Private A Quiet Pull

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until his hand settled on her shoulder.

The contact was steady, grounding, and far too gentle for someone who had just torn through a nest of monsters and wrestled an egg sac to paste. The moment his fingers guided her arms up, positioning them as if she weighed nothing at all, her heart lurched hard enough that she almost swore aloud. She let out a shaky breath instead, trying to pretend she wasn't aware of every point of contact—shoulders, forearms, his chest, the heat of his skin through damp air.

And then he shifted her legs into place, hooking them around the sabers at his belt, and her brain promptly turned into static. Maker. This was happening. She was actually being carried like this, by him.

Her face pressed instinctively into the crook of his neck as he rose to full height, and she felt the deep, steady rumble of his voice reverberate through his skin when he said, "Hold tight." It did absolutely nothing to help her focus.

The air changed around them—cooler, filtered, breathable—and she felt the strange shimmer of the Force wrap over her skin like an invisible shield. It wasn't overwhelming, or bright, or painful. It was just…there. Warm, protective, humming faintly like a memory she didn't have a name for.

She held tight, because what else could she do? The alternative was falling into boiling sulfur, and she refused to die in a cave while wrapped around a shirtless Jedi like some delirious barnacle.

Syn's leap to the ceiling nearly jolted a gasp out of her—the sudden rush upward, the powerful coil and release of his muscles, the claws digging into stone with a sharp scrape. She locked her legs tighter without meaning to, breath catching as he began to move hand over hand along the cavern ceiling.

He climbed with terrifying ease, each movement precise and quiet, as though the weight of another person barely mattered. Lyra tried not to think about the shape of him beneath her arms or the absolute stability of his grip as they moved across the darkness.

At least the shield kept the sulfur from burning her lungs. Small mercies.

Light flickered ahead as they reached a turn in the ceiling, shadows dancing across metal beams and stone. She focused on that—anything but the warmth of his shoulder brushing her cheek or the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

When he finally dropped onto the metal platform, the landing was so smooth she barely felt the impact until his arm slipped around her waist, steadying her as he lifted her off him and set her back onto her own feet. Her legs remembered how to function after a moment—barely.

She stepped back quickly, clearing her throat, willing her pulse to slow.

"Yeah," she managed, brushing dust off her palms as if that might hide the fact that her hands were still trembling. "I can handle control panels. Doors, systems, anything that hasn't completely rusted through. I've worked with worse on salvage runs."

Her voice steadied as she forced herself to focus on the walls—the metal, the circuitry, the promise of something ancient and hidden beneath the new structure.

She didn't look at him. Couldn't yet. Not when the memory of how close they'd been was still burning hot under her skin.

"But, uh—" she added, clearing her throat again, "maybe…warn me next time before you decide to scale a cavern ceiling at full speed."

She didn't dare say more. Didn't trust what might slip out if she did.

Instead, she nodded toward the corridor ahead, stepping closer to the nearest panel. "I'll see what I can get open."

And if her voice sounded a little too firm, a little too focused, well…that was better than letting him hear the way her heart still hammered in her chest.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave her a nod of his head. Staying while she went to work on the panel but he was focusing on the metal for the moment He allowed her to work upon the control panel and get the doors to start opening. The hiss there as the air rushed into the observatory. The jedi masters head twisting a little before he moved over to be careful with a sense for a moment. He was reaching in with the force and going over more of it as he made a small face and reaction. "Be careful inside, some of the older things still have power and might reactivate with people there." It was a danger and he knew at the end of the hall as the lights were coming on the armored figure with a black plate and red suit was there.

The droids were a danger with power but without orders they were sentries. He moved in quietly but was going to the walls as he spoke. "They built it on top of an old temple, where the force was strongest. To corrupt it which would in turn corrupt the creatures near and then the planet itself. Like a festering wound." He crrouched finally and spoke while feeling the force stronger the deeper they could go down. For the moment though he waas moving while holding one hand back to hopefully indicate to go behind him. "This is something I know well at least, they did experiments in other locations like this... made things the galaaxy would come to fear."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra knelt beside the panel, brushing dust from its surface with her sleeve. The metal was old—far older than the outer structure—and the wiring beneath had the unmistakable smell of heat decay and time. But the interface still had power, faint but present, which meant she could coax something useful out of it. Her fingers moved with practiced precision, bridging connections, rerouting energy, overriding corroded relays until—

A sharp hiss split the air, and the heavy doors shuddered open. A rush of stale, trapped air washed over her, cool and foul enough to sting her nose. She winced and rose to her feet, wiping her hands against her trousers.

Syn's reaction—small, subtle, but unmistakable—made something cold settle under her ribs.

"'Be careful' usually means something awful is waiting," she muttered under her breath, but she stepped closer to him anyway, instinctively aligning her pace with his.

As the lights flickered on down the hall, she froze. At the far end, a shape resolved from the dim—tall, armored, unmistakably hostile even in stillness. Black plates, red underlay. A design she didn't recognize, but didn't need to. The threat was universal.

She swallowed once, forcing her voice steady.

"Great. Love that. Exactly what I wanted to see down here."

But she eased behind Syn when he motioned, not arguing, not pretending pride was worth getting killed. His warning about dormant systems stuck in her mind—old machinery sometimes came alive with a pulse of power, and old weapons even more so.

Her eyes tracked the droid's silhouette as the hall lit inch by inch, each glow strip cutting through the darkness like a slow, deliberate reveal.

When Syn spoke of temples, corruption, and festering wounds, her stomach twisted. She had never been inside anything like this, but the moment he said "wound," she felt it—the pressure she'd tried to ignore earlier tightening in her chest, pulling her deeper. The same pull that had dragged her from the surface to here.

