Private Cantina Crossroads

[Aren D'Shade]

The cantina's amber lights cast long shadows over worn tables, cracked leather stools, and polished stone floors. Smoke from roasting meats curled lazily toward the ceiling, mixing with the scent of spiced drinks and sweet synth-syrup. Voices rose and fell like tides, laughter punctuated by murmurs and the occasional sharp shout, as travelers and locals navigated the crowded room.

Aren stepped inside, boots scuffing softly against the stone. Her eyes swept over the room with quiet precision, noting which booths offered privacy, which corners were best left alone, and the paths to every exit. Even here, amid casual chatter, her instincts remained alert.

Sliding onto a stool near the edge of the bar, she let her gaze drift casually across the cantina. That's when she saw him—seated in a shadowed corner, quiet but unmistakably present. Something about his posture drew her attention, though she couldn't yet say why.

Aren rested her elbows on the bar, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The cantina's hum wrapped around her like a rhythm she could follow, steadying her. With a slight, teasing tilt of her head, she addressed the space just close enough for him to hear:

"You don't seem like someone who comes here for the drinks…or the conversation."

Her tone carried curiosity rather than accusation, a quiet invitation for him to explain himself. She took a slow sip, letting the moment stretch, eyes casually flicking toward him. The space between them was deliberate—enough to observe, to test, to gauge whether this meeting would dissolve into nothing or begin something unexpected.

Every glance, every subtle movement from him now could answer that unspoken question: stranger or kindred spirit?

For now, she waited, letting the rhythm of the cantina fold around them, allowing the first spark of curiosity to hover between two unknowns.

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

The man, dressed in his usual black attire, didn’t look at her right away. He first finished his drink, a sweet beverage he was particularly fond of, before finally turning toward her.

His gaze examined her a second time. Only a few details added themselves to what he had already observed when she’d first entered the building: her poised stance, the precision in her movements, the subtle alertness beneath her calm. Yet one thing surprised him, she had sensed his presence. Normally, he could move unseen, unnoticed. He supposed the journey had drained him more than he cared to admit.

A few moments passed. His posture betrayed neither fear nor suspicion, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a stranger to speak to him in a place like this. Then his eyes met hers, cold, gray, unreadable. No emotion flickered there. The dim light caught on a thin scar running across his left eye, a silent remnant of an old past.

He studied her carefully, searching for any hint of hostile intent, then calmly looked for signs of a concealed weapon. He said at last, his voice quiet but deliberate :

-Indeed, your sense of observation does you credit. Before we continue this conversation, tell me, do you work for any crime syndicate?

His hand drifted discreetly toward one of the blades at his belt, the movement subtle enough that only a trained eye might notice it. It was the only sign of the caution still simmering beneath his composed
exterior.


Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren remained poised, calm, and unshaken, her eyes fixed on him with careful attention. She noted the scar, the subtle twitch near his hand, the quiet authority in his voice—but made no move to reach for anything; she carried no weapons.

"I am not affiliated with any crime syndicate," she said evenly, her tone low and deliberate. "I work independently, though I am associated with organizations whose actions may be…questionable, depending on who you ask. That, however, does not define me personally."

Her gaze flicked briefly to his hand near the blade, then back to his face. "I am here to observe, to understand what is happening, and to ensure the situation proceeds without unnecessary conflict. I am not here to provoke."

Every measured word, every blink, every shift in stance was deliberate. She was assessing him as much as he was assessing her—careful, precise, and deliberately unarmed.

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

The man leaned back against the chair's worn backrest. His hand eased away from the dagger it had hovered over moments before and came to rest on the table. The tension in his muscles, coiled and ready to strike like a primed grenade, slowly unraveled. When he spoke again, his voice carried the same calm steadiness as before, as though nothing had happened.

- I see. Forgive me, one can never be too cautious, especially in a place like this. What can I do for you?

He gestured for another glass of the sweet drink he had been enjoying earlier, then turned his gaze back to the young woman. His expression invited two questions at once — one spoken, one silent — asking whether she would like him to order her a drink as well.


