Ascending Legend
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
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