She hated that it made sense. Hated that it felt familiar. Hated that Syn could probably sense that reaction.

"I…don't like that I can feel what you're talking about," she admitted quietly, her voice low to keep it from echoing. "It's like the air's too thick, or the room is holding its breath."

Just enough honesty to keep him from thinking she was reckless. Not enough to admit the real truth.

The deeper they moved, the stronger the pressure became—not just in her head, but in her bones, in the back of her throat, in some part of her she refused to name.

She kept her hand near her blaster as she followed him, steps soft on the ancient metal.

"So this place corrupts everything near it…" she murmured, eyes flicking again to the dormant sentinel down the hall. "Does that include people?"

Lyra didn't look at him when she asked. Didn't want him reading the question she wasn't ready to ask.

She tightened her jaw and stepped closer behind him, ready to do whatever she had to—to keep herself alive, to keep up, and to keep the strange, rising pressure inside her from swallowing her whole.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"Given enough time and their disposition. Corruption of the spirit is something much more difficult." He said it passing the sentry as it remained there. Sparring it a look while he peered into it and there was always the chance but it seemed hollow instead... just a suit before he was slipping into a room for the two of them to look around. "I know you do not like acknowledging the force within you. You are not a jedi Lyra but all who live are connected to it... the difference is that some feel it stronger then others, some feel it weaker and some a rare few may feel it in places of nexus, of vergence. Where the force is stronger then normal."

He said it with a nod of his head while he was moving around the room. "These places though will try and mess with your head, try to make you doubt yourself or get lost if you let them. They were made by a dangerous man and used to create, house and preserve some of his horrors." He was not looking around the room he couldn't see the interior consoles or tubes.. but he could feel them. Experiments preserved in tubes, flickering datastreams and casket like stasis pods with mummified bodies in it.. he could smell them and the dust, the stale air... but also the underlying scents of desperation and pain. He stayed there but was feeling through the doors for movement within the facility.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra followed him past the sentinel, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder as the black-armored thing faded into the dim light behind them. It didn't move. Didn't track them. Didn't breathe. But its presence stuck under her skin like a splinter, and she was relieved when the hallway widened into a chamber.

Relief evaporated fast.

The moment she stepped inside, something cold crawled down her spine. The air felt heavier here—thicker, older, tainted with dust and stale chemicals. She didn't see what Syn felt through the Force, but she didn't need to. The outlines were enough. Tubes lined the walls, cracked or intact, filled with cloudy residue. Console lights flickered weakly. Stasis pods sat like open coffins, some with shapes inside that once might've been people. Or pieces of them.

Lyra's throat tightened, and she forced a breath through her teeth.

"Maker…" she whispered, barely audible.

Her hand hovered near her blaster. Instinct—not training—warned her to stay close, to keep him between the unknown and herself. And she hated how grateful she was for the solid presence of him nearby, even if she'd never admit it aloud.

Syn's voice pulled her back, steady as always, cutting through the rising tension in her chest.

When he said her name—"you are not a Jedi, Lyra"—she felt something electric move through her. Not comfort. Not an accusation. Something in between. She dragged a hand across her face and swallowed.

"I don't… want to feel it," she muttered, eyes fixed on the nearest stasis tube. "And I sure as hell didn't ask for any of this."

She stepped closer to one of the consoles, keeping her movements small and careful. The flickering lights reflected faintly against her eyes as she examined the interface—systems dead, others cycling, others locked behind corrupted code. Her skin prickled with the sensation Syn was describing, like the room was pressing thought after thought into her head to watch her flinch.

His explanation of nexus points and vergences made her mouth go dry.

"Well, that explains why everything down here feels… wrong," she said quietly. "Like it's leaning on me. Trying to get inside my head. I've never felt anything like it."

She pressed her palm lightly to a console, more to steady herself than to use it. The metal was cold enough to sting.

When he continued—speaking of places that warp the mind, of horrors built by a dangerous man—Lyra felt the room tilt beneath her feet not physically, but emotionally. She tore her eyes from a half-collapsed pod before the remnants inside forced her imagination any further.

"So you're telling me this place was designed to make people lose themselves," she said, voice low. "Great. Love that for us."

She tried to sound dry, composed, sarcastic—but her voice cracked slightly at the end. She hoped he didn't notice.

She stepped closer to him—not touching, but closer than comfort allowed. Something about the darkness, the smell of decay, and the quiet hum of Force pressure made distance feel stupid right now.

Finally, she looked up at him, brow furrowed.

"…How do you walk through places like this and stay steady?" she asked, softer. Not accusing. Honest. "Because I feel like the walls are breathing, and I'm not even the Force-trained one here."

Her fingers curled and uncurled at her side.

"And before you say it's because you're a Jedi—" She exhaled, frustrated and scared, trying not to show it. "—that doesn't help me much when this place is already trying to crawl under my skin."

A beat.

"Tell me what to do so I don't…fall into whatever this place wants."

Not a plea. A request. A survival instinct. And a rare admission of trust.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"His attention remained on her while he spoke and stood tall but he was also mentally debating it. "Places like this are meant to break many in different ways. This one was specific to break the jedi of the temple below... seal them in, corrupt their water, their minds constantly assaulted with dark impulses and thoughts. Their resistance meant to be washed away to make acolytes. In others there were women, mothers made to have children in the corruption. To create children who would serve purposes that were much darker. I am a jedi now but nine hundred years ago when my father made me, when he made places like this." He held his hands out to indicate.

