Private A Quiet Reckoning, The Bonds Beneath

[Anneliese Kaohal]

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Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo

Everest Vale


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In the twilight hush of the Gardens of New Cov, Anneliese Kaohal wandered alone, her thoughts as tangled as the wild vines creeping along stone walls. The garden's beauty—its soft, moss-covered groves and the gentle lapping of water in distant fountains—only deepened her sense of isolation. Every step echoed the failures that tormented her: the burden of her relentless quest for answers about the Nameless, the shock of discovering that Bane, an Uncle might just be lurking in the shadows of her lineage, and—most piercing of all—the reminder of how she'd failed her sisters. News of Azurine Varek 's capture and Everest's painful injury had crashed over her like bitter, unyielding waves. "How could I have been so selfish?" she silently cursed, feeling the weight of her own anger, dejection, and sorrow gnawing at her core.

Her emerald eyes, usually so vibrant, now mirrored the turmoil within—a simmering mix of regret and self-reproach that blurred the lush details of her sun-kissed features. Each rustle of leaves, each whispered sigh of the wind, carried memories of moments when she had been a pillar for her those around her; now, those memories were tainted by her self-centered pursuit. In the quiet void of her despair, she felt both the sting of her inadequacies and the faint, persistent hope that somewhere within her lies strength, waiting to be reclaimed. The path before her seemed to merge with the winding trails of the garden, as if nature itself invited her to reflect on the choices that led her astray.

Yet, her thoughts soon drifted to Roman Vossari , her fiancé whose mere presence once anchored her turbulent soul. She remembered the steadfast calm in his gaze, the quiet confidence that could steady even the most tempest-tossed ship. Roman… if only I could feel your strength here, I might find the courage to face these trials. His unspoken support shone like a distant lighthouse in the encroaching darkness, a reminder that love might still be her saving grace.

But doubts gnawed at her resolve. Would Valery Noble be disappointed in her? The answer, she knew, would ultimately be forgiving; yet the question still stung, as if echoing an inner verdict on her faltering spirit. And what of her Knight Trials—the next stepping stone in her destiny? They hovered on the horizon like an insurmountable mountain, a challenge she had postponed for far too long. So much baggage… so many unspoken regrets. Why can't I simply let it all go and be strong? The thought rippled through her like a stone lodged in her throat, a weight that pressed hard against her heart and churned a pit of uncertainty in her stomach.

In that quiet, conflicted moment beneath the twilight sky, Anneliese's soul ached with the desire for redemption and release. Each whispered prayer to Ashla fought against the rising tide of despair. She needed help—more than ever—but fear of vulnerability held her captive in a web of indecision. As the garden enveloped her in its silent embrace, every rustle of wind seemed to echo the unanswered call to lay down her burdens—a call that remained caught in the depths of her soul, waiting for the courage to set her free.

Unbeknownst to Anneliese, as she wrestled with her inner demons, fate was already setting a new course. In the soon to be still, anticipatory moment, the garden would become a silent witness to the rebirth of shared purpose, and facilitator of the mending of fractured bonds, ultimately -- illuminating the path towards healing.

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[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

The twilight hour was gentle on New Cov.

The gardens, usually alive with distant voices and drifting laughter, had quieted into a hush, broken only by the low murmur of fountains and the whisper of leaves stirred by the evening breeze. Under the fading light, the world seemed softer somehow — muted, as if even the planet itself was holding its breath.

Eve stepped slowly along one of the stone pathways, her steps light, almost reverent. The faint scent of wildflowers and moss clung to the air, grounding her in a way little else could these days. She drew her cloak a little tighter around herself, the motion half-conscious. The last remnants of her healing still clung to her, not so much in her body, which had mended, but in the heaviness that lingered beneath her skin.

Everything had changed.

The eye she'd lost, the weight she'd gained in its absence — they were both parts of her now. But here, in the breathing quiet of the gardens, she didn't have to wear them like armour. She could simply be for a little while. Just Eve. Just someone learning to live again after the storm.

At the base of an old tree, she paused. Isari, faithful as always, padded softly at her side, brushing against her calf in silent solidarity. Eve smiled faintly, reaching down to ruffle the fox's silver fur, her hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary. It was enough.