Through it all, he kept that composed demeanor, a trace of a smile curving his lips, measured, faint, but unmistakably there.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren stayed where she was, posture easy but alert, studying the man over the rim of her glass. When his hand moved away from the blade, her expression softened just slightly — the closest thing she gave to reassurance.

"No need to apologize," she said calmly. "Caution's a habit I understand."

When he gestured for another round, her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Make it two," she added. "Sweet, if they have it. I'm partial to things that don't taste like they're trying to prove something."

She leaned back a little, one leg crossing over the other, the relaxed posture at odds with the quiet sharpness in her eyes. "You don't owe me anything," she went on, tone mild. "Maybe I just wanted a bit of conversation with someone who doesn't sound like they're about to start a fight or sell a secret."

Her gaze flicked toward the window, neon light catching in her hair before she looked back at him. "So, unless you've got a reason to chase me off," she said, the hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth, "I'll take the company. It's been a long week."

Then, with that subtle ease she carried when she let her guard down — if only slightly — she added, "And for what it's worth… You don't seem like the type to turn down a decent drink and a little quiet."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

The young man smiled and placed the order for their drinks. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, then turned his attention back to his companion.

"It seems it's been a long week for everyone," he said with a faint, knowing tone. "But very well, I'll do my best to satisfy that need for company, and gladly so. Tell me, what brings you to this fine world of Empress Teta? People rarely come here without a purpose, if you'll forgive the curiosity."

The assassin weighed each word carefully, the hint of genuine interest threading through his composed demeanor. As he spoke, he leaned back in his chair again, settling into a posture of ease that didn't quite hide his habitual alertness.


His eyes flicked briefly toward the door as a new figure entered the cantina, a reflexive scan, an assessment. Finding nothing threatening, he returned his gaze to the young woman, calm once more, focus restored entirely to her.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let her gaze follow him briefly as the drinks arrived, the faint clink of glasses punctuating the cantina's quiet hum. She took a careful sip, savoring the sweetness before speaking, voice calm and measured, with a subtle warmth that suggested she was open to company.

"I'm Aren," she said, letting the name hang between them with quiet confidence. "Purpose… not always so defined. Sometimes it's curiosity, sometimes it's simply… to exist. Today, I suppose it's more to see, to listen, and perhaps to enjoy something uncomplicated for once."

Her eyes met his, steady and observant. "So yes, I'll accept your offer of company, as long as you don't mind quiet conversation and someone who notices more than she says."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. "I'll warn you," she added lightly, "I'm not one for gossip or idle chatter, but I do appreciate honesty. And it's… rare to find someone who makes the moment feel worth staying."

She relaxed slightly, letting her hands rest on the table, the usual vigilance softening in the presence of something unexpectedly civil.

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

Skars, as some called him, listened in silence, nodding when it seemed appropriate. His features remained calm and composed, though a faint, genuine spark glimmered in his eyes.


"Your terms are mine," he said at last, inclining his head slightly, a quiet smile curving at the corner of his lips.
After a brief pause, he added simply :
"Akyla, or Skars, in a more professional setting. The choice is yours."


He raised his glass, letting the sweet liquid slide slowly over his tongue, savoring every drop. It was likely the only reason he had come here tonight, a moment of calm after days of strain, struggle, and silence.


His gaze lingered for a moment on the cold hilt of the lightsaber clipped to his belt, an instrument of power and death, yet capable of an impossible warmth when it came alive. He watched it for a heartbeat, thoughtful, before lifting his head once more.


His eyes swept over the cantina, more reflex than caution. He wasn't searching for anything in particular, only ensuring the balance of the room, careful not to let his focus weigh too heavily on Aren.


The murmur of voices, the soft clinking of glasses, and the amber glow of the lamps formed a rare kind of peace, a fleeting moment where Skars allowed himself simply to exist, to enjoy.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren regarded him with calm curiosity, the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth softening her otherwise composed expression. Her eyes swept over him, taking in the careful precision of his posture, the faint spark in his gaze, and the quiet confidence that seemed to settle around him like a cloak.

"Skars," she said evenly, letting the name hang between them. "Professional, precise… fitting, I suppose." Her gaze drifted briefly to the hilt at his belt, noting it without judgment. "A weapon can say a lot about its owner. Though I suspect it says more than most would expect."