"Back then he was just a monster and I have spent several lifetimes trying to fix many of the atrocities. Resisting every urge and day which is all we can do. FOr you though it will be easier, when you get out of here and away it will help." The jedi master said it while he got a little closer but was extending his force energies around in a barrier. One hand out so she could have it extend to her with a look. "I can make a barrier to help but it is proximity. So you would have to be close to be within it." He said it but allowed the force to maintain itself around him... then project outwards with his aura and power. "The alternative would be mental shield exercises."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had thought she was prepared for whatever he was going to say. She really had. This place already felt wrong—thick with a kind of old, buried malice that pressed against her thoughts like a cold hand on the back of her neck. She'd understood, in a vague surface-level way, that it was dangerous. That something dark had been done here. But Syn's voice did not paint vague things. His words landed with the weight of truth worn down over centuries, truths carved into him the way the stone around them had been carved by water and time.

Seal them in. Break their minds. Corrupt their water. Twist mothers into vessels. Shape children into weapons.

Lyra felt her stomach tighten, breath catching on the stale air as a chill ran down her spine. This wasn't a battlefield or a disaster site. It wasn't some abandoned ruin reclaimed by nature. This place had been designed to hurt people. Made with intention. With knowledge. With purpose.

She wrapped her arms lightly around herself, suddenly aware of every whisper of cold air against her skin.

But all of that—the cruelty of the place, the horror of its purpose—still wasn't what stopped her heart.

It was when Syn said nine hundred years.
And when my father made me.

Her head lifted sharply, eyes widening despite herself. She stared at him—not the towering body, not the intimidating grace, not the power that radiated off him like heat from a forge—but at the man beneath all of it. The man who said such a thing with the calm resignation of someone who had carried it across lifetimes.

Her chest tightened, something hot and aching blooming under her ribs.

Nine hundred years.
Not ancient—mythic.
A living remnant of a past no archive could ever fully hold.

And yet here he stood, steady and solid in front of her, speaking gently to her as though she were the fragile one. She SHOULD have been afraid of him. Or awestruck. Or cautious, at the very least. But instead she was struck by something far more inconvenient: a fierce, sudden swell of empathy—and something warmer she refused to name.

It didn't help that he was still shirtless. Or that the dim light caught the angles of his shoulders, the defined lines of his torso, the scars etched in ways that told stories older than most civilizations. It didn't help that she found him infuriatingly, painfully attractive in a way that made her want to throttle The Maker for giving her eyes.

Her voice, when it finally emerged, came quieter than she intended.

"…Syn," she said, the name falling out with far more reverence than she was comfortable with. "That's… stars, that's not something people just say."

She took a breath—slow, steadying, because anything faster would shatter her composure entirely—and forced herself to speak without sounding like her pulse was trying to escape her body.

"What happened here… what your father did… what he made…" She shook her head, swallowing hard. "I can't imagine surviving something like that. I can't imagine choosing to stand against it for centuries. Most people—most Jedi—would have broken a hundred times over."

Her gaze flicked away, then back again, drawn to him despite every effort to maintain her balance.

"You're stronger than you think," she murmured. "Stronger than anyone else I've ever met."

And then he stepped closer.

Lyra's breath stalled as the Force barrier expanded, a cool, shimmering envelope of protection settling around her. The oppressive weight of the nexus lifted from her shoulders like a storm cloud peeling back from the sun. Her lungs opened, her thoughts cleared, and the whispering in the stone seemed to fall silent.

But stepping into that shield meant stepping closer to him—close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, close enough to hear the subtle depth of his breathing over the faint hum of distant machinery. Too close.

The Maker was cruel.

"…Right," she managed, her voice only barely steady. "Closer. That makes sense. That's… fine."

She stepped fully into the range of his aura, the sensation enveloping her like stepping into a warm current. Her heart reacted immediately, pounding so loudly she feared for a moment he might hear it, though he gave no sign of noticing.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, a subtle gesture to keep them from shaking.

"Just… tell me how close I actually have to be," she said, a thread of dry humor slipping in despite everything. "Because if this place starts whispering in my head again, I'm going to make a very undignified noise, and I'd prefer to limit the number of times that happens in front of someone who has literally lived nine centuries."

She lifted her gaze to him—slowly, cautiously—and instantly regretted it. Between the closeness, the warmth of the barrier, the exhausted adrenaline, and the overwhelming presence of him, she felt heat crawl across her cheeks again.

She looked away before it became too obvious.

"So… proximity it is," she said quietly. "Lead the way. I'll stay close."

Too close, probably.

But she didn't move away.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He listened to her and gave a bow of his head, there was while foolish at times something to be said about hearing things from others. He wasn't going to go weak in the knees over it but it certainly reaffirmed itself even if only like a pebble in an ocean. The jedi master standing there as he pushed the shield out enough to be close but not obscenely close. Under two meters for a barrier was an impressive feat to sustain for longer then some fights. He extended more of it when she was there but only spoke. "Perhaps but it is important to know. I wouldn't want you being suspicious later how I know so much about a place like this." He said it and indicated everything around them.

There was also the trust factor, she was trusting him when he said things, he should show that same level of trust. That same level of reciprocal would be needed as he was moving towards the wall and floor. "The sentry droid is a messenger, ancient now but they were dangerous if you interfered with its mission. If it isn't moving now it will when we are done or can finally test that power reserve it had." He said it but tapped the wall before taking the saber from his belt and holding the hilt. Adjusting it into a reverse grip as the snap-hiss came with a white blade slicing into the wall. He was carving a hole through into another chamber much the same and moved towards the floor making a hole down into more stone works.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra felt the barrier settle around her like a second skin—cool, steady, quieting the oppressive pressure that had been clawing at her senses since they first stepped inside. Even with that distance he tried to keep between them—respectful, careful, deliberate—she could still feel the way his presence filled the space. Not overwhelming, but unmistakable. A constant hum of power threaded through centuries of experience, wrapped in a calm she could not begin to replicate.

