Private A Weight Beneath Composure

[Iandre Athlea]

The briefing had been minimal.

Iandre stood near the edge of the landing platform, her posture composed but for the slight, weary tension that even her discipline could not fully smooth away. Below, the world stretched out in muted tones, functional and unremarkable, the kind of place chosen for its purpose rather than its presence. It was a world that asked for nothing and offered less.

It suited the nature of the assignment. It suited her.

Her gaze drifted outward, not fixed on anything in particular. She was allowing the stillness to settle over her rather than forcing herself into it. Here, the Force was quiet. It was not the screaming void she had feared, but something subdued and muffled, offering no clear direction beyond the faint, instinctual sense that she was exactly where she needed to be.

For now.

She lowered the datapad, its screen dimming as her thumb brushed the casing. She had reviewed the details more than necessary, a habit born of a desperate need to keep her mind anchored to the present. Every time she stopped moving, the weight would return, the unnamed, heavy thing that lingered just beneath the surface of her composure.

She knew its name, of course. She simply wasn't ready to speak it.

Keeping busy was the only way to endure. If she focused on the mission, on the logistics, on the one she was meant to meet, she did not have to focus on the silence where Rellik had been. She did not have to remember the Jedi Temple of her youth, or the Master she had not been allowed to mourn. This distraction was a mercy. It was the only right thing left to do.

Footsteps approached.

She felt the ripple in the air before the sound reached her. Iandre turned, not with an abrupt start, but with a measured, liquid control. Her gaze settled on the approaching figure, steady and assessing, searching not for fault but for the rhythm of a new partnership.

"Iandre Athlea," she said. Her voice was calm, an introduction stripped of ceremony and rank. "I was informed we would be working together."

She regarded him more carefully for a beat, her eyes reflecting the pale light of the landing field.

"The details were limited," she added, her tone dropping slightly but remaining anchored. "I assume you were given the same."

There was no impatience in her words, no demand for answers she knew he likely did not have. There was only her presence, steady, enduring, and carrying a quiet sorrow that she refused to let control the room.

Oryn Selvar

 

[Oryn Selvar]

​

Oryn made his approach, bringing nothing with him but the training saber he'd requisitioned for the mission. All else would be provided for, or perhaps there wasn't much else. It was simple, in a way - the life of a Padawan. One simple went and did as one was told.

He didn't recognise the person waiting for him. Oryn tried to get a read on her as he got close, but she didn't come to him as natural as others did. She felt… Closed off, somehow. He slowed a fraction as he approached, more instinct than decision.

There was a steadiness to her that should have felt reassuring, and in a way it did, but it was as if beneath it something pressed inward, folded so tightly. He couldn't name it, not exactly. Like there was an echo in her emotional field.

He gave her a nod of acknowledgement. "Oryn Selvar." he said in a measured tone, softer than he'd intended.

"Yeah, I was told I'd be assisting you. They didn't give me much to go on."

Except, she was a Padawan too, right? The mission couldn't be that dangerous if they were sending two paddies alone. It reassured him somewhat, as his last outing hadn't exactly gone well. And it was all his fault.

Couldn't he keep it together for this one? How many more missions before the Council decided this life wasn't for him?

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, not pressing or dissecting, but quietly taking measure of what stood before her, the tension beneath his composure evident in the small ways he carried himself. It was familiar, though she gave no indication of that recognition beyond the faintest softening at the edges of her expression.

"That is not unusual. Clarity tends to arrive after you have already committed to the path, and by then there is rarely time to question whether it was the right one," she said, her voice calm and even, offering the observation without judgment.

Her attention shifted briefly past him, noting the steady rhythm of preparation around them, the quiet efficiency that often disguised how quickly circumstances could change once a mission truly began.

"What matters is that you are here, and that you remain present long enough to act when it becomes necessary," she continued, the words carrying no weight beyond their intent.

She turned then and began to move away from the edge of the platform, her pace deliberate rather than hurried as she made her way toward the waiting transport. It was not a command for him to follow, but it did not leave much room for hesitation either, simply a continuation of motion that assumed he would fall into step.

"We will be operating with limited information, which means we observe first, act second, and adapt quickly when both prove insufficient," she added as she walked, her tone steady and practical, grounded in experience rather than instruction.

Her hand rested briefly near her side, close to where her saber would hang, though she made no move to draw it, her focus remaining forward.

"You do not need to prove anything on this mission. You only need to make the next correct decision, and then the one that follows it," she said, the quiet precision of the statement carrying more reassurance than any overt encouragement.

