First Reply Byzantine Feelings

[Elara Veyran]

"The galaxy hides cold, dark truths in every corner."

TAG - OPEN​

Naboo was a beautiful world, far less harsh than her recent visits and far more appealing to the eye of someone obsessed with perception. After all...

All politicians were obsessed with perception.

It was the sole way one lived and died in such a career. If people believed you were a threat to their lives, no amount of charity could save you. The inverse was, of course, equally true. If everyone believed you were kind, professional, and incorruptible, you could get away with just about anything. It often made her wonder whether politics had simply been the perfect career path for her, because of course she was kind, professional, and utterly incorruptible.

And humble, too.

Staring through the window once more, she could not shake the feeling of estranged peace that loomed over the world. The position of the High Republic was tenuous, of course. The Galactic Empire would have been a natural bulwark and ally against the myriad forces that stood against the Republic. Black Sun was never truly gone; crime was not something that simply disappeared, after all. Coupled with the Sith and the Mandalorians—the former predisposed to crushing anything that even dared look at them the wrong way, and the latter little more than raving barbarians who lived for pillage and spoil—the galaxy seemed poised constantly on the edge of collapse.

And that was not even considering the state of the Core itself. How much of Coruscant would even remain once those anarchists were finished mutilating the great works of the galaxy? While they still held out in the Galactic South, the Galactic North had fallen to darkness.

Elara took a long, drawn-out sip of wine from her glass, her oldest companion and the vice she had sworn countless times to abandon, yet always returned to. At least on Naboo she did not need to arrange bulk shipments. She could simply buy locally and drown the burdens of office in that delicate red elixir. Her reflection stared back at her in the window: the finely tailored military-esque uniform denoting her as the representative of Vandelhelm, paired with the authoritative shine of black boots beneath.

She enjoyed the look immensely.

The commanding sound of her footsteps reverberated softly through the large hall, each careful yet deliberate movement carrying her toward the nearby music player she had positioned there for precisely such an occasion. Delicately, she interfaced with the machine, allowing a soothing choir to fill the air and overtake the silence, leaving her free to admire the beauty beyond the glass.

How much better it would look with a fleet gliding gracefully through the skies and ordered lines of Republic troops standing in perfect parade formation. Defiant against the wretched galaxy that seemed so determined to tear itself apart.

She wondered when the next Senate session would be held. It was perhaps time for her to become more active in senatorial affairs. Merely safeguarding the interests of Vandelhelm no longer satisfied her. For now, however, she simply stood there, wine glass in hand, watching the rolling green fields beyond the window as the choir's enchanting song filled her ears.

 

[Kaleleon]

I had not come to Naboo because the Jedi sent me. There had been no assignment waiting for me when I arrived. No Senate outreach. No diplomatic responsibility. No formal request for Jedi representation. Naboo simply happened to be along the route between where I had been and where I intended to go next, and over the years I had stopped fighting the reality that life rarely followed plans as neatly as people wanted it to.

The original stop had not even been meant to last very long.

Someone I knew had reached out needing help with a transport that had started developing issues somewhere in its primary drive systems. It was not glamorous work. The sort of problem mechanics dealt with every day across thousands of worlds. I could have pointed them toward someone else.

Probably should have.

Instead I found myself crouched beside opened maintenance panels helping track down failures that should have been found weeks ago.

Life had a habit of working that way.

One repair became another. A delayed shipment pushed replacement parts back another day. Someone nearby needed help moving damaged equipment after a loading accident. A transport operator recognized me from somewhere I still could not place and insisted on buying me food afterward despite my attempts to decline. Somewhere in the middle of it all, what was supposed to be a short stop became several days.

That happened often enough now that I had mostly stopped pretending otherwise.

Wayseeker life suited me more than I expected it would years ago. The Order still mattered. Duty still mattered. Being Jedi still mattered. But exile had changed things. Traveling had changed things. Spending years moving between worlds, listening to people more than speaking, helping where help was needed rather than where assignments pointed me had changed the shape of how I moved through the galaxy.