It should have unnerved her. It should have made her step back. Instead, it made her heart skip an unhelpful, traitorous beat.

The Maker was testing her, she decided grimly. That had to be it. Some cosmic trial where a very inexperienced young woman was forced to remain lucid around a shirtless, carved-from-stone Jedi master in a haunted temple lab full of horrors, all while pretending she was totally, completely unaffected.

She cleared her throat and forced her thoughts into something resembling coherence.

"Suspicious isn't really my thing," she said, aiming for level and landing somewhere just shy of breathless. "And considering what this place already feels like… honestly? Knowing the truth is better than imagining worse."

And she meant it. Better to know than to guess. Better to understand than to let fear fill in the blanks. Syn's honesty wasn't something she expected—but it was something she respected. Deeply.

She watched him move, every motion controlled and deliberate, the barrier shimmering faintly between them. When he mentioned the sentry, her gaze flicked toward the unmoving form in the hallway. A chill crawled up the back of her neck.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, arms crossing before she forced them back down at her sides. "Ancient murder-droid that wakes up when it feels like it. That's… exactly what today needed."

But her eyes went back to Syn almost immediately, drawn as if by gravity.

He approached the wall, adjusting his grip on the saber. The white blade ignited with a snap-hiss that echoed through the chamber, its glow cutting through the dark and reflecting starkly off the stone. Lyra swallowed hard—not out of fear, but because something was arresting about watching him work. Something that tugged at her chest in ways she refused to analyze.

He was powerful, yes. But also steady. Careful. Purposeful. A storm wrapped in discipline.

She stepped closer—just a pace—to stay firmly within the protective radius of the barrier. Her fingers brushed the cold metal console beside her, grounding herself.

"…I appreciate you telling me," she said quietly, eyes on the hole he was carving but attention fixed unmistakably on him. "About your past. About all of this. You didn't have to. Most people would've kept it close."

Her tone softened even further, almost without her permission.

"And… I'm glad you didn't."

That admission burned her cheeks, but she didn't take it back.

When he cut through the wall and then into the floor, she leaned slightly to peer into the darkened space below, though she kept a safe distance from the edge.

"Guess we're going deeper," she murmured, exhaling slowly. "Figures. Nothing in places like this is ever on the top floor."

A beat. A beat where she felt the Force hum faintly beneath her ribs—a beat where Syn's presence steadied her more than she wanted to admit. She straightened her back, forcing her voice into something steady. "Just tell me when to follow," she said. "I'll stay close."

Too close, probably. But she wasn't stepping out of that barrier for anything.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave a nod of his head to her with that... looking down the hole. "It isn't as far down. The water at the bottom though I can't tell how deep but it is safe." He said it while looking for the moment and then clipping his saber on his hip. Allowing him to jump down as he fell into the water and curled up to twist so he dived into the waters below. He plunged into it and held himself for a moment when he touched the bottom. The barely audible sound of a splash coming before he was allowing the force to go through the water and he could sense areas of the lower temple and cave were flooded. No movement in the waters but he came up breaking the surface of the water while he looked up.

"It is deep enough to drop." He said it while moving and there was darkness, he was able to smell the rusted metal of torch sconces before moving to the side so that Lyra would be able to drop down. His feet moving in the water while she would be able to drop down and he went back under the waters to search around. His claws digging into the floor while he crawled along the floor searching. The channels and small current circulating as it went through passageways where he could feel there were small pockets of air as he came up. Timing i for himself and where it came out into the main chamber. He was moving through the water quietly as he spoke.

"The passage is over here, there are pockets of air along the way." He said it waiting for a moment to let her get close and oriented to the water and darkness again. Turning his attention around when he offered a hand to lead the way so she could follow. The areas deeper in he was sensing more water and less things around them. He moved for a moment then dove down into the water and was leading the way through as he gripped the wall to move at a followable pace through it towards the air pocket. The older stonework with open passages and flooded rooms where remains of bones floated suspended in the water.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra stared down into the hole, already feeling the first prickling flicker of dread crawl up her spine. Water. Of course, it was water. Because why wouldn't this ancient nightmare-labyrinth include a plunge into freezing darkness that would soak her from head to toe?

The Maker was absolutely punishing her.
For what, she didn't know — but the sentence was clearly severe.

Syn hit the water below with barely a splash, the faint sound rising like a whisper. She leaned out over the edge and caught the faint glint of movement as he resurfaced, his voice echoing up through the dark shaft.

"It is deep enough to drop."

Of course it was.

Lyra closed her eyes for a breath, muttered something under her breath that was definitely not a prayer, then steeled herself. She backed up two steps, took one more steadying inhale, and jumped.

The fall was quick, but the impact—

Cold.
Shockingly, brutally cold.

The water wrapped around her like a second skin, biting into her limbs as she plunged deeper than she expected before kicking hard and rising back up. She broke the surface with a gasp, hair plastered to her neck and face, clothes instantly clinging to every line of her body.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

She swallowed a groan and shoved wet strands from her eyes, very pointedly not looking at Syn for a full three seconds. Because if she looked now—if she caught even a glimpse of that shirtless, sculpted form half-submerged in water—she would combust from sheer cosmic unfairness.

