Private Between Breath and Flame

[Xian Xiao]

The outpost had no name anymore. Whatever title the Sith once carved into its black stone had long since been stripped away by time and weather, leaving only jagged marks and broken edges. The place sat just beyond the city limits of Ravelin, half-swallowed by creeping moss and ash-gray dust, its shadow stretching across the plains like a forgotten scar.

It should have felt oppressive.

Instead, Xian found it… quiet.

The morning sun pushed through drifting clouds, soft gold spilling over collapsed pillars and the remnants of old statues now reduced to little more than features smoothed by wind. The air was cool, tinged with the scent of old stone and damp earth. Even the breeze moved carefully here, as though mindful of what once stood in this place.

Xian slowly stepped into the courtyard, boots brushing against shards of broken tile. As she inhaled, the breeze shifted—subtle, swirling, familiarly answering her breath. The Force was present here, not as a weight, but as a low, steady hum beneath her feet. Echoes of conflict. Echoes of survival.

A good place for both of them.

She closed her eyes and let her breath move the mist pooling in the low spaces of the ruin. It rippled outward in soft concentric waves, brushing around fallen stones and old scorch marks that no one had bothered to clean. This place had seen pain. But it also knew how to hold it without letting it rule.

Behind her, she felt him before she heard him.

A familiar presence—sharp, controlled, edged like a blade honed too many times. But today, there was something else beneath it: a steadiness she recognized. A warmth that hadn't always been there.

Xian didn't turn right away. She let him approach, let his steps echo through the broken hall. Only when he reached the threshold of the courtyard did she speak.

"Morning," she said softly, her voice carrying lightly across the open air. "You're right on time."

She turned then, and the rising sun caught the red sheen of her hair and the calm set of her expression. Not rigid. Not guarded. Just… present. Her eyes found his, steady and warm in a way that belonged entirely to him.

"You said you wanted to train," she continued, the faintest smile touching her lips. "And I meant it when I said I was holding you to it."

Her gaze drifted briefly to the ruins around them—old walls cracked with age, stone scorched by battles neither of them had seen. "I figured you'd be more comfortable out here," she admitted quietly. "Less noise. Less expectation. More space to breathe."

A breeze swept between them, brushing her cloak, tugging lightly at the hem of his. She let the air settle, then stepped back into the center of the courtyard. Her stance shifted—balanced, rooted, poised.

"This isn't about breaking anything," she said, her tone calm, confident. "It's about control. Yours, mine… both."

She lifted a hand, letting the wind curl around her fingers as though eager to begin.

"So," she said, dark eyes meeting his again with a quiet challenge.

"Let's see what we can learn from each other."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran sensed her before he saw her, a thrum in his chest, a prickling, electric anticipation threading through his nerves as he stepped into the courtyard. It wasn't the usual tension that had followed him for so much of his life, nor the instinctive muscle tightening that warned him to keep his distance. Xian's presence met him gently: clear, steady, like the quiet center of a storm long ago taught not to swallow itself whole.

He paused at the threshold of the broken archway, letting the morning light settle over the ruin and over her. For a moment, he simply watched. The way the mist curved around her breath. The way she stood was neither rigid, like a soldier, nor loose, like someone who had never known fear, but grounded, aware, and listening.

It mattered that she had chosen this place for them, signaling she was ready to help him, as she'd promised.

Veyran stepped forward, boots crunching softly over scattered tile. The hum beneath the stone touched him too, a pulse, faint but insistent, like something buried that refused to die. He let it wash through him, a reminder of the things he'd survived and the things he still carried.

When Xian turned, he met her gaze openly, revealing both his edge and the warmth beneath.

"Morning," he murmured, voice softer, edged by nerves. A flicker of relief crossed his face. "Didn't think I'd beat you here."

He drew closer, standing within her stirred breath as the breeze tugged his dark hair.

"You chose well," he added, looking briefly around the courtyard. "It feels… honest, out here."

His attention returned to how she held herself, how she didn't look away.

"You said you wanted to help me train. To understand what I'm doing instead of fighting it."

He exhaled, a shaky breath betraying nerves, letting the brisk air fill the space between them, drawing courage from the chill.

"Then here's my offer."

He stepped closer, not imposing, but deliberate, until his voice carried only to her. "Teach me what you feel and know. How do you listen to the wind and make it answer? You've mastered a control I never learned." A beat of silence, warm and alive. "And in return," he said, voice firm with resolve, "I'll teach you to defend yourself, hand to hand, footing, leverage. How to make your blade more than instinct."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Give me what you know…and I'll give you everything I can."

The wind swept lightly between them, almost as if sealing the promise.

"What do you say, Xian?" he asked softly, lifting his guard stance with a slow, inviting precision. "Shall we begin?"

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian let the breeze wash over her as he spoke, the cool air threading through the warmth radiating from him. For a moment, she held herself still, hands loose at her sides, shoulders set in a calm line — but when he stepped closer, the space between them shifted. The air thickened. Her breath caught, just once, before she forced it even again.

She wasn't hiding anything.
Not really.
But she tried to keep just enough distance to stay steady.

It lasted about three seconds.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, and whatever emotional discipline she attempted softened at the edges. The morning light made it worse — or better — brushing gold over the planes of his face, turning his presence into something she felt all the way down to her pulse.

"So…" she said quietly, a faint breath of warmth in her voice, "you want to trade lessons."

She stepped closer — not knowingly, just following the pull — until she could feel the heat of his body radiating into the cold air between them. It made her heart jump. It also made her smile, small and helpless at the corners.

"I accept."

Xian lifted her hand, palm open, fingers brushing through the drifting dust motes. She motioned to the broken archways, the cracked tiles under their boots, the faint hiss of wind threading through shattered stone.

"But first—tell me what you feel here."

She turned slightly, her hair lifting in the breeze as she gestured around them.

"The ruins. The ground. The air."
Her voice grew softer, more focused. "What do they say to you? What pulls at you when you stand in a place like this?"

