Private A Quiet Pull

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra slowed her steps just enough to glance back at him, blue eyes flicking over the way he bowed his head—humble, steady, almost annoyingly principled. Precisely the kind of answer a Jedi would give. Exactly the kind that made her chest feel too tight.

"I wasn't saying you needed an ego," she murmured, lips tugging faintly at one corner. "Just…saying you make an impression. Whether you want to or not."

She didn't say on me, too, but the thought burned uncomfortably warm across her cheeks anyway, so she turned forward again, letting the motion hide it. The crowd parted around them the same way it had in the streets earlier. Still, she noticed how he softened the space—bowing his head to a shopkeeper, stepping aside for a mother carrying baskets, letting children sprint past without the faintest ripple of disapproval.

Most Jedi she'd seen growing up looked like monuments. He walked like a man who remembered what it was to blend in.

"Working with me, huh?" she said after a few steps, voice light but carrying an undercurrent she didn't yet fully understand. "That almost sounds like a compliment."

A pair of kids ran by, one brandishing a long stick and shouting about being a Jedi, the others shrieking dramatically as they "fell." Lyra watched the scene with a small huff of air—amusement, disbelief, something gentler than either.

"Guess you're famous," she teased quietly, nudging him with an elbow before she realized what she'd done. Her hand quickly returned to her side, fingers curling as though she could trap the impulse before it escaped again. "Or infamous. Hard to tell."

The closer they got to the hangar row, the more she realized she was reluctant for this part to end. Ridiculous, considering they were walking to a ship, but after everything underground…the quiet between them felt oddly comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable.

She cleared her throat, leading him up the ramp toward Bay Twelve, boots echoing against the durasteel plates.

"You can relax, you know," she said, glancing sideways at him. "Nobody's gonna try to cheat me. Not when you're walking behind me like some divine punishment waiting to happen."

A slow smile touched her lips—amused, but warm. "Besides…I can handle myself. The lightsabers help, but—" She paused, eyes tracing him for one heartbeat longer than she meant to. "You're…a different kind of reassurance."

Too honest. Too raw. Too late to take back. Lyra exhaled, brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and motioned ahead as Bay Twelve came into view.

"That's us."

But the way she said it—soft, almost reluctant—made the word mean something she didn't dare examine yet.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

A compliment... hmmm he might have to change that. "You are talented and skilled. Compliments are to be given to that for you. I am certain had I eyes There would be more for your beauty. Even covered in much and grim and sweat you still have the scent of composure and there is not as much blood flowing to your face. Other parts of your anatomy but you seem to be more comfortable now.. which shows adaptability." He said it while walking with her and listening to the rest. The area was ahead though and he offered a small bow ass he just fell back enough to be behind her and let it be seen she was leading. The jedi master maintaining himself for a moment while he allowed the force to stretch out where he could feel it.

He stood there and placed a hand on her shoulder. "As you want. Just say if you need anything." He moved his hand while slipping the compartment from his belt off so she had payment if she needed it extra. Just in case.He was looking forward when he looked towards the ship in the force and he could feel the energies all around. He could feel the electrical energies in the air itself when she expanded his mental detection field for anyone coming or trying to sneak up on them. He doubted it but there was a chance of a double cross or something to try and intimidate Lyra into having to do morrrre or give more. He wasn't for it standing there with his arms folded over his chest in front of himself.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra had been bracing for a gentle correction, a quiet deflection, maybe a measured bit of Jedi philosophy. What she was not prepared for was that. His voice was calm, even, almost clinical—but every word hit her like the swipe of a hand across still water, sending ripples through places she hadn't known were unsteady.

Beautiful? Scent of composure? Other parts of her anatomy? Maker above, he couldn't just… say things like that in the middle of a crowded port walkway.

Heat rushed up her neck before she could stop it, blooming fast and hot under her skin. She turned her head forward sharply, blonde hair swinging just enough to hide the flush spreading across her cheeks. Her steps stuttered, barely, but she forced them back into rhythm. The Maker has abandoned me again, she thought helplessly, trying to lock her expression into neutrality. He cannot keep doing this to me. She didn't trust her mouth to open without something embarrassing falling out, so she didn't answer him at all. Not in words.

But the moment his hand rested on her shoulder, warm and steady, another pulse of heat shot through her chest—sharp, unwelcome, impossible to ignore. She almost leaned into it. Almost. Then she remembered herself. She straightened, cleared her throat, and managed a small nod of acknowledgement without letting her eyes drift up to meet his. Not again. Not after that.

The hum of repulsorlifts and the metallic hiss of sliding doors grew louder as they entered the hangar row, grounding her, giving her something—anything—to focus on that wasn't the Jedi with the unfair voice and the devastating sincerity.