The Maker was laughing. She could feel it.

Finally, she forced herself to glance his way, cheeks burning hotter than the geothermal vents above.

"This is… fantastic," she muttered, voice dripping with dry misery. "Exactly how I wanted today to go."

But she swam closer anyway—because what else was she going to do? Drown out of stubbornness?

She reached him in a few strokes, stopping when his silhouette loomed just ahead, the faint light catching on droplets sliding down the curve of his jaw, over the breadth of his shoulders, down—

No.
Nope.
Not looking there.
Absolutely not.

She looked—very firmly—at the stone wall behind him.

He gestured toward a darker stretch of water, where the faintest hint of carved stone vanished into a submerged passage. When he offered his hand, self-assured and steady, she hesitated for all of half a heartbeat before taking it. His grip was warm against her cold, and somehow that made everything worse.

"Right," she said quietly, swallowing down her fluster. "Lead the way. Before this water freezes me solid."

The barrier was still active—she could feel it, even here, soft against her skin like a warm pressure. Without it, she suspected the oppressive weight of the place might have crushed her by now. She clung to that sensation as he dove beneath the surface again.

Lyra took one more steadying breath, tightened her grip on his hand, and followed him down into the tunnel.

The Maker really was testing her.
And she was going to scream into her pillow later.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

The movement through the tunnel was two fold, ascend into the air pocket long enough for a breath and then movement to the next. The passages of the temple leading the way through itself until it opened into a larger cave area. The water still chilled but there were gnarled branches of trees. Roots this far down and the cave itself was massive as it ascended upwards. With overhands and platforms of stone there it looked like battles had taken place. The remains around showing signs of self harm as they were sealed and flooded in here. The jedi master was moving around as he looked and rested a hand on the stone.

"They fled into here when the flooding was happening. The chamber is sealed by all looks of it, a massive shaft that leads up but isn't made to be scaled. It just allows the air to come into the temple and later the facility on top of it." He was looking up as the massive shaft. "You can find a few who tried to climb but they didn't make it and so the ones who were down here ended their own lives before they were corrupted. The stones reek of old blood starting to corrupt itself. Then the facility came above and they started using it on people from the world itself and whatever else they brought here. The intake for the air is here and we can ascend the shaft up to the surface."

He took a moment though as he was looking up but then looked back. "But there is a dangerr, we should not proceed like this. Water logged clothing will only slow us and cause whatever is in the water to be around. We'll need to change or dry it first." He said it casually while taking a pouch compartment from his belt and opening it as a bar came out. The crystal of it gleamed when he turned it on with a twist before adjusting it to have a lot of heat coming off of it. "It will also help with the chill you were feeling." The jedi master said it when he waas looking over things for himself and turned around and started to make a place it could be set up to dry them and their clothing.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra hauled herself out of the water beside him, boots scraping against ancient stone slick with algae and time. The air in the cavern was colder than the water itself, sharp against her skin, raising gooseflesh across her arms. Her clothes clung to her everywhere—heavy, cold, and humiliatingly form-fitting. Every move reminded her of the water's grip, as if the temple itself was trying to drag her down.

The Maker had absolutely abandoned her today.

While she wrung out the ends of her sleeves, Syn's voice carried across the chamber, low and steady as he explained the history etched into the stones around them. She followed his gaze upward toward the massive shaft disappearing into shadow. The bodies. The attempts to climb. The way despair clung to this place like mold.

A weight settled in her chest that had nothing to do with wet clothing.

"They… chose death instead of corruption," she murmured, her voice softer than she intended. "The Maker guide them."

She swallowed hard. The pain in these stones was older than her entire bloodline.

Before she could settle into that cold quiet, Syn's attention shifted—and so did hers. He spoke plainly, practically, as if he weren't casually dropping her into another personal crisis.

"We should not proceed like this. Water-logged clothing will slow us… We will need to change or dry it first."

Lyra went very still.

Her brain stalled.
Her heart did the opposite.

His tone was normal. Calm. Matter-of-fact. Like this was a simple logistical update, not the single worst sentence to deliver to a nineteen-year-old woman who was already trying very hard not to scream internally.

And then—

He produced a heating crystal.
Activated it.
Turned his back to prepare an area near the stone platform where they could warm and dry themselves.

Lyra stared at the glowing crystal. Then at his broad, already-bare back. Then at her own soaked shirt, which was plastered to her in a way no self-respecting pilot deserved.

Her face went hot enough to counteract the cavern chill.

"Are you—" she began, then stopped, because her voice cracked in a way that made her want to walk directly back into the water and drown peacefully.

She tried again, slower, quieter.

"…Are you suggesting I get undressed?"

The words escaped before she could stop them—soft, horrified, and absolutely laced with a level of mortified disbelief the Maker Himself would have sympathized with.

She clapped one wet hand over her face.

"Oh stars," she muttered through her fingers. "I didn't mean it like that."

She forced her hand down, cheeks burning crimson, and gestured vaguely at the air between them.

"I know what you meant. I know. It's practical. Logical. Efficient. And The Maker knows I should probably strip down before I freeze solid, but—"

She cut herself off before the spiral could escape her mouth.

He wasn't even looking at her, and that somehow made it worse.
So respectful.
So calm.
So completely unaware of the crisis he had just launched her into.

She drew a sharp breath, trying to gather the tatters of her dignity.

"I'm not saying no," she said, fixing her gaze on a perfectly uninteresting patch of stone to avoid looking at his arms, or his shoulders, or literally anything about him. "I'm just saying The Maker is making this day impossible."

Finally, she nodded stiffly toward the heating crystal.