Her eyes returned to him. Too quickly. Too easily.
This close, she could feel the heat rolling off him, subtle and steady, and something inside her tightened — a tiny, unguarded flicker of affection crossing her face before she managed to school her expression again.

Almost.

A small, warm smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'll try to teach you what I know," she added, voice quieter, "but I need to understand how you see it first."

She lifted her hands, mirroring his guard stance with practiced ease — except her gaze flickered to his face once more, lingering half a heartbeat too long.

"Your turn, Veyran."
Her tone was steady. Her eyes were anything but.
"What do you feel?"

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran stood very still.

Not because he was uncertain, but because the moment she stepped toward him, the air shifted in a way he hadn't expected. The warmth that rolled off her mingled with the cold ruin breeze and struck him harder than any strike she could land. It hit low, under his ribs, sharp and quiet, the kind of feeling he normally armors himself against.

He didn't armor himself now, when she asked what he felt, his gaze stayed on her a few seconds too long before he let it drift outward, across the fallen pillars and the fractured courtyard floor.

He inhaled.

"Pressure," he said first, softly. "Not from you. Not from this place. From memory."

He stepped past her just enough to run his fingertips across a cracked column, stone rough against scarred knuckles. The wind whispered across his shoulders like it recognized him or recognized the pieces of him still learning how not to flinch.

"There's a pull in old places like this," he continued, voice low, almost thoughtful. "Like the ground remembers every fight, every failure, every breath someone used to stay alive."

He closed his eyes a moment.

"You feel the echoes. I feel the weight."

"But underneath all that…"

His voice tightened, softer, truer.

"There's quiet. And I don't get that often."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian watched him as he spoke — really watched him — the way his shoulders shifted, the way his breath changed when he touched the stone, the way his voice softened on quiet as if the word itself was something fragile he wasn't used to holding.

For a moment, she stayed where she was.

Then she stepped forward — not close enough to crowd him, but close enough that the air between them warmed again, soft and unmistakable. Close enough that her presence could be felt rather than seen.

Her eyes swept the ruins once, slow and contemplative, before she answered him.

"…I don't feel the weight," she said softly.

Her voice didn't contradict him — it joined his, the way wind slips into the edges of a storm without trying to tame it.

"I feel the breath under it. The part that's still alive. The part that's waiting."

She crouched, pressing her palm briefly to the cracked tile. The wind coiled gently around her wrist, stirred by instinct rather than effort. When she rose again, her face was composed, steady — but the moment she met his eyes, something warmer flickered there, unable to stay hidden.

"But I feel something else too."

She lifted a hand, not to touch him, but to gesture to the space between them, to the air that had thickened with something unspoken.

"You," she admitted quietly. "You're warmer than the ruins. Louder, too. The ground hums, the wind listens, but when you step into a place like this…"

Her breath caught faintly — just enough that she hoped he didn't notice.

"…you change the air."

She tried to school her expression, tried to keep the slight emotional distance she'd promised herself.

But the love she was beginning to feel — that soft, terrifying, inevitable thing — crept into her anyway. Into the way her fingers curled at her side. Into the way her breath softened. Into the way her eyes lingered on him longer than they should have.

She took another step, just enough that the heat of him brushed her skin.

"You said you feel weight."
Her gaze held his, steady, vulnerable.
"Let me help you feel the quiet."

A soft exhale.
"And then… You can teach me how to stand stronger in it."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran didn't move at first.

Not because her words stunned him, though they did, but because something in the way she stepped closer, slow and deliberate and unafraid, stole the tension straight out of his muscles. It wasn't forceful. It wasn't demanding. It was… steadying. Like she walked with intention instead of hesitation.

And it hit somewhere he wasn't used to being hit. Deep.

He swallowed once, barely audible, before letting his breath settle into something even. When he spoke, his voice had dropped lower, threaded with something warmer than the ruins, something he didn't bother trying to hide.

"You think I change the air," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "You don't realize what you do to it."

He stepped toward her, slow, unhurried until the warmth between them wasn't just a suggestion but a truth, shared and undeniable. The wind coiled around them as though drawn into their gravity. His hands reached for hers, taking them in either of his. Until he gave the gentlest of tugs, pulling her closer to him. Until they were both pressed up against each other.

"You take the weight out of it," he said quietly. "You walk into a place like this and the Force… breathes differently. Like it's relieved you're here."

His hand lifted, caressing her cheek, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin.

"And when you look at me like that," he added, voice roughening just slightly, "the quiet isn't hard to find."

He let his eyes roam her face briefly, the deliberate calm, the soft edges betraying her, the warmth she tried and failed to hide. It made something protective and fierce rise in him, something he'd never been given permission to feel before.

"You want to help me feel the quiet," he echoed softly.

Fingers tracing her jaw in a gentle, grounding stroke. The contact was light, reverent, almost hesitant, but once there, he didn't pull away.

"Then I'll let you," he whispered. "All of it."

His thumb grazed her cheekbone, slow and warm.

"And when you're ready," he continued, voice dropping into a steadier, firmer tone, "I'll teach you how to stand your ground even when silence turns into fire. How to brace. How to strike. How to move your blade so nothing can break your balance."

He leaned in so their foreheads touched.

"You give me quiet," he said, breath warm against her skin. "I'll give you strength."

A pause. Soft. Certain. Unshakably sincere.

"Xian?"

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's breath caught—not from fear, but from how close he'd stepped, how the warmth of him spread across her skin despite the cool air of the ruins. For a moment, she forgot why they were here at all. The world narrowed to the feel of his hands closing around hers, the gentle, deliberate pull that brought them chest to chest.

She steadied herself with a soft inhale, trying—futilely—to tuck her emotions neatly behind the walls she meant to have. Her heart had other ideas. Her pulse thrummed at the base of her throat, a quiet, insistent warmth that climbed into her cheeks before she could stop it.