Bay Twelve's outer doors parted just as a stocky man in a stained mechanics jacket stepped out, wiping engine grease off his hands with a rag that had given up the fight hours ago. His eyes flicked from Lyra to the tall, blindfolded figure at her side—and widened, just slightly.

"Ah—Ventor," he called, stepping forward with a practiced grin. "Your bird's ready. Runs cleaner than she did when you brought her in. I was about to send a message that you'd overslept half a day, but—" His gaze slid uncertainly to Syn. "—looks like you've been…busy."

Lyra forced herself to breathe. Focus on the ship. Focus on the job. Focus on anything except the man who just told you he'd compliment your beauty if he had eyes. Her blush hadn't faded, but at least the mechanic wasn't likely to assume the reason. …Probably. She stepped forward, voice steady despite the rapid beat under her ribs.

"Thanks. I'll look her over inside." A breath. "And…she better purr like new, or I'm docking the price." The mechanic laughed, relieved to be speaking to someone who didn't radiate Jedi intensity, and ushered them toward the bay.

Lyra kept her gaze on the Starling, refusing to glance back at Syn—not because she didn't want to, but because she knew the heat in her face hadn't faded yet. And if she looked at him now, she would buckle. And she was not giving the Maker the satisfaction.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

She seemed surprised by that and the jedi master didn't say more as the mechanic was speaking. The doors opening but he just followed at a small distance that would allow her to look around without him right there... and he could provide the needed purpose. He was looking around though less at the stuff and more in the force while letting Lyra do her walkthrough. He kept his hands in a position more of judgment. He moved around the bay and everything was in earshot so he wasn't worried but he was checking on a few other aspects. Mostly the heartbeat and breathing of the mechanic in case he was going to lie and try to cheat her. His jedi intensity was there though.. he could do that and waited a decent amount of time as he spoke. "It is all as you expected?"

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra walked ahead of Syn, grateful for the space he gave her—and thankful he wasn't close enough to hear the uneven rhythm of her breathing. The Starling sat in the center of the hangar bay, panels clean, hull sealed, not a single scorch mark left from the last…questionable landing she'd made. Even the repulsor coils glowed evenly, humming like a heartbeat she recognized instantly.

She circled the hull slowly, fingertips brushing along the cool durasteel. Nothing felt out of place. No drag in the stabilizers. No patch-job weld marks pretending to be repairs. Everything was aligned, balanced, and tuned exactly the way she demanded.

When she ducked under a panel to check the wiring harness, she found the conduits neatly secured with fresh clamps. When she opened the starboard intake, she saw the filters cleaned and re-meshed.

By the time she stepped back out, she was satisfied.

"Yeah," she said, turning to the mechanic with a short nod. "Everything's good. Better than I expected."

The mechanic grinned widely, puffing up just a little with pride.

"Glad to hear it. Full diagnostic sweep, intake alignment, resealed your hull struts, flushed the coolant system, and tuned the repulsors. Came out to…" He tapped at his datapad. "Six hundred." Lyra blinked once. "Six." A beat. "Hundred?"

The mechanic hesitated. "Well—yeah. A lot of work. Hard to get some of the parts you needed."

Lyra crossed her arms, shifting her weight just slightly. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't even frown. But her tone slipped into that unyielding, pilot-to-mechanic cadence that meant she was absolutely not paying sticker price.

"You replaced three clamps, flushed a coolant line, and realigned an intake I could've done myself with a wrench and twenty minutes. Don't inflate the cost because you saw me come in covered in cave mud."

The mechanic's smile faltered. "I—now hold on, I didn't say—"

"Four hundred."
Her voice didn't waver.
"And that's generous, considering droids probably did half the cleaning."

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing at Syn for a fleeting moment—a mistake, because the Jedi's silent presence made him swallow and look back at Lyra immediately.

"…Alright. Four hundred fifty," he countered weakly.

Lyra lifted an eyebrow. "Four twenty."

A long sigh. "Done."

She nodded once, crisp and satisfied, and keyed the payment through her wrist pad without another word. No theatrics. No gloating. Just a fair price for fair work.

She turned toward the boarding ramp of the Starling, already shifting back into pilot mode. "Come on," she said lightly, not glancing at Syn. "Let's get you to your temple before your ship decides you need a leash."

Her cheeks were still warm—but she pretended not to notice.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave a nod when she spoke while standing there for the man to see during the price negotiations. It went down to a reasonable price he was guessing.. benefit of being blind he didn't entirely have to know all about the ships he was on. He just knew where they were and how to communicate in case of danger... also best ways to defend them. He walked past the man when she said it was good and they could head on. He turned his head looking at him and didn't speak but maintained eye contact as it was until he left and got out. Less angry or malicious and more he was stern enough to come back if something went wrong.