She hadn't come looking for anyone, and yet, as she turned a bend in the path, she felt it, a familiar thread in the Force, taut with sorrow and guilt, humming like a wounded string. Eve paused, her silver eye narrowing slightly in recognition.

Anneliese.

They had not spoken much lately. It seemed their paths had both been winding, taking them in separate directions in the last months. Their threads were nevertheless woven into the same greater tapestry, as Valery's students. Sisters, in a way, if not by blood, then by bond. That was enough.

She hesitated only for a breath. Anneliese was standing alone among the wild tangle of vines and fading light, her presence curling in on itself like a wounded animal. Eve's heart twinged. She knew that feeling far too well.

So she approached, silent at first, her presence gentle in the Force. She didn't barrel in with noise or questions. She simply made herself known by standing a little ways off, hands folded loosely in front of her, offering the smallest thread of connection without pressure.

When they saw one another, she offered a quiet, soft smile. It wasn't full of energy or bravado. It was a simple thing. A real thing.

"Heya," she said, her voice carrying easily on the evening breeze. She stepped closer, keeping her pace slow, her posture open.

"You don't have to be alone... if you don't want to be."

There was no judgement in her tone. Just an invitation, calm and steady, like a hand reaching out across a long distance.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo

Everest Vale
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The gentle breaking of silence by a kind voice made the air tremble around Anneliese. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as she turned, her freckled face flushing and her eyes widening in a torrent of emotion. The very breath she had labored to take faltered, each inhalation replaced by a choking hesitation.

A silent question arose within her: how had she failed so miserably? It was impossible not to sense the burden in Eve's quiet presence—an enduring sorrow layered with the pain of what had been endured, the absence of Azzie, and burdens yet to come. This weight made Anneliese recoil further into her own deep-seated shame.

Guilt, she knew, was a curious companion. It whispered that she had erred and needed to make amends. Yet shame was far crueler, murmuring twisted lies that rendered her invisible, the cause of every tragedy, as though the world would be better off without her presence at all.

The silence stretched between them, an eternity punctuated only by Eve's gentle words of grace—a kindness Anneliese felt utterly undeserving of. Her hands involuntarily clenched at her chest, knuckles pressing tight as if to restrain the storm within. Hot tears began to sting her once-vibrant eyes, spilling in silent tracks down her cheeks.

She tried to speak; the words choked in her throat. "The words—they are like stones in my heart…" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper as a small sob escaped. "I don't want to be alone… but look at you…"

With a trembling motion, her hand rose, inadvertently drawing attention to the scar where her eye once was. Anger flared in her features—a deep, bitter rage that surged to the surface. "I wasn't there—I should have been there for both of you—and I wasn't!" Her voice echoed through the garden, raw desperation mingling with the furious tears that streaked her sun-kissed cheeks.

For a long, aching moment, the admission hung in the air before she continued, her voice trembling with regret. "I let my own obsession with the past, with tracing the tangled threads of my familial ties, consume me. I was so wrapped up in chasing answers, so focused on uncovering what I thought defined me, that I forgot the lives and hearts that depended on me. I became so self-centered that I lost sight of what truly mattered."

Overcome by the surge of emotions, Anneliese took a shaky, yet hesitant step toward Eve—as if compelled by the need for solace and forgiveness—and then another, tentatively reaching out to bridge the gulf. But her strength faltered just as she advanced; she couldn't find the resolve to offer a full embrace. The wall that was sorrow finally broke, and in a quivering whisper she said, "I am so sorry I wasn't there… I'm sorry, Eve -- I'm sorry Azzie...," her voice laden with remorse as tears streamed freely and her body trembled under the weight of her grief.

In that raw moment of vulnerability, the lessons of her training came to mind—the art of channeling emotion into inner strength. Yet despite all she had learned, a profound helplessness and regret overwhelmed her, leaving her feeling painfully small. Even now, as she struggled with her own shortcomings, the truth remained undeniable: Eve was family. She was a sister in arms, just like Azzie — and it was a bond that endures through both the brightness of hopeful days and the depths of despair.