Some Jedi found purpose inside temples. Inside councils. Inside chambers where policy and decisions carried outward into the stars. I usually found mine near loading docks, repair bays, freight lanes, farming communities, and ordinary people trying to hold difficult lives together the best they could.

Naboo had originally been intended as a place to breathe before moving on.

Peaceful worlds carried strange weight after enough years spent moving from one problem toward another. Naboo felt quiet in a way worlds rarely did anymore. Open skies. Rolling fields. Places untouched enough to remind me of simpler things. Familiar things.

I had told myself I was going to rest. Actually rest. Not repair something. Not help someone. Not find work to fill silence. Just rest.

I had not done particularly well at that.

Somewhere along the way local administration learned a Jedi Knight happened to be on-world. That inevitably brought questions. Introductions. Small requests. Nothing formal. Nothing difficult. Presence more than anything else. Jedi still carried weight for people whether I entirely understood why or not. Sometimes someone simply felt better knowing one was nearby.

One conversation became another.

Then another.

Someone eventually mentioned a visiting representative. Political. Important. Someone from Vandelhelm.

There had apparently been some concern among local officials. Visiting dignitaries tended to create tension. Politics usually did. Someone eventually asked whether I minded attending for a short while. Not security. Not representation. Just presence. The sort of thing I found myself doing more often these days. I almost said no.

Almost.

Instead I found myself walking unfamiliar halls on Naboo dressed no differently than I usually was, carrying no expectations beyond being polite and staying out of the way. Which usually turned out to be the exact point life found ways of becoming complicated again.

I learned that lesson years ago.

Long before Naboo. Long before being Jedi became more complicated than I thought it would. Long before I stopped believing plans survived reality.

Music reached me first. Quiet. Choir. Soft enough that it blended into the room more than filled it. The hall itself felt almost too large for one person. The kind of space built to impress people. Or maybe remind them they were important. Politics had places like that.

My eyes settled toward the window. Uniform. Wine glass. Someone standing still long enough that it stopped looking like resting. Stopped looking casual. The sort of stillness that usually meant someone was carrying something. Thinking through something. Trying to put pieces together. I slowed a little, not because I needed to. Habit. Years of paying attention to people had done that. A few more steps carried me into the room before I settled near enough to speak without forcing it.

"You know..."

I said quietly.

"People usually don't stand by windows that long unless they're trying to figure something out."

A small pause.

"Could just be Naboo."

My eyes drifted toward the fields beyond the glass for a moment.

"Hard to blame anyone for getting distracted by that."

Elara Veyran

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The galaxy hides cold, dark truths in every corner."

TAG - Kaleleon ​

She was not entirely disappointed to have her vainglorious moment interrupted. After all, she had signed up to be a politician. Elara, at least, did not get the luxury of a private life.

The words directed toward her were, thankfully, tempered and well-mannered. That alone immediately ruled out some oblivious journalist wandering somewhere they did not belong. A good start. It also meant she needed to be careful with what she said. He had not addressed her by name either, so likely not another senator.

Interesting. Which meant this was someone she actually had to perform for.

Giving it another second, she finally turned her head.

The figure before her immediately caught her attention. A scar along the right cheek—the sort earned by someone unafraid of violence, or at the very least no stranger to hardship. He looked like common folk, a distinction generally only noticed by those born into privilege. Of course, Elara would never judge someone solely by appearance.

At least not openly.

He was slightly taller than her as well, which had always been a minor irritation. In armour, she usually enjoyed the far more comfortable experience of looking down at people.

Shame she had not touched her shockboxing training in quite some time.

She lowered the wine glass slightly, her expression remaining neutral, still caught somewhere within the same contemplative trance as before. Her other hand rested itself on the hilt of her ceremonial dagger, kept safe within its scabbard. Her mind continued its endless work of analysis, dissecting details, motivations, possibilities—not necessarily for what the world truly was, but for what she wanted from it.

Then she finally spoke.

The voice that emerged was refined and unmistakably Imperial. Surprisingly rare in this era, considering how thoroughly those associated with Imperial ideals had been pushed from polite society.

"Looking at lush fields and blue skies is far more appealing than the grey factories of my homeworld, though I suppose they possess their own unique beauty as well."

Her lips curled into a small, delicate smile.