He walked to the ship though and spoke looking at Lyra as he waited for a moment. "Permission to come aboard captain?" He asked it and waited for the moment standing there with his arms at his side as he was going to go on and listened to her. "I don't think the ship can hold a leash." He said it and was coming aboard after she gave the chance. Moving as he scented the cleaning materials used but was nodding. She knew everything in this ship and it was her home. He stepped more with respect and care around where he was looking at her. "I am certain it looks lovely." He said it while he stood there. "The coordinates for the temple." He said it while having them in the small disc.

"It will get you there and has the passcodes as needed. I am no certain how long it will take to travel to Ahch-To from here in your ship however."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra paused at the bottom of the ramp, one hand resting lightly on the railing as he asked the question.

Permission to come aboard, captain?

The words hit her with a little more force than she expected—respectful, steady, almost formal. And something about hearing captain aimed at her of all people sent a quiet flutter straight through her ribs. She cleared her throat softly and stepped aside to let him pass. "Yeah… you can come aboard."

The Starling's lights warmed as the hatch sealed behind them, recognizing her presence, her biometrics, her return. The familiar hum of the interior systems rising from standby steadied her nerves the way nothing else ever did. Here, she knew every sound, every shift of metal, every breath of the engines. Here, she wasn't guessing at instincts or stumbling over emotions she didn't ask for—she was home.

She watched Syn walk up the ramp with deliberate care—not clumsy, not tentative, but respectful, almost reverent in the way he kept his steps precise and his hands well clear of anything delicate. For someone who wrestled monsters in subterranean nightmares, he moved like he was trying not to disturb the dust on her floor.

He commented on the ship, and Lyra felt her cheeks warm again before she could stop it.

"She's…yeah. She's something," she murmured, sliding past him into the narrow corridor, letting her fingers brush along a panel out of habit. "Not much to look at from the outside, but she flies better than anyone gives her credit for."

She led him toward the cockpit, the soft glow of the control consoles greeting her like old friends. The pilot's chair slid back automatically for her, and she sank into it with the kind of ease she never felt anywhere else in the galaxy. Syn's presence behind her was a quiet, steady weight—not intrusive, just…there.

She reached out her hand, and the systems lit up in cascading rows of blue and white. When he mentioned Ahch-To, her eyes flicked toward him, the corner of her mouth lifting.

"From here?"

A few quick taps brought up the nav-map. Star lines flared across the screen, calculations running, recalculating, then stabilizing.

The number that appeared this time wasn't measured in hours. It was days. Lyra blinked…once…twice…hoping the ship was joking. It wasn't.

"…Four days." Her voice came out very quietly. "On a straight run. Three-point-seven if I push the motivators past polite and maybe melt a few coils."

She accepted the disc from his hand and slotted it neatly into the auxiliary reader. The ship blinked in acknowledgment, pulling up the encoded route, verifying it, and locking it behind temporary access permissions. The cockpit dimmed just slightly—her ship's way of accepting a long-haul destination without complaint.

Lyra leaned back, letting her hands rest loosely on the controls. Her pulse was suddenly, absurdly aware of the fact that this wasn't a short escort flight. Four days. In close quarters. With him.

"Alright," she said quietly as the engines began to spool beneath them, a low, rising vibration thrumming through the deck.
"I'll get you there."

What she didn't say—what pressed warm and unwelcome and strangely exciting against her ribs as the Starling lifted free of the hangar floor—sat heavy and bright in her chest:

Because I want to. Because I don't mind four days. Because the Maker is clearly trying to test me.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"Four days." He said it more as a simple matter of fact and found a place to sit in a corner he wasn't feeling strong electrical signatures or energies. So that he could meditate and looked at Lyra with a nod of his head. "It will be good, I have skills with cooking should you wish me to contribute more and can help with cargo or general things. I don't think you want me to fly." He said it but remained there for the moment while finding his own center in it. He reached out with the force and allowed himself to levitate the communicator as the image from the ship came. "Ah I take it you need a ride, I can start heading back to you."

The jedi master looked up for a moment. "Unneeded, I have procured a ride from a skilled pilot." He said it as the most natural thing in the universe while the ship seemed to pause. "Oh I see. Fine fine, I'll be here at the temple waiting for you to return then." THe ship seemed to be more sarcastic and annoyed then anything when the transmission cut out and the jedi master would have rolled his eyes but he remained there. moving his hands to his knees for a moment as he sat there legs bent so his hands were in front of himself. He breathed in and then outwards as his senses were within the force. He listened for Lyra while he had the various things needed on his belt for food and water or supplies.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra's fingers paused over the console for half a beat as he settled into the corner of her cockpit, as he belonged there — calm, composed, entirely at ease in a place she suddenly wasn't. Of course, he didn't flinch at four days. Of course, he said it like it was nothing. Meanwhile, her nerves were tangling themselves into knots she didn't have names for.