"…I'll dry what I can. —don't turn around unless you warn me first, alright?"

Her voice was firm.
Her ears were burning.

And the Maker was absolutely laughing.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He mentally thought about what to say and settled on... "As you wish." He said it to her and didn't mention the question of a blind being looking at someone as his hands moved and he took his boots off quickly. Ascending to a rock while laying the pieces out and he crouched looking away with the heat long his back for the moment. He became a statue of stone-cold discipline, perched atop a massive, uneven rock rising from the cavern's cold stone floor. His damp lower garments and boots lay on the rock with the heat warmed by the soft, ruby light of a heating crystal. The frigid, humid air of the flooded chamber played across his upper body, causing the pale, smoke-colored hairs of his chest and arms to stand subtly, giving his skin the texture of softest velvet over hardened bronze.

He was in a state of absolute, concentrated readiness; the thick, sculpted columns of his neck descended into the broad, commanding expanse of his shoulders. His powerful arms, with their beskar-like, layered muscles, rested loosely yet instantly poised. Below the waist, the effect of his training was equally striking: the defined, sweeping curves of his upper legs flowed down into the tapered, powerful bulk of his calves, speaking volumes of explosive strength and endless endurance honed by years of movement. The tight sash covering his eyes remained in place, lending a sense of deliberate, sensual mystery to his figure, which was settled in an unnerving stillness.

The faint, tawny edges of his furred covering were sharp under the crystal's glow. His stillness cast two forms into the gloom: a wet, deep silhouette on the slick stone, and a second, almost palpable thrum of energy that radiated outward, a warm, potent current within the cool embrace of the force as it wrapped and curled to make the barrier around the pair of them. The jedi master allowed the lines of his back to become much more solid as his breathing became silent. The thrum of his presence in the force remaining but it was more like he was holding in a breath that never came. Allowing the freedom of the moment for Lyra to feel comfortable given the situation.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had told him not to look.

She had not told him to sit there like some sculpted vision the Maker carved on a holy day.

The moment Syn moved—fluid, effortless, silent—her heart dropped into her stomach. When he said As you wish, in that calm, warm tone, she felt every muscle in her body go rigid. And then he lifted himself onto the rock, stripped out of his boots and lower garments down to whatever minimal barrier modesty still allowed, and settled in that statue-still pose…

Lyra forgot how to breathe.

The Maker was not merely testing her now.
The Maker was tormenting her.

She turned away so fast she nearly slipped, both hands flying up to cover her burning face. The cavern around her pulsed with dim reddish light, warm air radiating from the heating crystal—but none of it compared to the heat flaring across her skin as Syn became a silent, carved monument behind her.

She could feel him…in the Force.
Could feel that quiet, controlled pressure of his aura.
Could feel the purposeful stillness he held—not rigid, not tense, but poised.

He was giving her safety. He was giving her space. He was giving her privacy. It only made everything infinitely worse.

"…Okay," she whispered, more to herself than him, forcing herself to inhale. "This is fine. This is…completely normal behavior. This is just two people trying not to freeze to death in a corrupted temple designed by a lunatic."

Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. The Maker had absolutely abandoned her.

Lyra retreated to the opposite rock ledge, knees wobbling in cold and adrenaline. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin—soaked, heavy, and indecently form-fitting. She peeled off her outer layers with careful, trembling movements, keeping her back fully toward him, head ducked, cheeks lit like twin suns.

Every so often, she risked the faintest glance over her shoulder.

It was a mistake every single time.

Syn did not move. He did not shift. He did not speak. He existed—a calm, unmoving pillar of power and discipline lit by red light, muscles carved in lines The Maker Himself might have traced.

She squeezed her eyes shut, dragging her thoughts back in line.

He wasn't trying to tempt her.
He wasn't trying to test her resolve.
He wasn't doing anything wrong at all.

He was simply being.

And that, somehow, was the problem.

Lyra exhaled hard through her nose, hanging her wet tunic near the heating crystal. Her voice, when it finally returned, was small and mortified despite her best efforts.

"Syn…I respect you. I trust you. Truly."
She swallowed. "But The Maker is going to have to forgive every single thought I'm having right now."

Silence.
Heavy.
Humid.
Awkward enough, she wanted to dissolve into mist.

She cleared her throat, trying again, louder this time—trying to be functional, professional, normal.

"I'll just… dry my clothes as fast as possible." A beat. "And then we can go. Before I lose my sanity." Another beat.

"…Please do not move until I tell you it's safe," she added, voice tight but honest. "If you shift even a centimeter, I think I might actually pass out."

Her ears burned.
Her hands shook.

And somewhere in the dark, The Maker was absolutely laughing.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

Her request was not bad or invalid. The jedi master remained there and spoke as he listened not needing to turn his head. Just remain there perched and at the ready for anything. "As you wish." He said it calm and collected, mentally stretching out and preforming meditations that would allow him to focus and maintain the shield for the pair of them. He could do it easily enough but it helped pass the time until she was ready while the jedi master remained there. Feeling the ancient stone under his fingers.. the subtle vibrations of the machinery of the facility. The scents were all there intermingling for him while he could pick out Lyra's and she was shifting...

It seemed the rush of blood and heat to her face was almost a permanent thing now. He could hear her heart beating when she seemed to be getting nervous. He would have found it amusing in a way.. in its own at least but he was not going to ask questions about that... better to just let it be and besides embarrassing a young woman like that would have Sera Inkari smacking him outside the head. He allowed the force though to warm more of the area as he could feel the field heater... it was good for this and turning it up you could cook without fire or smoke so it was just as good as well. He might have to find the time for some food just in case.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra heard his voice before she dared to breathe again.