"Senator Veyran, representative of Vandelhelm."

A brief pause followed as she regarded him more carefully.

"How may I be of service?"

 

[Kaleleon]

My eyes drifted back toward the fields beyond the glass for a moment after she spoke. Open skies stretched far beyond the palace grounds, green rolling hills interrupted only by scattered trees and distant waterways reflecting the afternoon light. Naboo had a quietness to it that worlds built around industry rarely carried. Not better. Just different. Different enough that people noticed it immediately when they stepped away from whatever version of normal they had spent most of their lives surrounded by.

"Suppose that's fair."

My voice stayed easy and casual. There was no reason for it not to. People found beauty in strange places sometimes. Home had a habit of doing that to people. It changed how they looked at things that others might overlook entirely. Grey factories, steel frameworks, assembly lines, smoke rising above skylines. To one person it looked cold. To another it looked familiar. Necessary. Maybe even comforting.

My attention settled back toward her properly as she introduced herself.

Senator Veyran. Representative of Vandelhelm.

That explained a few things almost immediately. The posture. The measured voice. The careful way she carried herself even while supposedly at ease. Years moving between worlds had taught me how to recognize people used to being watched closely. Politicians carried themselves differently. Military officers did too. So did freighter captains responsible for crews depending on them to make the right call when things went wrong. Different lives usually left behind similar habits.

"Kaleleon."

I left it at that.

No titles. No mention of being Jedi. I had stopped leading conversations with that a long time ago. People usually treated things differently once they heard it. Sometimes better. Sometimes worse. Most of the time just stranger. This didn't need to become that kind of interaction unless it eventually became necessary.

"And no, nothing like that."

One hand lifted slightly in a small dismissive motion.

"I don't need anything."

The corner of my mouth pulled upward faintly as I glanced back out toward the view for another second.

"Wasn't looking for a meeting either."

That much was honest.

"Politics usually find me long before I find them."

There was enough truth in that statement that it almost felt practiced by now. Somewhere along the way I had accepted that plans rarely stayed plans for very long. One stop became a longer stay. One person needing help became several. Someone introduced you to someone else. Eventually you looked up and realized life had quietly placed you somewhere you never originally intended to be.

Naboo just happened to be the latest example of that.

"A ship needed work. Ended up staying longer than I meant to."

My shoulder rested lightly against the wall nearby while the choir continued softly through the room behind us.

"I figured I'd keep to myself for a few days."

I had genuinely meant to.

It just rarely worked out that way.

My attention drifted briefly toward the music player before settling back toward the window itself.

"Didn't mean to interrupt anything."

The pause afterward felt natural rather than awkward, comfortable in the same way silence usually became once someone stopped trying to fill every second of it.

"Though I don't think I've heard someone describe factories like that before."

There was no challenge in it. No judgment either. Just curiosity.

People usually said more than they intended when they realized someone was actually listening.

Elara Veyran

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The galaxy hides cold, dark truths in every corner."

TAG - Kaleleon ​

She carefully turned over the words he offered her, particularly the question hidden within them. It was not customary for someone outside her homeworld to show any real interest in factories, much less the beauty that could be found within such colossal feats of industry and construction.

Equally strange was how little Kaleleon seemed willing to reveal about himself. Most people in the galaxy preferred long, overdramatic declarations about who they were and what they intended to become. Everyone so desperately wanted to be perceived as important.

She supposed she could entertain the subtlety. After all, she was likely concealing far more than he was.

It was only fair that, in exchange for not enduring some insufferably self-important fool, she leave the Pandora's box before her unopened for the time being. Better not to pry at all than to force it open during an inopportune moment.

Though it was an interesting thing to say—that one intended to keep to oneself after willingly approaching a stranger.

That alone stirred a faint thread of suspicion within the senator. Elara had often imagined such harmless-sounding words being the final prelude to an eventual assassin. She had, after all, developed a rather unfortunate habit of involving herself in the lives of others.

The choir behind them swelled softly for a brief moment as she allowed the silence to settle once more. Her thumb slowly traced the side of the wine glass in thought. There was genuine consideration behind what she chose to say next. She knew perfectly well that almost nobody was truly interested in factories.