"Four days isn't… impossible," she managed, flicking the last hyperspace safety lock into place. The tone came out steadier than she felt. Barely.

His offer to cook made her glance back over her shoulder—not thoroughly, just enough to catch the shape of him sitting cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, every line of him relaxed and centered in a way that made her chest feel too tight. And the way he said skilled pilot to his ship without a single hint of hesitation made something warm uncurl low in her stomach. Maker, he didn't even realize what he was doing to her.

"I, uh… yeah. Cooking is good," she said, clearing her throat softly as the Starling slipped into pre-jump alignment.
"And no, I don't… think flying is a great idea for you."

It wasn't meant to be teasing, but the slight hitch in her voice betrayed how aware she'd become of him—sitting there so quietly it made her skin prickle. Anyone else would have fidgeted and filled the silence. Asked questions. He didn't. He just existed in her space, peacefully, like the hum of a well-tuned engine.

It was ridiculous how much that affected her.

Lyra eased the throttle forward, the stars stretching into streaks before collapsing into hyperspace's soft blue glow. The cockpit dimmed to travel lighting. The hum of the motivators smoothed into a steady, constant rhythm beneath her boots.

Only then did she let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding.

"Alright," she murmured, fingers brushing the overhead switch panel as if greeting an old friend. "Four days. Easy." A lie. Her heartbeat proved it.

She rose from the pilot's chair, brushing imaginary dust from her palms to have something to do with her hands before she turned toward him. He was already in meditation—still as carved stone, peaceful in a way she had never mastered, the lines of his shoulders and chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.

Her traitorous pulse kicked hard. Stars above. Four days. In her ship. With that. Lyra swallowed and forced her voice to stay casual, normal, unaffected by the sudden, disorienting awareness of how small the Starling really was.

"I'm gonna check the aft systems and make sure the long-run power couplers are balanced," she said, backing toward the corridor—mostly so she didn't have to watch him breathe like some feral idiot. "Just…settle in where you want. I'll let you know when dinner's up."

She turned before the heat in her cheeks betrayed her completely. Maker. Four days. If he didn't ruin her sanity, the Force definitely would.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave a small bow of his head and the ship was compact maybe compared to others but it wasn't cramped or small. He was aware of where she was within the enclosed space, he could smell a lot more cleaning solution, coolant and the faint scent of Lyra from his position. The Jedi Master allowed the Force to guide his thoughts and stillness in the space for the meditation he was in. He bowed his head to her when she melted into her ship to make sure everything was working properly. She still seemed to be nervous or feverish at times, but he imagined all of that time in the cave had gotten to her. Now that she was back in space, it should be better. Traveling here, he could make himself useful and helpful as he waited in transit.

The hum of the hyperdrive was a low, steady drone in the distance, the only sound that broke the silence he now pulled around himself like a cloak. His left hand rested lightly on his knee, the thumb and forefinger forming a perfect circle as his breathing slowed to an almost imperceptible pace and stillness. He went through what had happened in the cave and observatory and it had been beneficial to him in a way. He rarely had to release strength beyond a little. He rarely had to worry about another person as he breathed in and recalled what had happened now that most of it was clear. The pull in the force had been him responding to Lyra's sense of her crystal.

The Force focusing on his body and form. He concentrated as the pure force light infused white-hot energy pushed into the deep areas of his muscles a burning pain that seared away the claw marks. Along his ribs, his spine where his sisters taloned foot and claw had glanced off his muscle and the throbbing sensation that seemed to live permanently behind his smooth eyes after the task had been done. With each slow inhalation, he felt the Force flow, knitting the tears and replenishing the blood he had lost. The Force suppressors of the robed sections were designed to lock down a great deal until he needed it, leaving his conscious mind free to direct only the subtle, restorative currents.

His thoughts drifted, quiet and light, past the mission's brutal finale and towards the woman who now piloted the vessel. Her tension was a flickering disturbance on the edge of his awareness, a small, persistent spike of static in the otherwise smooth flow of the Force. He gently shunted the worry aside, trusting the process and the journey, letting the tranquility of the deep void mirror the inner peace he was going for while mentally he thought about past battles and incidents. He stayed there in stillness but the food compartments for his belt were off and on a small table. They just needed water for large feasts to food squads in the field.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra checked the last diagnostic, eased the Starling into hyperspace, and finally let herself breathe. The moment the stars stretched into streaks, the familiar cocoon of the cockpit wrapped around her—her place, her territory, the one slice of the galaxy where she always knew exactly who she was.