"As you wish."

Calm. Steady. Effortless. Like he wasn't sitting there half-dressed, sculpted like a devotional statue, radiating enough Force presence to make her bones hum.

The Maker had forsaken her utterly.

She pressed her palms against her face, hot enough to steam the moisture still clinging to her skin. Her heartbeat had decided to hammer at a pace usually reserved for atmospheric reentry. She could hear him settle further into meditation—the faint shift of breath, the subtle grounding thrum of the Force around them—which somehow made the situation worse, because he wasn't suffering. He wasn't flustered. He wasn't shivering or scrambling for composure.

No. Syn was perfectly at ease.

Meanwhile, she was having approximately seventeen crises.

Her clothes were finally starting to dry, steam rising in faint curls under the glowing crystal. She tested her undershirt—still damp, still clingy, still a crime The Maker would judge her for. She pulled it closer to the heat and stepped back, rubbing her arms for warmth.

She could feel him at her back, even without looking. The Force barrier curled around them like a warm perimeter, comforting in one way and torturous in another. His presence was controlled, but vast—like standing beside a mountain that had decided, for reasons unknown, not to crush her.

She dared a quick glance over her shoulder.

He hadn't moved. Not a twitch. Not a turn of the head. Just stillness—serene, patient, unshakeable. Which only made her more aware of every undignified thought in her skull. She clenched her jaw, exhaled hard through her nose, and spoke before she lost the courage.

"Syn…I just want to clarify," she began, tone as dry as the cavern was humid. "When I said don't turn around, that wasn't because I think you're—" She stopped. Her brain tried to finish that sentence with something catastrophic. She tried again.

"It wasn't a judgment. It was…me trying not to make this situation even more awkward than it already is."

She winced. The Maker was absolutely cackling.

"My clothes are drying," she continued, pacing in a small circle to bleed off nervous energy. "But I am…still very aware of all the current circumstances."

She gestured vaguely at everything—the cavern, the ruin, the ancient moral corruption, and also him, though she refused to point directly.

"And I'm trying very hard to maintain focus," she said, voice tightening. "On the mission. On our safety. On getting out of this place before it collapses or explodes or…awakens more horrors."

She swallowed, then added in a smaller voice:

"And not on the fact that The Maker apparently decided to stack the deck against my self-control today."

Silence hummed for a beat, broken only by the drip of water and the distant churn of old machinery.

Lyra approached the heat crystal again, checking her tunic. Nearly dry. The warmth felt good against her skin, chasing the chill from her bones. She let her eyes fall closed, breathing slowly, gathering herself.

"…Thank you," she said finally, quiet and sincere. "For giving me the space. And for not—"

Another dangerous sentence. She pivoted sharply.

"—for not making this harder than it already is." Her voice softened. "You've been…very kind. More than most would be in your position." She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"When my clothes are dry enough, I'll tell you," she said. "And then we can keep moving before this place decides to add 'more water' or 'unexpected monsters' to the list of personal torments The Maker has lined up for me today." Another pause. "And…Syn?" She cleared her throat. "I appreciate you not asking questions."

Because if he did? She might truly pass out.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

She was speaking and he gave an internal nod of his head. "It is understandable. I have known many women and their honor is an important aspect. When you are ready, I will resume." He said it while being there and he knew his clothing would be dry. It was good at it and so was the rest... the boots largely designed to seal but submerged and waterproof did not to as well. He reached out with his senses into the force before he spoke. Allowing a small chance but he didn't need to physically move while mentally letting himself project for Lyra. So she could hear. "You are welcome Lyra though I am not certain of your meaning. Averting eyes from one such as me do not exist so I never would have been able to look at you. Though you seem feverish with a lot of the heat it your face." He remained for a moment longer though. "But this without you would have been very different, I wouldn't have been able to do the electronic parts and I doubt I would have found thisway into the facility. I would have just punched through the walls."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

The moment his words reached her—calm, simple, painfully sincere—Lyra felt her entire world tilt. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't catastrophic. It was quiet, subtle, and immediate, the way a single loose bolt could send an entire starship spiraling out of its flight path. "Averting eyes from one such as me do not exist." "I never would have been able to look at you." He said it without hesitation, without judgment, without the faintest trace of mockery, and yet it hit her with the force of a thermal detonator. Her breath caught, her heart squeezed painfully inside her chest, and a single, terrible realization dawned on her—a realization so obvious, so fundamental, so deeply humiliating that she felt heat rush to her face in a tidal wave so fierce it might as well have boiled the water still clinging to her clothes.

He was blind.
He had always been blind.
Miraluka didn't see.
She knew this.

And yet she had been standing here issuing nonsense warnings, telling him not to look, flailing in embarrassment like some lovesick cadet in a holodrama, all. At the same time, the man could not physically turn around to observe her, even if he tried. Her stomach dropped straight through the stone beneath her feet. A strangled half-groan slipped out before she could stop it as she covered her entire face with both hands, wanting nothing more than for The Maker to open a convenient pit beneath her and swallow her whole.

"Oh…stars," she whispered behind her palms, voice cracking with pure mortification. "The Maker save me. I'm—I can't—I…" Words failed her, disintegrating into useless syllables. She turned her back fully to him and paced a tight, frantic circle, the cavern spinning with every humiliating memory flashing through her mind. She remembered herself stammering, flustered, trying desperately to maintain modesty she didn't even need to preserve. She remembered telling him not to turn around—don't turn around—as if that instruction meant anything to a species without sight. She remembered fussing, overthinking, and blushing her way into oblivion. And now the truth sat in front of her like a cosmic joke The Maker had personally scripted.