Then her voice emerged once more, calm and composed.

"Apologies duly noted, though there is no need. I was simply far too lost in the moment."

She took another small sip of wine before continuing.

"When you spend your life within an industrial district, you begin to recognize the distinct beauty of the factories surrounding you. Marvels of engineering where goods that once could scarcely even be imagined are produced so effortlessly that one forgets there was ever an age without them."

Her gaze drifted back toward the fields beyond the glass.

"It is a utilitarian beauty rather than an aesthetic one. Something philosophical. Pleasing not necessarily to the eye, but to the idea of progress itself—to humanity's ability to transform the conditions in which people live."

The rolling plains of Naboo reflected softly in the window before her.

"Yet before me now lies land untouched by our will entirely. Claimed instead by nature. The Republic exists to improve the lives of its constituents in whatever ways it can. Factories provide employment, goods, infrastructure, lower prices. There is undeniable utility in transforming plains such as these into something productive."

A faint smile touched her lips, though there was little warmth behind it.

"But many people would rather preserve the plains exactly as they are."

She turned her attention back toward him.

"I am sure you can see how that eventually becomes problematic."

Her expression remained one of cool, almost detached indifference, as though she were discussing theory rather than worlds and livelihoods.

Then, after a brief pause, she spoke again.

"Tell me, Kaleleon... has Naboo treated you well?"

 

[Kaleleon]

I let the silence settle after she finished speaking. Not because I disagreed. Honestly, part of the problem was that I didn't. Years moving between worlds had taught me quickly how easy it became for people to overlook the things that kept ordinary life moving. Factories meant jobs. Freight lines meant supplies reached places that needed them. Infrastructure meant medicine traveled farther. Power generation meant people lived through winters they otherwise might not have. Enough time spent around spacers, mechanics, freight crews, and settlements trying to keep themselves together taught you quickly that progress was not some abstract idea people debated in chambers. Sometimes it was survival.

My eyes drifted back toward the fields outside for a moment. She wasn't wrong. That almost made it harder. I'd seen places change for the better because someone decided to build something where nothing existed before. Settlements survive because industry arrived. Communities rebuild after disasters because infrastructure followed. People lived longer because someone somewhere had the means to make things easier than they used to be.

But I'd seen the opposite too.

Worlds stripped apart because someone decided growth mattered more than the people already living there. Places turned into something more efficient while somehow becoming less alive in the process. Sometimes people built incredible things. Sometimes they destroyed incredible things believing they were helping. Most of the time they believed they were right.

"Productive can mean a lot of different things."

The words came easy enough. More observation than disagreement. My attention settled back toward the plains stretching beyond the glass.

"I've been to worlds where people fought hard to build things. Places where infrastructure changed lives. Made things better."

A small pause settled naturally.

"I've been to places where people fought just as hard to keep things from changing too."

My hands settled loosely against folded arms.

"Usually means both mattered."

Not always. Usually.

"I think people need places that make life easier."

The fields outside drew my eyes briefly again.

"Think they need places that remind them life isn't only about being useful too."

Quiet sat between words for a moment. Comfortable. Natural. Not every silence needed fixed. The word productive still lingered in my head longer than the others had. Productive for who? Communities? Governments? Citizens? Businesses? The answer changed things. Maybe more than people realized.

Her question afterward pulled my attention back toward her.

Has Naboo treated you well?

Simple question. Strangely uncommon. People usually asked where you were from. What you did. Who you belonged to. Questions that felt more like measurements than interest. Questions like hers happened less often. The corner of my mouth pulled slightly upward.

"It has."

Honest.

"Quiet helps."

A small breath left through my nose.

"Don't get much of it."

My eyes drifted briefly toward the fields again.

"People here seem to remember slowing down isn't wasted time."

Something I'd been trying to get better at. Not especially successfully.

Yet.

Elara Veyran

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The galaxy hides cold, dark truths in every corner."

TAG - Kaleleon ​

How sentimental.

Life was, in truth, a delicate struggle of utility. Every being possessed a primary function, followed by whatever secondary uses they could provide afterward. To believe otherwise—to believe ordinary, unremarkable people were somehow more than the sum of their usefulness—was a courageous notion in the face of the cold, scarred universe they all inhabited.