Except…now she wasn't alone.

She turned in her seat, meaning to glance back—just a quick look, a simple confirmation that he was still there and still quiet. But her gaze caught on him longer than she meant it to. The sight was…arresting. He sat cross-legged with that impossible stillness, the faint glow of the ship's interior lights brushing over the lines of his shoulders and jaw. For a man who could rip a monster apart with his bare hands, he seemed almost unreal like this—calm, focused, serene. And it did something to her chest she absolutely did not want to unpack.

The space was too small for him. That was her first thought—and not because he was in the way, but because he filled it. The scent of coolant, sterilizer, and metal had always been the Starling's signature. Now, threaded between all of it, was him—faint, warm, clean in a way that made her pulse jump every time she breathed just a little too deeply.

Maker…four days of this?

Lyra pushed up out of the pilot's chair before her brain could stop her, abruptly needing motion, distance, something to anchor her. She crossed to him—slowly, carefully—trying not to sound as unsteady as she felt. "Everything…okay over here?"

Her voice was quiet, casual on the surface. Only the smallest tremor betrayed her.

He didn't answer—he was deep in meditation—but she could feel the calm rolling off him in waves. It brushed against her nerves like a cool hand on overheated skin, and she swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step closer into that calm, that warmth, that…presence.

She cleared her throat and shifted her weight, pretending to straighten a panel that absolutely did not need straightening.

"Just…wanted to check," she murmured, softer now. "Four days is a long time in close quarters. Didn't want you to be starving or…uh…bleeding internally or something." Smooth, Ventor. Very smooth.

She took a half-step back—safer, more rational—but her eyes lingered on him anyway. On the way, his breath barely moved his chest. On the flicker of the Force, she felt in her periphery. On the exhaustion beneath the calm, faint but real, like bruising under water.

Something tightened in her gut—an impulse she didn't want but couldn't shut off.

"If you need anything… anything at all… just tell me." Her voice dipped, warmer than she expected. "I mean it."

She retreated before she could say anything worse—back to the cockpit doorway, one hand braced on the frame, heart pounding too close to her ribs. Four days. Four whole days locked in a ship with a man who looked like that, moved like that, and had kissed her once in a way she could still feel if she thought about it too long.

The Maker absolutely hated her. And she couldn't help the tiny thought that flickered traitorously through her mind as she turned away: Or maybe He didn't. Perhaps he was laughing.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He heard her and was about to speak when she seemed to be paused her heartbeat louder as he remained still. THen he spoke as she said if he needed anything. "I am content for the moment. I am never opposed to conversation Lyra. I know silence can be fine but others like to fill it. "He didn't move from where he was but he had offered the area in front of him. "We got out and I promised I would give more information and answer questions. This seems like it would be the best time." He said it though with a small chuckle. "And you can tell me more about yourself, aside from your love of your ship. I know little about you."

He remained there but had plenty and was ready to answer anything she might have question wise. There was certainly a lot. He reached out with the force but not to brush her mind more to retract and have the aura he was protecting them with in the observatory as a shield against the influences. "YOu have your crystal, it does make me curious what you plan to do with it. Usually seeing that vault others might have tried to take as much as they could to live a comfortable life." He spoke and it was no accusation, no judgment just fact in some cases but he was welcomed to hear more always.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra lingered halfway between the cockpit and the small open space where he sat, her fingers curling lightly around the metal frame as if it grounded her more than she cared to admit. She hadn't meant to say anything else—she'd planned to vanish into the safety of her pilot's chair and pretend the last five minutes of emotional turbulence hadn't happened—but his voice reached her before she'd even turned away. And just like that, she was caught again.

She swallowed, trying to steady herself, trying to keep her eyes on the wall beside him instead of the stretch of his shoulders or the easy way he occupied the Starling as if it belonged to him as much as it did to her.

"I…don't know what I'm planning to do with it," she admitted, forcing her voice into something calm, even though the back of her neck felt hot. "The crystal, I mean. And the sword."

She stepped a little closer—not all the way, just far enough that she didn't have to raise her voice—the soft lighting stroking gold along the edge of her hair. Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh as if to bleed nervous energy somewhere that wasn't her expression.

"The blade is…beautiful. And dangerous. I don't want it sitting on a wall collecting dust like some trophy." Her gaze dipped briefly, tracing the floor, then flicked back up. "If I'm keeping it, I want to learn how to use it properly. Even if that means starting at the bottom."

Her thoughts drifted without permission to his hands, the way he moved, the way he fought—and she pushed the image down so hard she nearly forgot to breathe.