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[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Eve had never been good at standing by while someone else was hurting. It hurt her far too deeply. As Anneliese spoke — as the anger and guilt tore free from her trembling voice — Eve felt the hot sting of tears prickle her own eye, not for herself, but for her. For the pain that ran so deep in Anneliese's heart it seemed to echo out into the Force itself, touching every thread between them.

She didn't think. She couldn't. As Anneliese faltered, Eve stepped forward. She closed the distance with a quiet urgency, and the moment Anneliese hesitated — hung between reaching and retreating — Eve gently folded her into a tight, unwavering hug. She felt the other girl shudder against her. Heard the broken apologies, the grief.

Wordlessly, Eve tightened her arms around her, cradling the back of her head against her shoulder with one hand, the other smoothing circles across her trembling back. Slow, steady, anchoring. A living promise: You are not alone.

She didn't tell her it was alright, because it wasn't. She didn't offer platitudes, because they would be hollow.

She just held her.

And when Eve finally spoke, her voice was thick with quiet tears, but sure, as steady as the beating of the heart Anneliese leaned against.

"We lost a lot... but not everything. We still have today. We still have each other, and that matters a lot."

And in the warm hush of the garden, beneath the soft sighing of the trees, Eve closed her eye and simply held her — letting her cry, letting her grieve, refusing to let go.

Not now.
Not ever.

She pressed her cheek lightly against Anneliese's hair, feeling the shuddering breaths, the quiet sobs, and whispered low, almost into the wind.

"Let it all out, Annie. Let it out. I'm here. It's okay."

No judgment. No hurrying. Just patience, and love.

Because Eve remembered. She remembered what it felt like to fall apart — in the ruins of Woostri, when her body survived but her spirit nearly didn't. She remembered how it felt when Tigris had found her, broken and lost, and simply held her through the storm. No demands to be stronger. No scolding. Just... love. Steady and unshaken.

Just as Valery had once held her after Jedha, when the weight of loss had seemed too heavy to bear alone.

Eve had needed them to stay. To believe in her when she couldn't believe in herself.

And now, she could be that for Anneliese.

A steady hand. A safe place.

A reminder that even through brokenness, love endured.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo

Everest Vale
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Anneliese's sobs subsided into ragged, quivering breaths as she clung tighter to Eve, the unbidden torrent of tears a release for more than just regret—it was a mourning for a family, for lost moments, for the weight of her own self-imposed isolation. In that raw intimacy, where Eve's arms cradled her like a promise made flesh, Anneliese felt something begin to shift.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to acknowledge the comfort of the present. Here, in Eve's unwavering embrace, she no longer had to be burdened by the ghosts of what was or the relentless pull of a past that could never be changed. Val had once told her that even the strongest Jedi felt fear, anger, and sorrow; that it was by harnessing that very humanity, and recognizing the transient nature of loss, that true strength was born. Now, as Eve's soft words echoed in her trembling heart—"We lost a lot... but not everything. We still have today. We still have each other"—the truth resonated fiercely within her.

Every shudder of grief gradually melded into a stirring of release. Anneliese felt an unfamiliar lightness as she embraced the notion that the present, and the bonds forged in it, were what truly mattered. No fixation on what had been lost could alter the promise of tomorrow; no amount of regret could change the anchorage that friendship and shared love provided.

After a long moment of silence filled with the steady pulse of their joined heartbeats, Anneliese's voice emerged as a soft, sincere whisper, laden with fragile gratitude: "Thank you, Eve."

As the tidal wave of sorrow began to recede, she slowly eased her arms from around Eve, her puffy eyes glistening with unshed tears. And then, almost without warning, a spark of her old self—a spark of freedom, of brokenness transformed—broke through the melancholic veil as an unexpectedly infectious giggle escaped her lips. Looking up into Eve's tender, understanding eyes, a wry smile crept onto her face.

"Great way to meet each other officially, huh?" she murmured, the humor mingling with residual grief, a testament to a soul daring once again to hope. In that fragile moment, Anneliese realized that while the past might shape her pain, it no longer defined her future. Pulling her back into a hug, she held on tightly, as if afraid something, seen or unseen would rip this moment away from her -- she spoke, her voice cracking as she assured softly. "I"m so thankful Ashla put you on my path today -- and I'm so thankful you and Azzie are both safe."