Still, that did not necessarily make him wrong.

People needed places that convinced them their lives possessed meaning beyond labor and survival. Temples, libraries, gardens and fountains, quiet little monuments erected against the uncaring march of existence. Reminders of the soil their ancestors once walked upon gave people a sense of belonging within the galaxy, something stable to cling to amidst the chaos.

For lesser people, anyway.

Naturally, none of those thoughts reached her expression. Outwardly, she remained attentive and composed, appearing genuinely contemplative of the points he raised. No doubt Kaleleon was simply being courteous in his disagreement, and she saw no reason to make the conversation unpleasant.

His observation regarding the people of Naboo slowing down, however, was painfully accurate. They were all remarkably lazy.

Another slow, measured sip of wine gave her an excuse to think before responding. When the glass finally lowered from her lips, she spoke once more.

"You are correct, of course. Such places are productive in their own way. We do not tear down temples simply because they lack material value, after all."

Besides, the Jedi would likely be livid if someone tried. She continued calmly.

"I am glad you have been able to find some measure of quiet on Naboo. Far too often the galaxy moves at a pace our primitive biological minds were never truly designed to endure. That becomes especially true in the aftermath of great tragedies or acts of horror. Sometimes people require silence before they are capable of understanding what has happened to them at all."

A faint sigh escaped her.

"Unfortunately, moments such as these are not especially common for me. Representing the interests of large populations is a never-ending exercise in discipline and restraint."

Her eyes watched toward the fields again.

"So I suppose I am pleased that at least one individual within our borders can say something positive about the state in which he currently finds himself."

A subtle roll of her eyes accompanied the statement, dry amusement briefly slipping through the otherwise composed façade. Then she turned slightly toward him once more.

"A personal question, if you do not mind. What exactly do you intend to do with this extended stay of yours?"

Her tone remained polite, measured.

"If necessary, I could arrange accommodations or provide assistance within the limits of my station. Hospitality is one of the few luxuries politics still allows us to offer freely."

 

[Kaleleon]

I let the quiet settle for a moment after she finished speaking. Not because I was thinking of an answer, but because some conversations felt better when they had room to breathe. The choir still carried softly through the room behind us, blending into the background enough that it stopped feeling like music and started feeling like part of the space itself. Naboo seemed good at that. Letting things exist without demanding attention from them.

Her explanation made sense. That was becoming a pattern.

Even where we saw things differently, I understood how she arrived where she had. Enough years moving between worlds had taught me that people built philosophies around the lives they lived. Around responsibilities they carried. Around problems they solved often enough that eventually solutions stopped feeling like choices and started becoming instinct. Discipline and restraint. The words settled in my head longer than most. People carrying responsibility learned both eventually. People carrying too much usually learned them faster.

My eyes drifted briefly back toward the fields beyond the glass before settling toward her again.

"Quiet gets harder to find when people need things from you."

There wasn't judgment behind it. Mostly observation. I'd seen versions of it often enough over the years. Local officials carried it. Military officers carried it. Freighter captains responsible for crews carried it. People learned how to keep moving because stopping sometimes meant things around them stopped moving too. Politics probably carried its own version.

Her question shifted things somewhere simpler. What exactly did I intend to do with more time on Naboo? Truthfully, I wasn't entirely sure.

"Mostly finish helping with repairs."

My hand settled loosely against the strap crossing over my shoulder.

"Spacer contact picked up a freighter that needed more work than he thought it did. We fix one thing and something else decides it wants attention after that."

The corner of my mouth moved faintly.

"It keeps life interesting. After that, I don't really know."

That was one way to describe it. The honesty came easier these days than it used to.

"I'll probably help where help needs done."

Enough years had passed that I had stopped pretending life followed plans as neatly as people wanted it to. A short stop somewhere became a longer stay. One problem turned into another. Someone needed help. Something broke. A conversation happened that wasn't supposed to happen. Enough of those moments strung together and eventually you realized life rarely followed whatever version of it you imagined years before.

"Life fills in the gaps most of the time."