As for the crystal…she hesitated, chewing lightly at her lower lip. "I guess… I don't know what one does with something like that," she admitted, softer now. "It felt like it was meant for me, but that doesn't tell me anything about what I'm supposed to do with it."

A beat. A breath. A hopeless attempt to keep her pulse from tripping over itself.

And then—because he'd asked what he wanted to know—she made the mistake of looking directly at him.

His posture, his composure, the way the Force wrapped around him like a second skin, the way the ship's soft glow defined the lean angles of his frame—it hit her in one slow, destabilizing wave, and her brain shorted out for half a heartbeat. She cursed herself internally for all the times her hormones had staged a revolt.

When she spoke again, her voice was lower, steadier, but undeniably marked by something she didn't want to acknowledge.

"What do you want to know about me…Master Syn?"

The title slipped out before she could stop it—respectful, instinctive, almost reverent—and the moment she heard herself say it, her stomach dropped. Maker above, she sounded like a Padawan flirting with danger.

Her cheeks warmed, but she held his direction all the same, refusing to retreat this time, even as the thought roared quietly in her mind: The Maker has abandoned me. Or worse—He's watching this and laughing.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He gave a small nod of his head in acknowledgement of it. She wished to learn and this was where he was seeing the careful treading needing to be done. Not because she would be angry or a danger but because she didn't want the force still as far as he knew and he moved his hands. Rising up in a fluid motion that was almost boneless and smooth. He moved over to look at her while speaking and motioning to the blade. "If you wish to learn I can teach you, you have skills and talent with your flying and technical work. More so then me so helping you learn to use the blade would be a small way to help repay the debt for all of your help."

When she called him master he was curious more but he let it be while offering his hand for a moment. "The crystal is the heart of a lightsaber, generally finding one would go within a jedi's blade but outside of it. Depending on the crystal it can have different effects. There is minimal risk of influences but also the potential for something more. "As a crystal for you it would likely serve best close by on a necklace. I know some jedi who have crystals inset on piercings." He moved a little and brought his saber hilt up from its clasp in his hand as he offered it to her. "YOu do not have to take it and you won't be able to activate it. It is tied to my own hand."

He said it but stayed there for the moment while he looked down at her. "And to what I wish to know about you Lyra is where you come from? It is one of the best ways to know what brought you to Diso, to the moment when I was there. THe force despite your not wanting it was a factor if for the crystal, for us to meet, for you to aid me or me to help you down the line. There is many possibilities, many small ripples that form from time things that can lead to greater and greater interactions." He said it while standing there and breathed in calmly but also offered a kindness of it while looking down at her. "I was surprised to see another person drawn outside of the city like I was."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra took the lightsaber hilt from him carefully, her fingers brushing the metal with a mix of reverence and caution. It was lighter than she expected—deceptively so—and yet every instinct in her told her she was holding something dangerous enough to shear a ship in half if someone mishandled it. She turned it in her hands, tracing the etchings with a slow, deliberate sweep of her thumb but never once letting her finger drift anywhere near the activator plate. The fact that she couldn't ignite it was…comforting. The idea of accidentally punching a hole through her own bulkhead was not a lesson she needed to learn the hard way.

Still, there was something undeniably beautiful about it. Something alive, almost humming at the edge of her senses. She didn't know how to describe it, not without sounding like she was agreeing with him about the Force—and she absolutely wasn't ready to admit that out loud—so she quietly handed the weapon back before she could get lost in the feeling.

Her hand lingered a fraction too long. She pretended not to notice.

She shifted her weight after he asked about her past, feeling the soft, familiar vibration of the Starling's engines through the soles of her boots. That grounding hum steadied her better than breathing exercises ever had.

"Where I come from…isn't that interesting," she said, trying for lightness and almost managing it. "Commenor mostly. My dad hauled cargo, my mom flew fighters—the kind people write news stories about. And I…guess I grew up somewhere in the middle."

She leaned back against the console, arms folding loosely, her gaze dropping to the floor as memories settled in.

"I was one of those kids who crawled into engine compartments before I could spell my own name. I could hear when something was wrong with a drive before anyone else could. Not because of…Force stuff." Her face tightened briefly, as if daring him to contradict her. "Just because I paid attention."

A breath. A beat.

"When I was sixteen, pirates hit a mining colony while my dad was docked. Everybody panicked. I found an old skiff and—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Look, it shouldn't have flown. But it did. And somehow I got it through the fight long enough for the security teams to arrive."

There was no pride in her voice. Not really. Just quiet disbelief that was still there years later.