But she didn't step back.

Instead, she lifted one hand, letting her fingers brush along the back of his wrist before trailing up, resting lightly over the one he cupped against her cheek.

"I will try," she murmured, voice low, steady despite the flutter in her chest. "All of it."

Her gaze drifted past him for a moment, over the broken stones and fallen pillars, before returning to meet his eyes. "But first… tell me what you feel here." She motioned gently toward the ruins around them, to the cracked tiles beneath their feet, the cold breath of air winding through shattered stone. "Not just through the Force—you. What does this place make you feel?"

She stepped just a fraction closer—too small to count as daring, too deliberate to be accidental. The warmth that radiated off him washed up her spine, grounding and unnerving all at once.

"And while you're doing that," she continued softly, "I'll show you how I feel the wind. The ground. The breath of the world."

She swallowed once, subtly, as his forehead rested against hers, the closeness dissolving whatever distance she'd tried to maintain. Her eyes softened, a quiet glow of emotion slipping through her restraint—gentle, unguarded, unmistakably real.

"If you give me your quiet…" she whispered, thumb brushing the edge of his knuckle, "I'll give you everything I know."

A pause—just long enough for her heart to betray her with its pace—before a small, almost shy smile curved her lips.

"Come on," she breathed, tilting her forehead to his just slightly, "let's begin."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran didn't speak right away. He couldn't.

Not when her hand slid over his, not when her forehead tipped into his, not when her voice wrapped around him with that quiet invitation that felt less like teaching and more like trust. For a man who had spent most of his life bracing for impact, learning to stand in softness like this felt more dangerous than any blade.

And he stepped into it anyway. He closed his fingers around hers, not tightly, but with a grounded certainty, as though anchoring himself to the steadiness she offered. Her pulse fluttered against his palm; his answered in kind, stronger than he meant it to.

When he finally breathed, it left him slow, warm against her lips.

"What I feel…" he murmured, voice low, unguarded in a way he didn't bother to hide.

He didn't pull back to look at the ruins. He didn't need to. He felt them everywhere, under his boots, in the air, in the small tremors running through the broken ground.

"It feels like a place that survived despite everything done to it," he said softly. "A place that wasn't meant to still be standing, but is."

His thumb brushed along her cheek as he spoke, the contact soft but steady.

"There's still hurt here. Pressure. Shadows that haven't let go. And normally… that would make me tense. It would make me want to fight whatever left those marks."

His forehead pressed more fully to hers, breath mingling with hers in a slow, shared rhythm.

"But with you here?"

He lifted their joined hands, guiding her palm lightly against his chest not over his heart, but just beside it, where she could feel the slow, deliberate rise and fall of his breath. "With you, it feels like a place learning how to breathe again."

Something flickered across his expression, something raw, something honest, something that carried the weight of a man who did not trust easily but trusted her without hesitation.

"You make the quiet make sense," he murmured.

Then, with a subtle shift, he moved one hand down to her waist, not pulling her closer, just grounding her the way she grounded him.

"Show me," he whispered. "Show me the wind. The ground. The way you hear the world breathe."

His eyes stayed half-lidded, focused entirely on her, on the way she leaned into him, on the warmth radiating between them, on the soft glow in her expression that made his chest tighten in ways he had no defense for.

"You and I," he breathed, "We'll meet in the middle."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian didn't pull away when he guided her hand to his chest.
She didn't even try.

Her breath caught, soft and sharp as her fingers felt the steady rise of his lungs beneath her palm. Not frantic, not armored—just deliberate. Present. Real. And for a moment, the warmth of him threatened to break the calm she tried to hold on to.

But she didn't step back.
She leaned in instead, forehead still touching his, her nose brushing his with the faintest exhale.

"Okay," she whispered.

The word wasn't just an answer.
It was a promise.

Xian let her eyes fall half-closed—not out of shyness, but because it made it easier to feel everything, him, the ruins, the Force threading the space between them. His hand at her waist didn't take her balance; it gave her center.

Her voice stayed soft, meant only for him.

"You want to know what I feel?"

She lifted her free hand and threaded her fingers lightly along the side of his neck, barely there, like she was afraid of breaking the moment. But she didn't pull away either. The warmth between them pulsed, steady, inevitable.

"Breathe with me," she murmured.

She inhaled—slow, deep—letting the cold morning air fill her lungs.
Around them, a faint shift stirred the dust where the stones were broken.
The wind tightened, subtle at first, then curving along the edges of the courtyard like it had woken just to listen.

"This place isn't dead," she said quietly. "It's scarred. But scarred things remember how to survive."

Her thumb brushed the hollow of his throat before she let her fingers fall back to his shoulder.

"Listen."

She guided his hand from her waist to rest over her ribs, letting him feel her breath match his. Air moved with them—soft, steady, wrapping around their bodies like a second skin.

"The wind doesn't push," she murmured. "It listens. It waits for intention. For courage. For honesty. You don't control it… You meet it."

Her voice caught slightly at the last word.
Not fear—something deeper, something she couldn't quite keep buried anymore.

"You feel pressure here," she said, eyes lifting to meet his again, steady and warm. "I feel… you."

A soft flush touched her cheeks, betraying the distance she tried to maintain.

"You change the air, Veyran Solis," she said, barely above a whisper. "And not because of darkness. Because of the heat. Because of the way you stand when you decide something matters."

She stepped in closer—not pressed against him, just… near enough that the warmth between them didn't have any room to fade.

"You said we'll meet in the middle."

Her fingers slid down his arm until they intertwined with his again.

"Then meet me," she said gently. "Right here. In the breath of the ruins. In the quiet, you keep searching for."

A faint smile touched her lips—soft, real, touched by something fiercely tender.

"I'm not afraid of your shadows," she whispered. "So don't be afraid of my light."

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand, deliberate and warm.