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[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Eve’s smile wavered, the kind that carried so much softness it ached. But she didn’t look away. Not even as Anneliese eased back, tear-streaked and laughing through the remnants of grief. That little giggle — fragile, hopeful — lit something in Eve’s chest. She could feel the bond forming between them, not through shared history, but through shared hurt... and healing.

"I’ve had worse introductions," Eve murmured, her voice still husky from holding back her own tears. She welcomed the second hug without hesitation. Her arms wrapped around Anneliese as if shielding her from everything; the past, the pain, even the weight of silence. She closed her eye and rested her cheek lightly against Anneliese’s hair, letting the moment breathe.

"I'm thankful too," she whispered into the warmth between them. "You're not alone, Annie."

A long pause settled between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with the hush of rustling leaves, the scent of garden blossoms carried on the Tython breeze, and the steady, grounding beat of two hearts refusing to let go. Eventually, Eve pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, her expression tinged with something more steady. A quiet strength, shaped by pain and softened by love.

"Come on," she said gently. "Let’s get out of the cold." She hesitated for only a breath before adding with a hopeful smile, "We could stop by the café just outside the temple grounds. Or... if you’d rather stay quiet, I can make tea in the dorm I have here. I have this blend from Eshan. Floral and warm. I think you'd like it."

There was no pressure in her voice. Just an open door, and the silent promise:

I'm here, for as long as you need.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo

Everest Vale
​

Anneliese let the warmth of Eve's words settle around her like a cloak, gentler than any comfort she had dared allow herself in recent days. It was strange how something so simple—an offered cup of tea, the promise of quiet—could feel like the lifeline she hadn't known she was searching for.


Her lips parted in response, but no words came at first. Instead, she simply looked at Eve—really looked. Past the calm steadiness, past the silver eye and the quiet strength shaped by loss. She saw someone who understood, not just in sympathy, but in soul. A sister not forged by blood, but by fire and resilience and grace. It made her chest tighten in the best way. It made her believe, just enough, that healing might be possible.


She nodded once, slowly, as if still catching up to the moment. "The tea," she said at last, her voice still hoarse but steadier now, "the Eshan blend… that sounds perfect." A wry smile tugged at her lips. "Besides, I think I've cried enough in public gardens to last a lifetime."

A breath—deep, grounding—filled her lungs as she pulled back gently, not out of distance, but because the storm within her had momentarily calmed. The world seemed clearer now. Or maybe it was just that she wasn't facing it alone anymore.

Her fingers reached down absentmindedly to brush a vine away from the edge of the path, as if acknowledging the garden's quiet witness to her unraveling and beginning. Then she glanced back at Eve, a flicker of something more playful returning to her eyes."You'll have to tell me how you make it. I've only ever burned floral tea," she added, the faintest edge of teasing dancing around her words—a spark, reigniting.

She turned toward the path, her steps still a little unsure, but no longer heavy with despair. A small piece of her heart had anchored itself beside Eve, steadying her against the ache. And though the pain hadn't vanished, it had changed shape—less like a burden, more like something that could finally be shared.

As they began walking side by side beneath the waning light, Anneliese stole a glance upward at the dusky sky and whispered under her breath, more to herself than anything else, "Ashla... thank you for tonight." Then, louder, with a soft but earnest smile at Eve, she added, "Lead the way. I think a quiet, more... intimate setting sounds safer… not sure I can handle too much of the world right now."

 

[Everest Vale]

Outfit: Robes
Equipment: Lightsaber, Bracelet, Earrings
Tag: Anneliese Kaohal

Eve offered a small, warm smile in return, as they began the quiet walk back to her dorm. The sun had dipped well below the horizon now, painting the sky in soft indigo and silver — a sky that reminded Eve, a little painfully, of Eshan. They walked mostly in silence, but it wasn’t the awkward at all. It was the kind of silence that let things settle, like loose soil in the wake of a storm.

Isari padded quietly alongside them, silent as snow. The fox's silver eyes flicked up occasionally at Anneliese, sensing her sadness, her shift, but she remained close to Eve's heels, always tethered to her in some unseen thread of loyalty and comfort. When they reached the dorm, Eve hesitated just a moment before opening the door.