She shifted slightly, letting her fingers trace the rim of her glass, the liquid inside catching the amber light. "You don't seem like someone who comes to Empress Teta often." Her voice was calm and steady, but a subtle curiosity threaded through it. "What brings you here? A task, a meeting… or simply the need for a quiet place to exist for a moment?"

Her gaze swept the cantina around them—the soft murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the amber glow of the lamps—and she let herself linger on the sense of peace it offered, rare and fleeting. "Moments like this don't come often," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Might as well make the most of them, even if only for ourselves."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

Doubly surprised, the assassin stroked his chin thoughtfully, partly because he fully agreed with the idea that a weapon defines its owner, but also because Aren seemed to recognize what a lightsaber was. His voice carried both curiosity and respect as he spoke again.


"You know what that is? Not many can say the same..."


He straightened up slightly, reassessing the young woman before him once more.


"I'd say that, like you, I'm looking for a bit of peace, somewhere to watch the world from the outside," he said with a faint smile. "I'm also potentially looking for work, but there's no rush. If I'm to die tomorrow, I might as well enjoy today."


Finally, maintaining his composed demeanor, his gaze dropped to his glass. He finished it in silence, deciding not to order another, for professional reasons.
He then adopts a pensive air, which may seem innocent, but which, as Aren understood while discussing with the assassin, actually hides a reflection that is intended to be effective and sharp.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren studied him for a moment, the cantina's low light catching the faint sheen of her eyes as she considered his words. "I've seen one before," she said quietly. "Didn't hold it—didn't need to. Some things leave a mark just by being seen."

Her gaze drifted toward the hilt again, lingering just long enough to acknowledge its weight without judgment. "You don't seem the type to carry something like that for show," she added. "More like someone who's learned what it costs to keep it."

She turned her glass slowly in her hand, watching the liquid catch the amber glow of the lamps. "Peace and work don't often share the same space," she said. "Especially for people who've lived their lives by one code or another. Eventually, something calls you back—sometimes purpose, sometimes habit."

A slight pause followed, not uncomfortable, just thoughtful. "You said you're here to watch the world from the outside." Her tone was calm, curious, and without pressure. "Do you ever think you'll step back into it? Or is this your way of leaving it behind for good?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

Skars shrugged slightly.
"I'd say that if the world ever needs me again, it will know where to find me. It always has. I don't believe one can escape their destiny, only the Force lays that path before us. It's up to us to walk it as best we can. I don't know if I'll ever return to that world, and even less if it'll be by choice, but there's little point in worrying about a future too uncertain to control."

He drew a slow breath, his gaze shifting to the view beyond the cantina's windows before drifting back inside, taking in the details of the room with quiet focus. Then, with the same calm composure that had defined him since the beginning, he continued:

"What do you think about that, Aren?"


He used her name deliberately, hoping it would draw from her an answer, one that was honest, and perhaps a little unguarded.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened in silence, her gaze steady on him. His words carried a calm certainty, the kind that came from experience — or faith. For a long moment, she said nothing, weighing what he'd said before her voice came, low but clear.

"I can't say I know the Force the way you do," she admitted. "What I've learned… it was from someone who didn't live long enough to teach me everything. Since then, I've tried to walk the path he set for me. Sometimes I think I did the right thing. Other times…" she gave a small, rueful breath, "well, the galaxy doesn't always care about intent."

Her fingers brushed against the rim of her glass, thoughtful. "I don't know if it's destiny or just consequence, but I've learned that no matter where you go, you end up facing what you've done — one way or another."

She met his eyes again, calm and open. "Maybe you're right," she said softly. "Maybe the world always finds us when it needs to. Whether we're ready or not."

There was no bitterness in her tone, only quiet acceptance — the voice of someone who'd stopped pretending she could control everything, and simply chose to keep moving forward.

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

The further their conversation went, the more the human began to realize, and feel, that their souls might not be so different. He didn't know where she came from, knew almost nothing about her, yet something told him they shared more than just words. As the moments passed, a sense of interest mixed with respect grew within him toward this stranger.