"Now… let me show you how to hear the wind."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's breath faltered the moment her hand guided his to her ribs. Not from hesitation. Not from uncertainty.

But from the way she invited him in not with force, not with asking, but with trust so deep it felt like stepping into a place no one had ever let him stand before. Her breath moved under his palm, steady and soft, and the contact sent a slow, aching warmth through his chest that melted every instinct to pull away.

He didn't pull away.

His thumb brushed her side in a barely-there stroke, grounding himself in the rhythm she gave him. Her forehead against his, the whisper of her nose brushing his, it undid something inside him he'd never had words for.

She told him to breathe with her. So he did.

Slow. Deep. Deliberate. Matching the rise and fall under his hand, letting her breath guide his instead of the other way around. The wind moved with them, curling around their legs, lifting the edge of her hair so it brushed against his jaw. He didn't look away from her. Not once. When she said the ruins weren't dead, something in him softened, not visibly, but inwardly, the way metal softens in flame before its shape changes.

"Scarred things survive," he echoed quietly, eyes flicking over her face, drinking in the warmth blooming over her cheeks, the softness in her jaw, the steadiness in her gaze. "Maybe that's why I ended up here."

Her hand slid along his neck, light enough to make his pulse leap under her touch. He swallowed once, hard, but didn't break contact. If anything, he leaned just enough to meet the warmth of her palm.

Then she said she felt him. The words didn't strike. They sank.

Heat pooled low in his chest, fierce and quiet, and when she flushed, when she admitted he changed the air, he felt it like a hand around his heart.

"Xian…" he breathed, voice roughened, the syllables shaped by something he'd never said to anyone.

She stepped closer, not into him, but toward him and that was somehow more powerful. He felt her warmth, the promise of her light, and something inside him answered instinctively, protectively, tenderly. When her fingers traced down his arm to lace with his again, his grip tightened softly, like he'd been waiting for her to ask him to hold on.

"Meet you?" he murmured, lifting their joined hands so her knuckles brushed his lips in a feather-light touch. "I'm already here."

He didn't hide anything now, not his shadows, not his heat, not the gentleness that only existed because she coaxed it to the surface.

"I'm not afraid of your light," he said, voice low and sure. "I'm afraid of losing the chance to stand in it."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it raw, quiet, shaped from truth rather than caution. His forehead pressed more firmly to hers, as if anchoring the vow between them.

The wind curled around their joined hands, warm despite the cold morning air.

"Show me," he whispered, breath mingling with hers. "Show me how you hear the wind."

His free hand rose to settle lightly along her back, not controlling, not claiming, simply steady, an unspoken promise that he was listening, that he was learning, that he was hers in this moment completely.

"Guide me, Xian," he said softly. "I'll follow your breath."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's breath hitched—not from nerves, but from the way he said her name. Quiet. Unarmored. Trusting her in a way she hadn't prepared for.

But she didn't step back.

Instead, she let her fingers glide from his neck to his wrist, guiding his hand a little higher along her ribs—not to tease, not to tempt, but to correct his posture the way her own masters never taught her gently.

"Then listen," she murmured, letting her forehead rest against his for one more steadying heartbeat. "Not to me. To the world around you."

She turned her face slightly, just enough that the tip of her nose brushed his cheek before she stepped back a half-pace—not far, but enough to reclaim air between them, enough to shift from near-kiss to instruction.

"Feel this place," she said softly, palms opening toward the ruins around them. "Not with your fear. Not with your memories. With your breath."

The wind stirred at her feet in a soft spiral, as if answering her voice. She didn't push it—it simply came.

Her eyes found his again, warm, steady, and a little too full.

"You keep trying to command things," she said, stepping beside him, shoulder brushing his. "But the air doesn't obey force. It answers attention."

She retook his hand—deliberately, gently—and lifted it outward, palm facing the open courtyard.

"Start here," she whispered. "Tell me what you feel."

Her own fingers lingered against his wrist longer than they should have, warmth betraying the emotions she was trying to keep in check. She inhaled once, sharply, to steady herself.

"The wind isn't something you push," she continued, voice low but sure. "You invite it. You align with it. You breathe with it, and then you guide it."

A soft current swirled around their joined hands, reacting to her calm—and, faintly, to his.

"Don't reach for power," she said, eyes flicking to his, heat and tenderness both there. "Reach for balance."

Her thumb brushed lightly along the side of his hand—encouragement, not affection, though her pulse betrayed the difference.

"Try again," she murmured. "With me."

She stepped close enough that their arms touched, but kept her focus outward, patient and steady as the breeze around them.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran followed the guidance of her hands before he followed the guidance of her words.

Her fingers slipped down his wrist, correcting the angle of his arm, and the adjustment sent a slow, grounding heat through him more effective than any meditation he'd ever attempted. When she moved his hand higher along her ribs, not flirtation, just precision, he felt the strength of her breath beneath his palm, felt the steadiness she wanted him to match.

And when she stepped back that half-pace, the loss of her warmth felt like a physical thing.

He didn't reach for her. He reached for the breath she told him to follow. His eyes stayed on her as she opened her palms to the ruins, as the wind curled naturally around her feet like an old friend greeting her. No strain, no tension, no reaching.

"You listen to the world like it's speaking directly to you," he murmured, but he did as she instructed. He turned his palm outward toward the courtyard, fingers open, shoulder relaxed exactly where she'd set it.

At first, he felt nothing.

Then her shoulder brushed his.

A quiet, electric thing ran down his spine, and suddenly the wind wasn't distant anymore. It wasn't a force he needed to tame. It wasn't something outside of him at all. His fingers curled slightly, reacting to the faint swirl of air that rose around their joined hands, drawn by her calm, but, this time, it responded to the shift in him too.

"I feel…" He exhaled slowly, grounding himself the way she taught him. "I feel motion. Something older. Something patient."

The wind brushed across his open palm, gentle, testing. "It's… waiting," he breathed, almost in disbelief. "It's actually waiting."