"It’s a bit... empty," she admitted softly, glancing around. And it was. Most of her belongings were now on Tython — plants, books, her hand-carved little animals. Even her flute wasn’t here. Just the essentials: a low bed, folded linens, a few personal items tucked away. The room felt more like a pause than a home. But there was still a sense of peace to it. A calmness that lingered in the corners, in the way the soft lighting pooled like moonlight on wood.

Isari leapt gracefully up onto the bed without hesitation, circling once before curling into a silver-furred crescent, ears flicking faintly as if still listening to the mood in the room. Her presence was like a grounding thread — a reminder of connection and constancy.

"Here, come get comfy," Eve murmured as she gestured to the simple cushions that sat on the ground, passing a blanket to Anneliese should she need one, before moving towards the small kitchenette.

She set to work with the practiced grace of someone who had done this a thousand times, not speaking further for the moment. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately; measuring, steeping, adjusting the temperature of the water with a flicker of Force sensitivity. There was reverence in the way she moved, almost meditative. This was her ritual. A sacred quiet. Her silver eye stayed downturned, focused, calm. But Anneliese would sense it — the gentleness, the intention. A silent offering of comfort, of care, of presence.

After a few minutes, Eve turned with two gently steaming cups in hand and set them down on the low table beside the cushions. She sank to her knees beside it, folding automatically into the familiar posture of rural southern Eshan tea ceremonies. She smiled again to her guest, her expression soft but a little shy now. She offered Anneliese her cup with both hands, then looked down at her own.

"It’s not a cure," she murmured. "But... sometimes just some peace and quiet is enough to remind us... of what we need."

She didn’t press. She just sipped, with Isari softly breathing behind her, letting the moment be what it was: two souls, quiet and close, letting the world fall away — if only for a little while.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo

Everest Vale
​

The walk back to Eve's quarters had been wrapped in silence — not uncomfortable, but heavy, laden with the echoes of everything that had just passed between them. Anneliese felt like a vessel emptied out and filled again too quickly — her thoughts swirling, emotions raw and frayed, too many all at once.

As they stepped into the softly lit room, a gentle smile pulled at her lips. It was a quiet thing, warm despite her exhaustion. Home wasn't in the walls or the things; it was in the presence of someone who saw her, who stayed. And Eve had stayed.

When Eve excused herself to prepare tea, Anneliese took her words to heart and made herself at home. She stepped out of her boots, toes grateful for the cool flooring beneath them, and slipped off her outer tunic, revealing the sleeveless cropped top beneath. The fire-forged strength in her form was apparent — her arms and shoulders sculpted from years of training, skin bronzed by countless hours beneath distant suns, and hands marked by the callouses of discipline. The old, dark brand on her back caught the light, a silent testament to shadows she still carried.

Lowering herself onto the cushions near the low table, she noticed the blanket beside her — thoughtfully placed — and draped part of it across her lap, grounding herself with the softness. By the time Eve returned and handed her the cup, Anneliese accepted it with both hands, her expression soft, grateful. She took a quiet sip — the tea was delicate, earthy with a hint of sweetness — and it settled something inside her, just a little.

Eve's voice gently stirred the stillness again.

"What we need, huh?"

Anneliese's thumb traced the edge of the cup slowly. The question echoed in her — deeper than she'd expected. What did she need?

Her first instinct was silence. Her throat tightened, breath hitching as emotions threatened again — but this time, it wasn't the garden's sharp ache. This was something gentler, more uncertain. She shifted slightly, setting the cup down before reaching across the space and taking Eve's hand in her own. Her grip wasn't desperate, but firm — like holding onto something steady, something real. Her fingers brushed gently against Eve's as if anchoring herself in the moment.

"I don't know," she murmured, voice low and hoarse with wear. "I thought I did… for a long time. But now…"

A pause. Her eyes welled again, but no tears fell yet — just the quiet threat of them, clinging to her lashes.

"...Maybe I've been asking the wrong question this whole time."

Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. What did she need? What did she want? Maybe, right now, it was as simple — and as complicated — as not wanting to face it all alone anymore.

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