"People kept telling me no untrained kid should fly like that. My mom refused even to let recruiters talk to me." Her fingers drummed lightly on her arm, restless. "After that, I got licensed, did small jobs, worked repairs, and flew whatever someone would pay me to fly. The Starling…she was the first thing that was mine. Scraped together enough creds to buy her way earlier than I should've."

Her lips moved toward a smile—small, soft, instinctive.

"She's the reason I'm good. That's the truth of it. Flying her is like breathing."

Her gaze lifted back to him, steady and searching. "As for the Force?" Her voice dipped, quieter. "Maybe something's there. Maybe it isn't. I don't… know. And I don't want to jump into believing things just because I walked into a haunted ruin and everything went sideways."

She looked down again, this time with a brief, almost embarrassed laugh.

"And for the record? Calling you "Master Syn" was not intentional. It just…slipped out." Her cheeks warmed, traitorously. "Won't happen again."

She cleared her throat, pushing the moment forward before it could get heavier.

"But yeah. That's me. A pilot who fixes things, flies too fast, and has absolutely no idea what to do with a glowing rock that apparently used to be in a Jedi vault."

Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh.

"Your turn, balance-ghost. What do you want to know next?"

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"If I can kiss you." He said it while standing there and it was pure matter of fact, the words reverberating in his chest but he spoke standing there for the moment. "But I have known the force to do many things, never take the place of skill or talent. It may have helped sharpen a sense here or there. Feeling the ticks of the engine, hearing the small details more clearly but it is not he force that makes you a talented pilot. That is all you." He said it while looking at her as he returned his saber to his belt clasp. "One doesn't have to be a jedi to believe in the force nor does one have to let it dictate all of their being. It is all around us and many don't feel it or use it."

He said it while remaining where he was but looked at her more. "You have talent, you have grown skilled without the force. There is no real to ever deny that. I am humbled by your story." He offered a smile though we he waited for a moment. "Besides, you have made most of your life without it so there is less reason to start trying to cultivate it within you now and get you to follow around as a padawan. Much to talented and skilled for that." He said it and didn't make a comment about the master things... there was no way to joke about that and now have tones of different thing but she slipped a compartment from his belt to take a swig of water.

 

[Lyra Ventor]

Lyra didn't react at first—couldn't. The words hung in the space between them with disarming simplicity, nothing dramatic or weighted in his tone, nothing performed. Just a calm, steady If I can kiss you, spoken as though it were the most reasonable request in the galaxy. And somehow that made it hit far deeper than if he'd wrapped it in charm or hesitation.

Her breath caught in her chest, held tight beneath her ribs as if her body wasn't entirely sure how to function anymore. A warmth climbed into her face before she even understood why, and she found herself standing very still, one hand curled lightly against the console behind her. It felt suddenly difficult to keep her balance, not because her footing was uncertain but because something inside her had shifted—quietly but unmistakably—with the weight of his honesty.

He wasn't teasing.
He wasn't testing her.
He was asking.

For a long moment, she let herself truly look at him: the composed stillness, the centered way he carried himself even while recovering, the strength he never flaunted, the quiet patience in the way he waited without pressure. And beneath all of that, a sincerity she felt more than heard, steady as the low thrum of the Starling's engines under their feet.

The air felt warmer.
Closer.
Charged with something she couldn't name without embarrassing herself.

She drew a slow breath, trying to clear the flutter building in her chest, and stepped toward him—not abruptly, not boldly, but with the kind of hesitant courage that came only when her heart outran her sense. She stopped within the reach of his warmth, close enough to feel him but not so close that she lost the ability to speak.

When her voice finally came, it sounded softer than she intended, low in her throat, colored with a warmth she couldn't hide.

"If you're asking…"

Another breath. Not shaky—just deliberate, like she needed the moment to steady the swirl of feeling gathering under her skin.

"…then the answer is yes."

She saw the shape of his presence shift at that—felt the quiet ripple of it—and she let a small, uncertain smile touch her lips, one she couldn't quite suppress.

"More than yes," she added in a voice only he could hear. "Maker, yes."

But because it was her—because she didn't let anyone have that kind of access without some measure of caution—she lifted her chin just slightly, meeting where his gaze would be with quiet, earnest resolve.

"Just… don't make it something I regret trusting you with."

Not a threat. Not a warning. A truth she needed him to understand—spoken gently, shaped by the sudden, startling intensity of wanting something she'd never let herself want before.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

He tilted his head down when she moved close enough. Not pressing but within range and he brought his arms out and he moved them to her slender waist. The Jedi Master, a head taller than Lyra, stood like a statue for a moment. In the cramped space before the cockpit, the instrument panel's red glow caught the sheen of sweat on his bare, clawed muscles and the tight sash covering his sightless eyes. His physique was a weapon in its prime: broad shoulders squared, the sculpted muscle and defined abdominal ridges speaking of constant discipline, veins beneath the skin like threads of beskar wire. He moved his hands, powerful but gentle, to her slender waist and lifted her, drawing her up to meet his lips.