She told him not to reach for power. He lowered the instinct to pull, to push, to shape. He breathed with her. The current around them answered, soft but present, circling their hands in a faint, shared spiral. Veyran's voice dropped, rough with quiet awe. "It's listening."

He leaned just slightly, not taking her space, just meeting it, meeting her the way she asked him to. "Guide me," he said softly, eyes steady on hers. "I'm with you."

The wind stirred again, as if agreeing.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's breath caught—not because of how close he was, but because of the shift she felt in him. The moment he stopped reaching for control and actually listened, something in the wind itself loosened. It softened around them, curling not just toward her this time, but between their hands, along the line of their arms.

Good. She exhaled slowly, letting him feel the rhythm he'd finally matched.

"You're not imagining it," she murmured, stepping just a little closer—close enough that their shoulders aligned again, but not touching. Not quite. Her warmth hovered between them, intentional but controlled. "It is waiting. The elements always wait for you to quiet down enough to hear them."

She lifted her hand, palm open to the air. Not calling it—inviting it.

The breeze answered instantly, swirling up along her fingers like a ribbon of cool silk before brushing across his palm again. Xian didn't look at the wind. She watched him.

"You feel motion," she repeated softly. "Good. Now… feel what kind of motion."

She guided his wrist with two light fingertips—nothing more than a nudge, but the brief contact sent a flutter of heat up her arm. She ignored it. Mostly.

"Wind doesn't rush you," she said, voice quiet, steady. "It circles. Tests. Learns you before it trusts you."

For a moment, she let him absorb that, let him feel the way the wind coiled around their hands with new intention, no longer just hers.

"And you're listening," she added, the faintest warmth touching her mouth. "Really listening."

She took a slow step around him, moving to his side, then slightly behind—guiding the angle of his stance, the position of his feet, her fingertips brushing his shoulder to lower his tension again.

Each touch was slight. Each one precise. Each one warmer than she meant it to be.

"The wind waits," she said, stepping back into his line of sight, her expression clearer now, more teacher than shy girl—though the flush across her cheekbones hadn't entirely faded. "So let it come to you. Don't shape it. Let it shape around you."

Her eyes searched his, steady and unguarded.

"I'm right here," she said quietly. "Just meet the breath. That's all."

The wind rose again, warm this time, sweeping gently around both of them as it rose.

"Good," she whispered. "Now… follow it."

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

He just… listened. Not because of discipline. Not because of training. Because she asked him to and because something in him wanted to hear the world the way she did.

When her fingertips brushed his wrist, his shoulder, the line of his arm, each correction came with a quiet heat that sank into his skin and steadied him far more effectively than any command ever had. She stepped into his periphery, then behind him, then beside him again, and the wind traced her movements like it was following the shape of her intention.

And for the first time, it followed his breath too.

He felt it, the difference, the moment he stopped trying to shape anything and simply existed in the rhythm she gave him. His stance softened under her touch, his feet settling into the ground instead of against it. The current around them shifted, subtle but certain, brushing along his palm with something like awareness.

Her words came low, warm, threaded with something she tried to hide beneath instruction.

The wind waits. It learns you. Meet the breath.

Veyran inhaled, slow and even, matching the pace she'd pressed into him with her hand on his ribs. The air coiled again, but this time he didn't reach for it he let it circle, let it test him. It curved around his hand. Not hers. Not drawn by her focus. Drawn by the moment his breath aligned with the world she'd shown him. His fingers trembled once, only once, as the wind brushed along his palm like a living thing.

"I feel it," he murmured, voice barely above a breath, eyes tracking the faint swirl of dust and light rising between their hands. "It's not pushing. It's..."

His breath softened.

"...answering."

He turned to her then, slowly, deliberately, and the look he gave her was nothing like awe of the Force. It was awe of her. The flush on her cheeks. The steadiness of her gaze. The warmth she tried to bury beneath precision and instruction. The wind lifted the ends of her hair, catching it in a soft arc toward him. She told him to follow it. So he did, but he followed her first.

Without breaking eye contact, he stepped closer. Not close enough to break the boundary she'd created for the lesson, but close enough that the heat between them returned, subtle and unmistakable.

His free hand lifted, hovering near her waist before settling lightly, lightly enough she could step away, firmly enough she'd know he didn't want her to.

The wind rose with them. Veyran's voice dropped, roughened by something warm and quiet and unguarded. "Guide me, then," he whispered. "I'll follow the wind." His thumb brushed her hip in a subtle, grounding stroke. "...but I'm following you first."

The current curled around them both now, as if recognizing that neither of them were standing alone anymore.

"Tell me where it goes," he murmured, leaning just close enough that his breath brushed her temple. "And I'll move with it."

 

[Xian Xiao]

For a long, breathless moment, Xian forgot the lesson entirely. She forgot the wind she had been shaping, the ruin beneath their feet, even the purpose of bringing him here. All of it blurred at the edges the instant his hand settled at her waist — not forceful, not claiming, but offering in a way that asked nothing and meant everything. Something warm unfurled inside her chest, slow and startling, like the first spark of a fire she hadn't realized she'd been carrying tinder for. She didn't think. She didn't hesitate. She stepped into the space he left open, closing the distance not with caution but with the quiet certainty of someone who had been wanting this far longer than she had allowed herself to admit.

Her hands found his sides slowly, almost reverently. One slid to his hip, the other farther up his ribcage, fingers spreading as though learning the shape of him through touch alone. The heat of him came through the fabric, steady and grounding, pulling her in before her mind could catch up with what her body already knew. The wind reacted instantly, curling around them in a gentle spiral that brushed up her legs and along his back — as if it recognized the shift between them and encouraged it, folding the space tighter, warmer, quieter.