A brief pause followed as she reached the base of the ramp, the transport looming ahead, its open interior waiting.

"That is enough," she finished, stepping forward without looking back, trusting that he would keep pace without needing to be asked.

And because continuing forward, one decision at a time, was the only way she had found to keep moving at all.

Oryn Selvar

 

[Oryn Selvar]

​

Oryn hesitated only a moment before falling into step behind her, the low hum of the transport growing louder as they neared the ramp. Her words lingered longer than he expected. You do not need to prove anything. Easy enough to say. He adjusted his grip on the training saber at his belt, more to occupy his hands than out of any real need.

"Observe first, act second," he repeated quietly, as if testing the shape of it. "Guess that rules out improvising my way into another disaster." The attempt at humor came out dry, thinner than he'd intended, but he let it stand. As they neared the transport, Oryn glanced toward her again, studying the calm way she carried herself. No wasted movement. No visible hesitation.

"So what do we actually know?" he asked after a beat. "Because 'limited information' usually means somebody higher up knows more than they're telling us." He stepped onto the ramp behind her, the metallic clang of his boots echoing faintly through the ship's interior.

"Feels strange, sending two Padawans, if there's a real possibility of trouble." That said, Iandre didn't sound like a Padawan. She spoke with the experience and assurity of a Knight, or someone very close.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

The faintest trace of approval touched Iandre's expression at his dry humor, softening her rigid composure.

"A little improvisation is healthy," she replied as they moved up the ramp. "The trick is learning how to survive it afterward."

As their footsteps echoed into the transport, she considered his reasonable concerns. At his comment about two Padawans being sent alone, her pace slowed slightly with a noticeable hesitation.

"I am not as inexperienced as it looks," she said quietly, her gray eyes drifting to the ship's dim interior. "I was very close to Knighthood before my Master was killed."

A heavy, unfinished silence followed. She clearly did not speak about what followed Aisha's death easily, but the mission offered a welcome focus.

Stepping further inside, she rested a hand on a passenger seat to gather her thoughts.

"What I was told is limited, but not entirely unhelpful," she continued professionally. "The settlement has gone dark twice in the last month. Communications returned both times before an investigation could happen, but the reports were inconsistent."

Her brows furrowed slightly at the contradictions.

"Supply shipments arrived damaged, equipment failed inexplicably, and a handful of settlers left suddenly, while others insist nothing happened. There are no signs of open conflict, but enough irregularities to warrant observation."

Her calm, attentive gaze returned to him.

"Do you know anything else they may not have included in the briefing?"

A faint pause followed before a ghost of her earlier approval returned.

"And for what it is worth, I suspect the fact you are worried about causing another disaster probably lowers the odds of one occurring."

Oryn Selvar

 

[Oryn Selvar]

​

Oryn’s expression softened almost immediately at the mention of her Master. The joking edge left him just as quickly as it had come. He knew that kind of silence. The unfinished kind.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and for once didn’t try to fill the space after it with nervous rambling.

The Nautolan stepped further into the transport behind her, one hand trailing briefly along the back of a seat as he took in the dim interior. Damaged shipments. Failing equipment. Settlers denying anything was wrong while others fled outright. None of it sounded good, but somehow that almost made it worse. Trouble was easier to understand when it announced itself properly.

At her question, Oryn gave a small shake of his head.

“Not really. My briefing was pretty bare bones.” his head-tails twitched thoughtfully behind him.

He moved toward the cockpit entrance, though not quite stepping into it yet. It still felt presumptuous when she very clearly seemed to be taking point. Honestly, Oryn was grateful for it.

“Could just be frightened settlers getting spooked by bad circumstances,” he offered. “But equipment failing and conflicting stories…” his brow furrowed. “That sounds organized. Or manipulated.”

A small smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth at her final comment. “I’ll try not to take that as a challenge.”

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

A faint quiet settled over Iandre's expression at Oryn's apology, though there was no visible sharpness or reopened wound in her reaction. If anything, the sadness there felt older than grief usually did, worn smooth by time rather than freshly torn open.

"Thank you," she said softly, following him further into the transport. "But it was more than a lifetime ago now."

The words carried an odd weight coming from someone who looked scarcely older than him. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the viewport before returning to the interior of the ship as she continued quietly, "The pain changes after enough years pass. It becomes less sharp, less consuming, though I do not think losses like that ever truly leave us."