My attention shifted back toward her as she offered accommodations. The Hospitality, resources or other forms of help. The offer itself mattered more than what came with it.

"I appreciate it."

And I meant it.

"But I don't think I'll need much."

My eyes drifted briefly back toward the window.

"People here have already been kind. Naboo seems good at that."

The words settled quietly before my attention shifted back toward her. That part had stood out more than anything else. People helping because they wanted to. People slowing down enough to notice one another. Worlds changed over time. Governments changed. Politics changed. But ordinary kindness tended to matter longer than people realized.

"Though I think you're giving yourself less credit than you probably should."

There wasn't accusation in it, or pressure. Just an observation.

"People don't usually learn how important quiet is unless they've gone long enough without it."

Elara Veyran

 

[Elara Veyran]

"The galaxy hides cold, dark truths in every corner."

TAG - Kaleleon ​

He seemed like a decent man. Certainly more pleasant to speak with than half the galaxy, at the very least. There was a diligence to him as well, something respectful and attentive beneath the casual demeanor he carried so naturally. He noticed small things. Appreciated them. That alone made him stand apart from the endless sea of self-important figures she was usually forced to entertain.

And his remarks about quiet... How curious they truly were.

Elara had never really known quiet. Not truly.

There had always been a voice in the back of her mind—ambitious, hungry, endlessly whispering of greater things. New victories. New heights. New glories waiting just beyond the horizon if only she reached a little further. It had marched beside her for so long that perhaps she no longer knew how to exist without it.

Perhaps the noise had become her quiet. Still, on those rare occasions when the voices subsided, she understood exactly how precious such moments could become.

She listened to the remainder of his words before finally speaking again, a soft sigh escaping her first.

"I never truly understood quiet. Not for a very long time."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the music player still humming softly in the background.

"Though I suppose atmosphere can help create something similar. A reminder that one is not merely a singular voice, but part of a greater chorus. The collective weight of the people they represent."

It was, in many ways, the reality of being a senator. So many expectations. So many burdens. Entire populations balancing atop one's shoulders until eventually the strain threatened to break the legs beneath them. Fortunately for her, she carried weight better than most.

Her eyes settled back upon him.

"You likely do not require much, but much does not mean nothing."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"Please, tell me if there is anything I can assist you with. I would feel rather guilty having such an enjoyable conversation and offering nothing in return."

At that, she rolled her eyes slightly in dry amusement.

"It is not as though I am some all-knowing Jedi. Determining what people actually want is difficult enough."

A brief pause followed.

"Though politicians do spend most of their lives attempting to decipher it."

 

[Kaleleon]

A faint smile pulled at the corner of my mouth at her offer before I shook my head slightly. There was something strangely familiar about the way she framed it, as though time spent talking to someone needed to be balanced against something tangible afterward. Maybe responsibility taught people that. Maybe politics did. Enough years around different kinds of people had shown me that the more responsibility someone carried, the harder it became for them to believe their presence alone was enough.

"Sometimes people don't really need to get something from each other."

My attention drifted briefly toward the choir still carrying softly through the room before settling back toward her again. The music had become part of the atmosphere at some point, blending into the space naturally enough that silence no longer really felt silent.

"It doesn't happen very often that two people just talk because they want to."

There wasn't judgment in it. Just observation. The kind that settled naturally after enough years spent around people constantly moving toward obligations, responsibilities, expectations, and whatever else life decided to place in front of them.

The quiet that followed felt comfortable enough that I let it stay there for a moment rather than rushing to fill it. Naboo seemed unusually good at allowing silence to exist without demanding explanation for it.

"Suppose that's part of why quiet matters too."

My arms folded loosely while my eyes drifted back toward the fields outside.

"People spend so much time trying to be useful that eventually they forget they don't always have to earn the right to exist around each other."

The words left more honestly than I intended them to. I realized it halfway through saying them, though by then there wasn't much point trying to pull them back. Years ago I probably would have.

Instead I just let the thought settle naturally between us.

A small breath left through my nose before the corner of my mouth lifted faintly again.

"So no, I don't think you owe me accommodations because we had a decent conversation."

Elara Veyran