She exhaled softly, her breath ghosting against his jaw as she leaned in until her forehead rested just beneath it. For several long, suspended moments, there was no lesson, no technique, no Force exercise. There was nothing but the warmth of his chest rising and falling against her, the quiet hush of his breath brushing the top of her hair, and the steady drum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She didn't even realize she'd closed her eyes until she felt the edges of him sharpen in her awareness — not just physically, but through the Force, as though his presence reached for hers instinctively.

But beneath the warmth, something else trembled, not from him — from her.

The small tremor in her fingers wasn't something she meant to reveal. It wasn't meant to show at all. It was a soft, involuntary clench of her hand at his hip, a fleeting moment where all the strength she'd gathered seemed to falter. Because letting herself lean into someone like this — into him — stirred something deeper than she was prepared for: memory, loss, the shadow of someone she once trusted who hadn't come back when he said he would. The fear wasn't loud. It wasn't choking or dramatic. It was quiet, a flicker in her chest that whispered not again, not this one, please don't let me lose him too.

She let out a slow, unsteady breath against his skin, barely more than a whisper of air, and pressed her forehead a little more firmly into him to steady herself. Her hands tightened slightly, seeking something solid to anchor her racing thoughts. For a girl who could call lightning and ride the wind, this — standing here with him, letting herself be seen this deeply — felt far more dangerous than any fight she'd ever been in.

"Don't move," she breathed, the words tumbling out without thought, soft and fragile but laced with a truth she didn't try to hide. "Just… stay like this. For a minute."

Her voice wasn't commanding or desperate — it was honest, vulnerable in a way she didn't often allow herself to be. She didn't lift her head. She didn't try to reclaim space or distance. She breathed him in, letting the rhythm of his chest guide her own, letting her pulse calm beneath the warmth of his touch. Slowly, the tremor faded, settling into a quiet, almost peaceful stillness. By the time she finally lifted her gaze, her heartbeat had steadied enough for her to meet his eyes again, though the flicker of fear lingered behind the softness there, undeniable and unguarded.

When she looked at him, it wasn't the ruins she feared losing or the wind she feared mishandling — it was him. The way he looked at her. The way he stood close without taking. The way he let her lean in without stepping away. The way he seemed to want to be here just as much as she did.

She drew in one last grounding breath, her thumb brushing his side in a small, unconscious motion that betrayed the lingering fear beneath her steadiness. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but sure, warm enough to melt back into the lesson if she needed to, but full enough that he'd hear the truth under it.

"…okay," she whispered, holding his gaze. "I'll show you where it goes."

But she didn't step out of his arms.
She didn't even think about it.

She stayed right there — pressed close, holding him, letting him hold her — letting the lesson wait while she allowed herself, for the first time, to feel the man she was falling for… and to let herself hope he wouldn't vanish like the last one.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran froze the moment her fingers trembled. It wasn't in fear or confusing but recognition. He felt the shift before she even pressed her forehead to his jaw, the way her body leaned into him with intent, then stilled with something vulnerable and raw beneath it. The wind curled around them in a slow, protective spiral, as if trying to tuck them both into a quieter world for as long as she needed it.

He didn't dare move, not an inch.

When she stepped into him fully, when her hands slid along his sides and across his ribs, when she buried herself beneath his jaw like she belonged there, he let her. Without hesitation and without question. His arms came around her on instinct, one settling at her back, the other at the back of her waist, steady and warm, holding her in a way that offered anchor rather than claim.

He felt everything, her breath shook, fingers clenched at his hip and her pulse against his chest.

And he knew not from the Force, not from instinct, but from the sheer human ache of it, that whatever flicker trembled through her wasn't about him. Not entirely. It was about someone who had left a shadow in her ribs long before he'd ever touched her.

So when she whispered don't move, voice soft and too honest to ignore, Veyran answered without speaking. His breath slowed deliberately, guiding hers back to steadiness, letting her match whatever rhythm kept her calm. His hand rubbed a slow circle between her shoulder blades, light enough not to overwhelm, steady enough to tell her he wasn't going anywhere.

Not now, not in this moment, not because she asked him to stay, but because he wanted to. When her trembling eased and she eventually looked up, he met her gaze without letting a single shadow cross his own. Not pity. Not surprise. Just warmth, quiet, steady, fiercely gentle.

He lifted one hand, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before letting his knuckles trail softly down her cheek.

"Xian…" he murmured, voice low, warm, unguarded. "I'm right here."

His thumb settled along the curve of her jaw, not to hold her still, to ground her, the way she'd grounded him minutes ago.

"I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't no vow, or grand promise, just truth, simple and solid. Spoken the way a man speaks when he means every unpolished word.

The wind stirred again, warm this time, brushing around their joined bodies before spiraling outward through the courtyard. It felt less like a lesson now and more like the world itself shifting to make space for them.

When she whispered she'd show him where the wind went, still pressed against him, still holding on, Veyran dipped his head just slightly, not for a kiss, not yet, but close enough that her breath warmed his lips.

"Then show me," he said softly, voice threaded with something tender and steady. "Right from here."

His hand splayed across the small of her back, holding her not in place but in comfort. His breath mingled with hers, slow and even, ready to follow her lead.

"You don't have to step away to guide me," he added, forehead brushing hers. "I'll learn it exactly the way you give it."

His mouth met hers in a deep, consuming pull, warm and certain, as though he'd finally allowed himself to claim the truth that had been simmering between them. Her breath caught against him, and he angled his head, lips moving with hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm that turned quickly into something far more hungry, far more human.

He parted her lips with his, tongue brushing hers in a heated, searching slide that stole the last of the air between them. The kiss wasn't rushed, but it was decisive. Fierce. Honest in a way he hadn't yet dared to be out loud.

The wind reacted instantly, spiraling around them in a tightening coil, kicking up dust and warmth like the ruins themselves had been waiting for this moment just as long.

 

[Xian Xiao]

For a moment, Xian couldn't breathe.

Not because his arms were around her, not because of the warmth of his hands or the quiet strength in his voice — but because her body reacted before her thoughts could catch up. The instant he steadied her, the instant he whispered I'm right here, something inside her stuttered, tightened, then cracked open in a way she wasn't ready for.

