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