Private Among the Living Silence

[Nitya Xeraic]

The forest was alive with sound—soft and distant, the kind that felt older than speech. Wind through the canopy, the whisper of wings, the steady rhythm of unseen creatures moving beneath the undergrowth. To most travelers, Oralis Prime was a world of silence and solitude. To those attuned to the Force, it thrummed with quiet life.

Nitya Xeraic sat in the courtyard of her modest temple, legs folded beneath her and both glowing eyes half-lidded in meditation. The Force moved easily here—untamed, unshaped by cities or war. She breathed it in as though it were air itself.

For the first time in days, however, she felt a ripple that was not her own. A disturbance—faint, deliberate. Not dangerous. Not yet. She opened her eyes, the yellow glow catching faintly on the stone around her.

A ship had entered the valley. Small. Civilian class, by the energy trace. Its presence stirred the local fauna, sent flocks of winged creatures spiraling into the dawn sky. She rose from her seated posture, reaching for the thin brown cloak resting beside her.

Visitors were rare here. Unannounced ones, rarer still.

By the time the vessel set down beyond the treeline, Nitya was already waiting near the temple's outer path—calm, centered, hands loosely clasped before her. The ship's ramp descended, releasing a wash of warmth and travel dust into the cool air. A tall figure stepped into view, travel-worn but steady in his bearing.

Her gaze held his evenly.

"Oralis Prime doesn't receive many guests," she said, her tone even and quietly curious. "You've traveled far to find this place, stranger. Tell me—what brought you here?"

Garric Wrennar

 

[Garric Wrennar]

Garric was on his way back from a diplomatic mission he was sent on when he decided to take civilian transport; the scenic route, he told the pilots of diplomatic ship. Just the old man in him wanting to see the galaxy again, he had said. That was his intention, until the transport stopped on a planet, and he felt a feeling of calm from a nearby planet. He hired a pilot to bring him to the planet, feeling peaceful, quiet and calm.

After arriving on the planet, the pilot gave him a communicator to use for when he wishes to return to the station on the other planet. Garric wished the pilot well as he quickly took off once more. He felt the presence of one nearby, but barely had time to turn around when a voice rang out through the quiet area. Her voice was steady, with a hint of curiosity. Garric turned and smiled gently at the young lady as he answered.

"Ah, my apologies if I'm trespassing, young ma'am. You see, I was curious about this planet, it gave me the feeling of overwhelming calm, so I wished to investigate. I didn't mean to intrude."

He bowed slightly, to go along with his apology, before straightening up again.

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Nitya Xeraic

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

The air was still enough that his words seemed to linger in it. Nitya regarded him quietly from the edge of the path, both eyes glowing with the faint light through the trees.

"There's no intrusion here," she said at last, her voice low and even. "The forest welcomes those who arrive with peace in their hearts. Most forget how to listen for it."

She stepped closer, her boots soft against the moss, and inclined her head slightly in greeting. The calm she carried seemed to deepen around them—subtle, but unmistakable, like the air just before rain.

"You felt it too, then," she continued, studying him with quiet curiosity. "The stillness. It reaches those who need it, or so I've always believed."

Her gaze softened. "I'm Nitya Xeraic. This temple—such as it is—has been my home for some years now. You're welcome to rest, if that's what brought you here. There's water, and a bit of tea if you'd like something warmer than the air."

A pause, a faint, knowing half-smile.

"Curiosity has a habit of guiding us to the right places."

Garric Wrennar

 

[Garric Wrennar]

Garric bowed again, this time in greeting rather than apologies. He spoke softly and calmly, in a tone that gave of friendliness and gratitude both.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms Xeraic. I am Garric Wrennar, and I thank you for your hospitality. If it is not too much trouble, I would like to gladly accept your offer for tea and rest."

He walked closer to her, his footsteps soft on the ground, as though barely touching it. He cam to a stop just a few steps away, leaning against a tree while waiting to hear an invitation to follow.

"Indeed it does. Curiosity is quite the remarkable thing, in my opinion. It can take you where you need to be, and can teach you so much about yourself. But I ramble, I don't wish to bore you with the rambles of an old man, not such a warm presence such as yourself."

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Nitya Xeraic

 

[Nitya Xeraic]

She inclined her head slightly in return, a small gesture that carried the weight of courtesy tempered with calm.

"Then you're welcome here, Garric Wrennar. Tea and quiet are about all this place has to offer—but I've found that's often enough."

Turning toward the temple path, she motioned gently for him to follow. The forest opened around them in slow rhythm—the hum of insects, the whisper of branches overhead, the faint echo of wings passing between the canopy.

"You're right about curiosity," she continued as they walked. "It has a way of guiding us to the edges of things we've forgotten to look for. Most who find their way here don't come by accident, even when they think they do."

The structure emerged ahead—simple stone and weathered wood, softened by moss and filtered light. Nitya paused at its threshold, looking back toward him with the faintest trace of a smile.

"You won't bore me," she said quietly. "The galaxy moves fast enough without us rushing to fill every silence. Come—let the stillness do the talking for a while."

Inside, the temple was sparse but warm. Shafts of light fell across the polished stone floor, and the faint scent of juniper tea filled the air. A small table stood near an open window overlooking the forest, two cups already waiting.

Nitya moved toward it, her steps soundless on the stone. "Commenorian Juniper," she explained as she poured, the steam curling upward in pale ribbons. "From my mother's province. It's a grounding blend—clear, steady. I find it suits most conversations."

She slid one cup toward him before taking her seat across the table. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was tranquil, almost reverent, the kind that belonged in places where time seemed to slow.

After a moment, she lifted her cup, meeting his eyes across the rising steam. "Tell me, Garric—what is it you hoped to find when you followed that feeling here?"

Garric Wrennar