Her fingers curled reflexively into the fabric of his shirt, gripping his sides as if the ground itself might tilt and she needed him to stay exactly where he was. The wind curled around her ankles, around both of them, humming with a pulse that felt too close to a heartbeat.

And when he kissed her — soft, slow, warm — her breath caught hard, the world narrowing into the point where his lips met hers. She didn't pull away. She didn't think. She leaned into it, into him, into the quiet truth that had been building between them long before either of them dared name it.

But when the kiss deepened — when the wind surged in answer, and the warmth of his mouth gentled into something fierce, something human — something else rose inside her too.

Not fear of him.
Not hesitation.

Fear of losing this.
Fear of losing him.

It didn't creep in — it struck. Fast. Sharp. A cold ripple rushed through the warmth of his arms, slicing through her ribs before she could brace for it. The same fear she'd carried since childhood, the one that curled its claws into her whenever something finally felt safe. It surged up now, uninvited and fierce, and her breath broke against his mouth before she could stop it.

Her hands slipped up from his ribs to his shoulders, gentle but trembling with the effort of holding herself together. She pressed her forehead into the place between his jaw and cheek, eyes closing hard as she tried — failed — to steady the uneven rush of air in her lungs.

"Veyran…" Her voice cracked the first time. The second time it was steadier, but only just. "I— I need a second."

She didn't step back. Didn't try to pull away. If anything, she leaned closer, the warmth of his chest grounding her in a way nothing else could. Her palm slid upward, cupping the side of his jaw, thumb brushing the heat of his cheek as if confirming he was real — real and still there.

"It's not you," she whispered, the honesty soft, fragile, trembling. "I just… haven't had something like this that stayed." Her breath hitched, thin and sharp. "People leave. Or they vanish. Or something goes wrong, and the ground falls out from under me before I even know I'm falling."

Her fingers curled into his shirt, not to cling, but to stay rooted in the moment instead of the memory. She took another breath — shaky, uneven, but real.

"So when you…" Her throat tightened. "When you hold me like that… when you say things like you're not going anywhere—"

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to his. Emotion burned close to the surface, softening the edges of her eyes until they turned luminous with something raw and unguarded.

"It scares me," she admitted, voice barely above a breath. "Because I want to believe you. More than I should."

The wind shifted, warm and gentle, lifting a strand of her red hair to brush his cheek like a promise. She felt the air swirl around them — a cocoon of breeze and dust and morning light —, and she didn't fight it this time. She let it hold her the way he did.

She placed her other hand on his chest, right over the slow rise and fall beneath his shirt. Feeling him breathe, feeling him stay.

"But I'm still here," she whispered, steadier now. Fiercer. "And I'm not letting go."

Her thumb traced along his jaw in a slow, intimate stroke. Her breath mingled with his, warm and close. And the closeness didn't destabilize her anymore — it settled something deep inside her instead.

"If you want to learn the wind from here…" Her voice softened, warm and intimate, "then stay right where you are."

And she did it — she leaned into him again.

Not out of fear.
Not out of reflex.

But out of choice.

Her hands found him with quiet certainty, her body fitting to his as naturally as breath meeting breath. The wind curled around them in a warm, spiraling sweep, as though it recognized something shifting — something opening — between them.

As though the ruins themselves were exhaling with her.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran didn't let go, not when her breath broke, or her fingers trembled nor when her voice cracked his name.

He didn't loosen his hold, didn't step back, didn't shift an inch away from the place she pressed into his neck. He simply held her, steady, warm, unmoving, his arms strong around her waist and shoulders as if anchoring her there was the most natural thing he'd ever done.

Her fear hit him like a ripple through the Force, sharp and cold beneath the heat of her body. But he didn't mistake it. He didn't think it was about him. He felt her shaking breath, felt the way she clung not out of panic but out of the effort to stay, to stay here, in this moment, with him.

So he pressed his lips gently into her temple, a slow, warm exhale against her skin.

"Xian…" he murmured, voice low, steady as a heartbeat. "You don't have to explain a damn thing."

Her confession, the fear, the history, the truth, struck somewhere deep in him, deeper than any wound or scar. He lifted a hand and slid his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head with a tenderness few ever saw from him. His other arm tightened around her waist, not trapping her but supporting her, as if her weight belonged against him.

When she finally lifted her gaze, luminous with vulnerability she fought so hard to hide, Veyran met her eyes without flinching. Not from the fear. Not from the hope.

Especially not from the hope.

"It scares you," he echoed softly, thumb brushing her cheek. "Good."

Her breath caught, and he shook his head a little, forehead resting against hers again.

"Because it scares me too."

Warmth spread between them, slow, grounded, real. The wind eased with it, settling around their legs like a loyal animal lying down beside them.

"You think you're the only one with ghosts?" he whispered. "The only one who's watched people disappear? I've spent half my life waiting for the moment someone turns their back on me."

He swallowed, his hand sliding from her hair to hold her jaw gently between his fingers.

"But you stepped into me. Not away."

Her palm rested over his heart, and he leaned into that touch, letting her feel the steady rhythm under her hand, strong, sure, unshaken.

"I'm not going to vanish on you," he said, voice low but fierce with quiet conviction. "I'm not a ghost. I'm right here. And I'm choosing to be here. With you."

He brushed his nose along hers, slow, intimate, grounding rather than overwhelming.

"You needed a second," he murmured. "Take all the seconds you want. I'm not going anywhere."

His hand over her waist tightened just slightly, a warm, reassuring pressure.

"And if you want to show me the wind from right here…" His breath warmed her lips, soft but steady. "…then this is exactly where I'll stay."

Veyran exhaled with her, their chests rising and falling together, the wind curling around them in a slow, warm spiral.

"Then guide me," he whispered into her hair. "I'll follow you."