As the words left her, a sudden, suffocating wave of her current grief threatened to breach her composure. It wasn't the old ache for Aisha, but a raw, bleeding phantom. The agonizingly fresh absence of Rellik that throbbed like an open wound in the Force. For a devastating second, the sheer weight of it nearly stole her breath, but she clamped down on the tremor, fiercely pressing the agony back into the dark before it could spill over and compromise her focus.

Forcing her attention back to the present, her eyes sharpened with genuine, visible approval at his observations about the mission.

"That was my concern as well," she admitted, deliberately anchoring herself to the logistics of the assignment. "Fear alone rarely creates consistency because people panic in different ways. Conflicting stories paired with repeated equipment failures suggest either deliberate interference…or someone controlling the flow of information."

She stepped into the cockpit then, resting one hand lightly against the co-pilot seat to steady herself while studying the nav display.

"Which means observation becomes even more important before we decide how to involve ourselves."

The faintest trace of dry humor touched her expression again at his final comment, offering a welcome distraction from the heavy silence in her mind.

"Good," she replied calmly, "because I suspect the Force already provides enough challenges without either of us volunteering for additional ones."

Then, after a beat, her gaze shifted back toward him, softer and quieter now.

"And Oryn?" She paused briefly, letting her perceptive nature override her own internal battle. "You do not need to sound confident all the time for me to trust you on this mission."

There was no criticism in the observation, only a quiet reassurance from someone who recognized exactly what it felt like to hide a fragile heart behind humor and careful analysis.

Oryn Selvar

 

[Oryn Selvar]

​

Oryn let the silence settle for a moment after she spoke. It felt strange how easily her words calmed a part of him he had spent weeks wrestling with alone. Usually, when people looked at him for too long, he started waiting for disappointment to arrive. Correction. Advice. Some gentle reminder of what he still lacked. This didn't feel like that.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The ship shuddered beneath them as the engines built power. Outside the viewport, the hangar fell away piece by piece until open space stretched ahead. Oryn watched the stars for a moment before looking back down toward the console. Cargo reports. Repair logs. Contradicting statements. The more he looked, the less accidental it all felt. Not dramatic enough to draw immediate attention. Not subtle enough to be coincidence, either.

His headtails shifted faintly as he thought. "How do you want to handle first contact?" he asked after a moment. "As Jedi, I mean. Or just… people asking questions?" There were advantages to both. Jedi brought authority, but authority also made people nervous. Nervous people lied.

The ship aligned itself with the plotted route. Then the stars ahead stretched into long lines of white and blue as hyperspace swallowed them whole. Oryn leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes still fixed on the mission data. Something about this whole thing bothered him. He just couldn't tell yet whether that feeling belonged to the Force or to his own imagination.

Iandre Athlea

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre considered the question while the stars stretched into luminous ribbons outside the viewport, her reflection faintly visible against the transparisteel. The grief she carried remained present, impossible to entirely separate from her thoughts, but the mission provided a useful structure and a purpose outside herself to focus on.

When she finally answered, there was the faintest trace of humor beneath her otherwise thoughtful tone.

"Considering you are a Nautolan carrying a training saber and dressed like a Jedi, I suspect our ability to arrive as anything else may already be compromised, unless you have been secretly cultivating a second career as a moisture farmer."

The joke was quiet and dry, the kind that barely disturbed her composure, but it was there. Her gaze drifted from the viewport back toward him.

"I would not lie about who we are," she said easily. "People deserve honesty from those who claim to serve them, but honesty does not require announcing ourselves the moment we step off the transport either. I would rather listen and observe first, letting people tell us what they believe is important before we begin asking questions."

A faint, thoughtful look crossed her face as she folded her hands loosely in her lap.

"Fear changes when authority enters a room. Sometimes people become more honest, and sometimes they become less so, but either way, the version of events we receive after identifying ourselves may be different than the one we would have heard beforehand. Which means our first task is likely not solving the problem, but figuring out which problem actually exists."

That seemed to be the part bothering her most as well: the damaged shipments, the conflicting accounts, and the absence of anything dramatic enough to explain itself immediately.

After a few moments, she leaned back slightly in her seat, and her eyes settled briefly on the mission data still displayed on the tablet.

"If something about this feels wrong to you, I would not dismiss that feeling too quickly," she added quietly. "Imagination creates possibilities while instinct notices patterns, and it sometimes takes time to discover which one is speaking."

The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"The difficult part is that occasionally they sound exactly alike."

Oryn Selvar