"Yes," he said, "in any case, we always end up where we're meant to be. Better here than anywhere else, and in such pleasant company, no less."


He tilted his head slightly, his tone carrying both curiosity and quiet purpose.
"So, tell me… what is it you do?"


His voice revealed a trace of determination, an intent to confirm the impressions and deductions he'd begun to form about her.
He then began to toy with his glass, absentmindedly turning it between his fingers without realizing it.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's lips curved into a faint, wry smile at his words — not quite humorless, but edged with quiet amusement. She tipped her glass toward him, a subtle acknowledgment. "Pleasant company," she repeated softly. "That's rarer than people think. I'll take it while it lasts."

She leaned back slightly, weighing her words before continuing. "I work with machines more than people — systems repair, data security, anything that keeps things running. The Mandalorians keep me on retainer, but I take my own jobs when I can. It's not glamorous, but it's predictable. Machines don't lie to you. They break when pushed too far."

Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands as he turned the glass, the movement slow and precise. "You handle that like someone who's used to precision," she said lightly. "Steady hands, practiced focus… someone who's done far more than just hold a weapon."

Aren paused, thoughtful. "You remind me of the kind of person who doesn't stop moving because stopping means overthinking. The kind who looks for peace but doesn't quite believe it'll last."

Her eyes met his again, calm and searching. "Did I read that right? Or have I completely misjudged the man sitting across from me?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

With a faint smile, the assassin closed his eyes, nodding absently. His mind drifted to the times when his skill with weapons had saved his life, too many to count. Far too many. Just like the blood he had spilled, far too much. But to stop would mean acknowledging his past mistakes, something he feared even more.


"No," he said quietly, "you're right about everything. I seek peace in the forgetting, of what's been done, what is, and what will be. I have to live in the present, because I know the future will be dark, too dark to truly appreciate this world, flawed as it may be, for what it is."


As he spoke, his hand brushed against the Beskar sheath of his saber, a tender gesture, like one might offer an old friend who had pulled them from danger countless times. He stayed there, his gaze distant, content to share this rare moment of understanding with the woman before him.


Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, professional voice whispered for caution, urging him to leave, to put distance between himself and this growing sense of calm. He knew what that voice meant: vulnerability. But he ignored it. He had made his choice. If death came, so be it.


Beyond that, he found himself almost ready to think. The word felt strange, because he knew that thinking wasn't the same as reacting, not like in battle.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Deanez]

Aren was quiet for a long moment after he spoke, her gaze steady on him, though softer now. There was something in his words she recognized — that quiet surrender to the past, not in acceptance but in fatigue. The kind that came from surviving more than anyone should.

"You sound like someone who's learned the cost of memory," she said at last, her voice low, even. "Forgetting can feel like peace… but it never lasts, does it?"

She traced a slow circle along the rim of her glass, thinking. "I tried that once. Running, burying, pretending the next day wouldn't look like the last. But the things we try to leave behind—" she exhaled quietly, "—they have a way of catching up. Sometimes it's not punishment. Just… unfinished business."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the saber at his side. "You've carried that a long time," she observed. "Maybe too long. But I think if it's still with you, it's because you're not done fighting for something. Even if you don't know what that is yet."

A small, faint smile touched her lips — not encouragement, but recognition. "You say the future will be dark," she said softly. "Maybe it will. But even in the dark, we still reach for the light. Otherwise, we wouldn't be sitting here, pretending a drink can make the world feel a little less heavy."

She paused, studying him a moment longer. "Tell me, Skars… when was the last time you let yourself stop fighting? Even for a moment?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He thought carefully, reaching far back, so far that every memory seemed tied to conflict. There had always been violence. His entire life had been a struggle to tear his fate from the claws of death. For too long. The question echoed in his mind: had he ever truly lived without fighting? He shook his head, lifting his gaze toward the young woman, a gaze belonging to someone who had seen too much, someone who knew that to stop fighting was to admit defeat, and that the price of such acceptance was heavier than one soul could bear.