 

[Xian Xiao]

For a long moment, Xian couldn't speak. Not because she didn't know what to say, but because everything inside her felt like it had been shaken loose and rearranged in a way she wasn't prepared for. The steady weight of his arms around her, the warm pressure of his hand at her back, the quiet strength in the way he held her as though staying was the most natural thing in the galaxy—none of it frightened her, and yet all of it struck somewhere deep. Her breath hitched against him, soft and uneven, her forehead still pressed to the curve of his jaw as if moving even an inch might cause the moment to fracture. The wind curled around them in a low, gentle spiral, responding to what she couldn't yet name aloud. And underneath all the warmth, a cold shard of fear slid through her ribs with sudden clarity: fear of losing this, fear of losing him.

Her hands tightened on him reflexively—fingers curled lightly at his ribs, then slipping up to his shoulders as if anchoring herself there could hold the world steady. When he whispered that she didn't owe him an explanation, when his breath warmed her temple, when his voice steadied in the way he said he wasn't going anywhere, something inside her trembled. Not in doubt. In the unfamiliar ache of wanting to believe him. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her face from his neck and met his gaze, red hair brushing along his cheek as the wind shifted. Emotion shimmered in her eyes—raw, luminous, unguarded. She hated how visible it was, how easily he read every tremor she tried to hide, but she didn't look away.

"You're… not supposed to say things like that," she murmured, voice soft and shaky at the edges. "You're not supposed to make it sound easy." Her thumb brushed along the line of his jaw, a motion meant to steady herself more than him. "People don't choose me like that. They don't stay. They leave, or they vanish, or something goes wrong before I can even reach for them." Her breath shivered as she tried to control it, but she didn't step back, didn't loosen her hold. Instead, she let her forehead rest against his again, the closeness grounding her even as the fear fluttered beneath her ribs. "So when you hold me like that… when you say you're not going anywhere… it scares me because I want to believe you. More than I should."

The wind softened, warm and tender, brushing a strand of her hair against his cheek as though it, too, was trying to reassure her. She lowered her other hand to his chest, resting it over the steady rise and fall beneath his shirt. His heartbeat and breath were slow, sure, unwavering—not disappearing, not fading, simply there. That steadiness worked its way into her breathing until hers began to settle into his rhythm. The tremor in her voice eased as she whispered, "But I'm still here. And I'm not letting go."

Her thumb retraced the edge of his jaw, this time with intention rather than uncertainty, her breath mingling with his in a warm exhale that spoke more than words could hold. The closeness didn't feel overwhelming anymore—it felt right. It felt chosen. It felt like something she wanted to step into, not away from. With a slow inhale, she leaned into him again, her hands finding him with quiet certainty, her body fitting against his as though the space had been shaped for her.

"If you want to learn the wind from here," she murmured, voice dropping into a soft, intimate warmth, "then stay right where you are." Her fingers curled gently at the back of his neck, a subtle pull that brought him fully into the moment with her—not for a kiss, not yet, but for connection, for steadiness, for truth she wasn't ready to speak aloud. The wind spiraled around them again, a warm, curling sweep through the broken courtyard, lifting dust and light as though even the ruins understood something had shifted.

She breathed with him—slow, deep, aligned—and the world seemed to exhale with her.

"I'll show you," she whispered into the space between them, "exactly where it goes."

And she didn't let go.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran listened in silence.

Not the kind of silence born from hesitation, but the kind that came from reverence. From needing to hear every tremor of her voice, every break between breaths, every truth she finally trusted him with. Her words sank through him, quiet and raw, undoing knots he hadn't realized were still wound tight inside his chest.

He'd carried anger for so long, at the world, at fate, at himself. It had settled in him like cold iron, heavy and immovable. But now, hearing her speak, watching the way her courage trembled and steadied all at once, that bitterness began to thaw. It didn't vanish; it simply lost its teeth. Her presence filled the space the hatred left behind. The warmth of her touch at his jaw, the faint brush of her breath when she whispered I'm still here, it stripped him bare in the gentlest way possible. No fire. No fight. Just the slow, patient undoing of a man who had forgotten what it meant to be seen and not judged for it.

He drew in a breath, slow and deliberate, and the sound of it trembled faintly against her fingertips. His hand rose to cradle the side of her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek as though memorizing her, mapping something sacred he hadn't known he'd been missing.

"Xian," he breathed, the name carrying both gratitude and awe. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

His voice was low, roughened by emotion rather than restraint. "You talk about people leaving, but I swear to you..." He broke off, eyes softening as he searched hers, as if the words themselves couldn't carry what he felt. "You make it impossible to walk away."

The hand at her cheek slipped into her hair, his fingers tangling there, and he drew her closer until there was no space left between them. The air around them shifted, thickening with warmth, the hum of the wind rising in time with their breaths.

Then he kissed her.

Not the uncertain brush of two people still learning where they stood but a deep, unguarded, aching kiss that spoke the truth neither had dared to say aloud. His lips moved with hers in perfect rhythm, firm but tender, tracing devotion into every motion. His tongue swept gently against hers, tasting the sweetness of her breath, the heat of her promise.

The ruins seemed to pulse around them, the wind coiling upward in spirals of dust and light as if the Force itself bent close to witness what was being rebuilt not the ancient stone, but the heart of a man who had forgotten softness. Veyran's arms tightened around her, one hand at her back, the other still in her hair, holding her as though anchoring himself to the only truth that mattered. The kiss deepened, grew warmer, slower, until it became less about desire and more about surrender an unspoken vow whispered between breaths.

When he finally drew back, their foreheads still touching, his voice was barely a whisper, shaped by love and disbelief in equal measure.

"You've given me something I thought I'd buried a long time ago," he murmured. "Peace."

He brushed another kiss to her lips, soft this time, reverent.

"And I swear, Xian… I'll never let it slip away."

It wasn't about the lesson, not anymore. It was about them, her and him. And no one was taking her away from him.