoic Jedi in a boiling underground ruin.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

The jedi master listened to her speak.. even move in the force as his face just continued to watch for the moment. She seemed to be going over it in her head and he debated the best way to explain the force whooshing thing to her. Easy to do but he wouldn't be able to shield them from the rising sulfur that they would be breathing in which was just above the skin and created by the force user. He waited and with her acceptance he moved forward and spoke placing one hand on her shoulder as he spoke. "We will be fine." He said it and moved his hands from her shoulders to guide her hands as he crouched down just enough.

Lacing them behind up to the elbows so she was secured with her head at the crook of his neck. His hands moving her legs to latch them over the sabers clasped at his belt like a makeshift way to distribute her weight. Then he was effortlessly rising up and directing his attention to the force. The Adiabatic shield encasing them as it went from his skin to wrap around hers filtering the air to not burn their lungs. The jedi master flexed his hands for a moment and crouched leaping up as he grabbed the ceiling. He moved as his claws dug into the rock bringing him up a little more. "Hold tight." He spoke it into her shoulder letting the reverberation of his voice be more calming.

Then he was moving with the hand over hand climbing across it. Grabbing at the grooves and digging in where he needed to. Crevices he could follow as he was going across and the pool below got wider and wider but it also started to shift and change. The water deepening in some places and going shallow in others. The cave illuminating some as they went across from light coming in where the smoke wasn't obscuring it. A turn above allowing him to come over towards a metal platform that was over the pool. The scent of metal and paint stronger here as he looked in the force and moved in further to be careful about it. Away from the parts above the waters.

Then he was dropping down soundlessly. A crouch for a moment but he moved one hand to wrap around the waist of Lyra and ease her to relax so he could lift her down. Allowing her to stand when he waited there for only a moment but spoke. "This place has power and technology, you are a pilot you said. Would you be able to work on the control panels for the doors if we encounter them." He said it while moving back a little before he walked over to touch the metal wall and allowing the force to go through and penetrate it. The force showing him more of the facility and it was still lower... the facility built on the older stones.