"I don't know," he breathed at last, his voice barely above a sigh, more confession than answer. "My life has been one endless battle. The enemies change — the Black Sun, the Corellian mafia, system authorities, even myself at times. I've lost count of how many times I've had to fight just to survive. My hands… they've shed far more blood than should ever be allowed."


He stared at them, half-expecting to see them turn red and sticky with all the lives he'd taken. His gaze grew distant, hollow.
"Nothing will ever redeem what I've done. Nothing matters to me anymore. I have my life, and that's all. I'm a walking weapon, selling my skill to end lives in exchange for credits. Maybe I should find that despicable, but I can't. Regret? It's a feeling I don't know. Pity? Not compatible with my work. Altruism?" His tone grew almost bitter. "If ending suffering counts as altruism, then maybe I qualify."


His eyes now empty, he looked down at his glass and ordered another, purely out of habit. The world kept turning, with or without him, he was just a grain of sand slipping through the hourglass, nothing more. And he knew it. Maybe that was why he clung to the idea of the Force, to avoid facing his own demons, to keep from admitting that killing had long since lost its meaning.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't interrupt. She let the silence stretch between his words, her gaze steady but unjudging. There was something in his tone she recognized — not pride, not self-pity, but that hollow, weary clarity that came from surviving too long on instinct alone.

When he finally stopped, she exhaled softly. "You sound like someone who's been fighting for so long that stopping feels like forgetting how to breathe," she said quietly. "I've met enough soldiers and killers to know that look. The moment you stop fighting, you start remembering — and that's what terrifies most people more than death."

She leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing the condensation on her glass. "You talk about regret like it's foreign. Maybe it is. Maybe you've burned through too much of yourself to feel it the same way anymore. But the fact that you're here, talking about it — that says something. People who truly don't care don't bother justifying the blood."

Her gaze softened, though her voice stayed even. "Redemption's not something you chase. It's something that finds you when you finally stop running from what you've become. Maybe not through the Force. Maybe not through faith. Sometimes it's as simple as… choosing not to make the next kill."

She took a slow sip of her drink before continuing, quieter now. "You call yourself a weapon. I've worked with plenty of those. Tools don't question the hand that wields them." Her eyes met his, calm and unflinching. "You do. That means you're already something more than what you think you are."

The corner of her mouth lifted, not quite a smile — more an acknowledgment of shared exhaustion. "The galaxy's full of monsters, Skars. The trick isn't pretending we're not one of them. It's remembering why we haven't stopped trying not to be."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

His words echoed a distant memory, the old man who had said them long ago. He had died, quietly, likely abandoned in a sewer by the underworld. Overnight, he had simply vanished. He was the closest thing Skars had to a father. A wave of sadness washed over him. He nodded, fiddling nervously with his glass, taking a sip and letting it roll in his mouth before swallowing. He fixed his gaze on the woman before him and, in a broken tone, resumed:


"You must have lived a lot to know so much. You remind me of a friend of mine. I think he would have agreed with you. I believe, generally, he was chosen, one of those people not born into the right place, who nonetheless always tried to follow the path he believed in. No matter what others said, did, or plotted, he stayed true to himself. Maybe that's what killed him, actually."


His voice grew calmer as the sentence ended. He shook his head, the memory of the old man anchoring him to the present. A hint of guilt surfaced as he continued:


"I think he would tell us to live. To enjoy life, not for those we've taken down, but for ourselves, to celebrate being alive."


He leaned back against the chair, glass in hand. Silence hung between them, full of unspoken things, unsayable words, and explicit gaps. The alcohol's vapors changed nothing, even hidden behind sweetness, it was more soda than liquor. He closed his eyes, then looked at Aren. How can you know so much? How do you know if you're not already a monster, how do you know you should stop? Tomorrow, given how things are, there's a chance I'll kill someone again. And if not tomorrow, then the next day, and so on. It's all I know how to do. Those who shaped me only taught me that.


Distress seeped through the young man's measured voice like an infected wound that refuses to heal and only exposes its severity to the world. His tone turned heavy, revealing the mindset of someone who no longer believes in the galaxy, not out of rancor, not out of hate, simply because he has seen too much, learned too well to live alongside suffering and death.

Aren D'Shade