The air around him was still and powerful, scented almost subliminally a natural trace of summer rains, jasmine, and peaches. A natural scent instead of something that was applied. The warmth was instantaneous, a sudden, searing pressure of their mouths coming together firm, yet tender, as if he were memorizing the shape of her mouth against his own. A barest, unexpected tickle sparked where the tip of his nose brushed her skin, tracing a line from her nose to her cheek with the barest tilt of his head. The other hand, the one that had held her steady, abandoned her waist to travel upward. His smooth palm traced the delicate length of her ribs each inch a measure of her as his thumb paused for a moment.

Each inhalation she took registering as a slight shift beneath his fingers, until he reached the expanse of her back. There, he settled, pressing her closer to the granite heat of his bare chest, the powerful thrum of his heart a deep, steady counterpart to the frantic flutter he felt radiating beneath his fingertips Lyra's own pulse. The jedi master allowed the force to open like a floodgate, a cascade of energies to flow and wrap around like a sea of conscious thoughts from a million places but all of them were not directed, not loud... just contentment, warmth and welcoming energies. Slowly he pulled his head back while holding her close and spoke. "Your lips taste like sun ripened berries."

 

[Lyra Ventor]

For a heartbeat, Lyra could only stare at him — or stare toward him, because her vision wasn't cooperating in the slightest. Everything was too close, too warm, too overwhelming in ways she had never been prepared for. Her breath caught, suspended somewhere between her ribs and her throat, and she wasn't sure whether she was supposed to inhale or speak or melt into the heat of his chest and stay there forever.

Her fingers were still curled lightly against his shoulders, fingertips resting against skin that felt like living heat, and she became acutely, painfully aware of how strong his hands still were at her waist—supporting her, holding her, and keeping her there like she weighed nothing at all.

Her cheeks burned so hot she wondered if the ship's internal sensors would pick it up.

"I…"

Nothing else came out. Absolutely nothing. Her brain had short-circuited somewhere between being lifted and being kissed, and she swore the Force—stars, she hated admitting it—was still humming around her like it was in on some joke she hadn't been told.

His words echoed through her head long after he stopped speaking—sun-ripened berries—and the simple memory of them made something hot and sharp flutter beneath her ribs. Maker above, she could feel her pulse in her teeth, a quick, unsteady rhythm that refused to settle no matter how hard she tried to breathe past it. She swallowed, tried to collect herself, tried to find something resembling a steady footing even though he still held her so easily that her toes barely touched the floor.

"...I didn't think you were actually going to—" she managed, the words slipping free in a soft, breathless murmur that felt too fragile to exist in the small, overheated space between them. Her eyes flicked down of their own accord, traitorous in their focus, tracing the shape of his mouth as if she could still feel the warmth of his lips pressed to hers.

"...do that."

She was still pressed against him, close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, close enough that her hands remained curled at his shoulders, clinging without ever meaning to. When she tried to clear her throat, it didn't create distance so much as sharpen her awareness of how tightly his arms still held her, how easily he could lift her again if he wanted.

"...You can't just say things like that," she whispered, her voice settling into something softer and shakier, barely audible over the hum of the ship. "Not when I'm—"

Her breath faltered, caught somewhere between her chest and her lips, and for a moment she couldn't tell if the unsteadiness came from him or from herself.

"...not thinking straight."

Silence followed—long, warm, and heavy—the kind that seemed to fold around them as the engines deepened into their transit hum and made the cockpit feel even smaller than it already was. She lifted her gaze back to his face, hesitant, almost reverent, as if speaking his name alone carried a weight she hadn't been prepared to feel.

"Syn…"

It left her mouth in a voice that trembled with something she didn't want to name, something she wasn't sure she should even feel, but couldn't pretend wasn't there. And then, with barely more than a breath separating the words:

"...please don't stop."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Lyra Ventor

"As you wish, I have four days to show my appreciation for you." He said it and kept her close enough but looked down with a small smile tugging at his lips. "I do not know what will be in the future but I know the present allows me to compliment all of your beauty." His hand moved from her back to trail along the spine and find a small place on her arm before it was coming down to her hand. "Every inch." He said it with a small rumble but also there was a humor to it. "The first will be to feed you. After everything we could both use a meal that isn't just nutrient paste." He said it letting her loose so she could back away but he remained there largely letting her stay close if she wanted. "I hope togive you but half a memory to not forget me. I will remember one such as you."