She raised her voice slightly—only slightly—because anything louder would break into hysterics. "Syn, you should have stopped me. You should have said something—anything—a hint, a reminder, a—Maker, I don't know, a warning klaxon!" She dragged her hands down her face, muffling another groan. "I actually told you not to look at me. You—blind. Me—telling you not to look." She let out an incredulous, shaky laugh that was equal parts pain and ridicule. "I am officially the stupidest person alive. The Maker has absolutely sentenced me to walk this cursed place with no dignity left."

She paced again, hands pushing through her wet hair as she muttered under her breath, each phrase becoming increasingly dramatic with every step. "I asked him not to look…he can't look…of all the idiotic things to say…The Maker should smite me where I stand…" Her face burned hotter every time she remembered a new detail—her flustered voice, her frantic warnings, her internal spiraling. The embarrassment deepened until it became almost physical, something heavy in her chest, something tight and impossible to ignore. "Why am I still breathing?" she muttered softly. "Why hasn't The Maker just struck me down out of mercy?"

She stopped pacing only when she realized she was bordering on hyperventilation. Very slowly, very reluctantly, she turned to face the general direction of where he sat. He hadn't moved. Not an inch. Not even the smallest shift of muscle or posture. Just stillness—serene, unbothered, impossibly patient. And that, somehow, made the humiliation so much worse. He wasn't judging her. He wasn't chastising her. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even uncomfortable. He was existing in the calm, disciplined way he always did, his presence in the Force warm and steady, a quiet anchor in a sea of her own spiraling embarrassment.

Her voice, when she finally spoke again, was quieter, softer, stripped of its usual sharpness. "Syn… I'm sorry." She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "I didn't mean to treat you like someone who needed my permission or direction or— stars, I don't even know what I was thinking. I just…" She exhaled, slow and uneven. "I got nervous. And flustered. And I forgot very basic facts about your entire species." Her lips twisted into something that was supposed to be a smile and failed halfway. "It turns out embarrassment shuts off all higher brain function."

She rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheek, trying to ease the heat there. "And I wasn't feverish," she added with a mortified sigh. "That was just…me being an idiot." The admission hung in the air like a confession at an altar. Quiet. Honest. Painful. She shook her head, gaze dropping to the stone floor. "Thank you," she said finally. "For not making fun of me. For being patient. For pretending I have any composure left to salvage."

She turned toward the heating crystal, rechecking her clothes. Almost dry. Almost wearable. Almost enough to let her face him without wanting to dissolve into vapor. "When I'm dressed, I'll tell you," she said, voice steadier but still carrying the remnants of her humiliation. "Then we can get moving. Before this place adds 'more water' or 'more monsters' or 'more opportunities for me to embarrass myself' to its agenda."

She stopped.
Then, more quietly, more sincerely:

"…Syn?"

A pause. A breath.

"Thank you for not asking questions."

Because if he did—if he asked her why she was flustered, why she was nervous, why her heart reacted the way it did around him—she truly might lose the last shreds of dignity she possessed.

The Maker had absolutely destroyed her today.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He waited patiently with a small internal wonder. She had forgotten and couldn't think it... that was as certainly something but she seemed embarrassed enough. He allowed her to redress and when the moment came the jedi master finally shifted. Letting himself stretch out for a moment as he stood tall shaking out the last of the moisture from his short hair. He stayed there for the longer moment and allowed himself to move out the stiffness. Shoulders rolling slowly before he was pulling his sash off. The membrane over where his eyes weren't thin but fleshy and he pressed the sash between two fingers drawing any water out of it. He allowed it to be dry enough before he turned around and stood there.

"It is alright." He said it and grabbed his pants and boots while he walked over. For a moment and spoke. "Lyra you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It is me who should be humbled and embarrassed. I was so focused on my own goal I brought you along not knowing if you would be able to make it. I have the force to thank that your talents with machines are so spectacular. I then didn't protect you from the influences of the facility and temples corruption until you seemed to be showing dangerous effects.... and now I have made it so that you are losing focus and for that I am most sorry." He said it while looking down and had moved within enough distance but brought a hand out.

"You are strong and you are talented and for not being able to look upon you I am sorry. Were I able to it seems it would have saved you a great deal of worry." He spoke as he crouched down to one knees to be level and face to face. "What I see when I look upon you, if what you do not believe in. No matter what you think or believe the force is within you same as it is within everyone else. Even the one with the least connection and talent. Where life exists it does, where life thrives it does and where it does there are beings within the force of exceptional beauty. Within them, around them. In all my years I have never met anyone who wasn't exceptional."

He said it all and looked more at her with a small look and moved a hand to turn her around slightly as he stood back up to his full height. To look down at her and tilt her head if she would let him so he could look down at her and speak. "You have no reason to be overthinking it or worried. I am here and I promise that I shall do everything to get you back to your ship. Let you go back into the stars and the places in your heart. To see the galaxy hopefully with a new view sure but also having been here a new friend that you can call upon should you need help." He offered a small smile for her not the thin one but a full one to show more trust to her.

He waited to see what she would do and then backed up and started to dress. Sliding the pants on and then the boots as his belt clipped with his saber and he was looking at the areas above before retrieving the crystal and turning it off. Then slipping it back into his belt pouch with a nod of his head. The jedi master stretched out for a moment as he was looking for the way to best get up and spoke. "You feel like climbing or would you rather I climb us both up there?" He was looking as her moved and found the best place but also offered her a hand to come and join him in looking up and around the area.