Private Cantina Crossroads

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened without interruption. Her expression didn't change much — the same composed calm she'd worn since sitting down — but her eyes softened as he spoke. She knew that tone; it wasn't dramatics or self-pity. It was exhaustion. The kind that came when you'd seen too much and had no idea what peace was supposed to feel like anymore.

"You're not the only one who's been taught to survive that way," she said quietly after a moment. "The galaxy doesn't leave many choices when you're born into the wrong corner of it."

She rested her elbow on the table, her fingers idly tracing the condensation ring her drink had left behind. "People like us… We stop fighting, and we disappear. Keep fighting, and we become the thing we swore we'd never be. There isn't much of a middle ground."

Her gaze lifted to meet his. "You said your friend believed in living — in enjoying what's left. Maybe that's all we can do. Not to make up for anything. … to remember that we're still here."

She gave a small, rueful smile — the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You say regret's not part of your vocabulary," she murmured, "but it sounds to me like you've been carrying it for a long time."

Then, softer, almost like she was asking him to think instead of answer: "Do you ever wonder what you'd be doing if no one had ever taught you to fight?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

Pensive, he took a few seconds to think, then answered in a tone without inflection, neutral... empty?
"No. Because I'm not one of those people who thinks it could have been otherwise. And even if it had, we are here now, so there's no point in dwelling on what might have been. We are what we are, and nothing can change that."


The statement betrayed deep reflection and a refusal to indulge in self-pity, a will to think in terms of efficiency, cutting away parasitic doubts and existential questions. He continued in a cold voice, stripped of malice:
"The only cold-blooded killing I carried out that wasn't part of a mission was actually a refusal to kill. That's the only thing I've ever managed to do. I traded one life for another because I judged it worth less, and even today I don't regret that choice. But it's the only compromise, the only time I admitted that killing wasn't the right solution. Tell me, do you think it's worth trying to save anything?"


His tone turned ironic, biting, though that bitterness wasn't aimed at the young woman but at a larger galaxy that, by its very existence, condemns them.
Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't flinch at his tone. She didn't recoil from the emptiness in it, or the bitterness that sharpened his last words. If anything, she seemed to grow calmer — as though his harsh honesty didn't scare her off, but clarified him in her mind.

She let a breath slip out, slow and quiet.

"You talk like someone who's made peace with being unforgivable," she said evenly. "And maybe you have. Maybe that's the only way you've survived this long."

Her fingers retraced the rim of her glass, thoughtful rather than nervous.

"But you asked me if I think it's worth trying to save anything." Her head tilted slightly, eyes steady on him. "I think… most people don't get the luxury of choosing between right and wrong. They choose between bad and worse. And they live with the one that lets them sleep."

Aren paused, not to soften her words, but to make sure he heard them clearly.

"You traded one life for another because you saw value. That is a judgment call, not cruelty. A monster wouldn't have hesitated — or remembered it."

Her voice remained low, unforced. No preaching. No comforting lies. Just truth.

"You ask if it's worth saving anything." She lifted her gaze entirely to him now. "I think the only things worth saving are the ones you choose for yourself. People, maybe. Or a place. Or even just one moment that isn't defined by blood."

A beat passed, then another.

"And if you're sitting here asking me the question?" Her tone softened by a fraction. "Then you haven't completely stopped believing in the answer."

She didn't smile — not exactly — but there was a faint warmth at the corner of her mouth, the kind that came from recognition, not optimism.

"Cold killers don't ask whether anything is worth saving, Skars. They move on to the next job."

Her eyes narrowed very slightly, studying him.

"So what is it you're hoping still could be saved?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

At the end of her speech, he nodded, a faint imitation of understanding. Her answers echoed strangely in his mind, as if they were circling around a core of truth older than this simple conversation. He felt, then, that she was the answer he'd been looking for to his questions. The one who might allow him to find the inner peace he'd been searching for. The reason behind his actions, the path he was trying to follow. The path of blood, he no longer doubted that, but the kind of bloodshed that served a purpose. The kind that could save more lives than it ended.


But then… what exactly is the "lesse worse"? Where does it lie?


"I don't know. Nothing ties me to life except my existence itself. I act for no one but myself. I have no one to rely on, and no one relies on me."

His hand drifted back to brush the hilt of his lightsaber, fingers tracing the fabric-and-leather grip, black and white, like the pull of emotions dragging him toward opposite ends. After a few seconds, he spoke again, his tone measured, without ambiguity:

"What drives you to keep living, Aren? What makes you refuse to give up?"


The questions seemed to rise from somewhere distant, like a muted call for help, a way of searching for how to act, an ideal to hold onto.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched him for a long moment, the quiet between them settling into something heavier—thoughtful, not oppressive. Her gaze flicked briefly to the way his hand rested against the hilt of his saber, then back to his eyes.

"You say nothing ties you to life except being alive," she murmured. "No connections. No anchor. No one to lose."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with the unhurried, precise attention she usually reserved for malfunctioning circuitry or unstable power cells.

"That sounds a lot like fear to me."

Her tone wasn't accusatory—just observant, gentle in its clarity.

"When someone has nothing," she continued slowly, "they think they can't be hurt. No attachments, no weaknesses, no leverage." A faint breath escaped her, almost a sigh. "But it also means you don't have anything to fight for."

She rested her forearms on the table, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze directly.

"So let me ask you something, Skars."
A beat. Quiet. Intent.
"Do you fear anything at all?"

Her voice softened—not pitying, but steady, grounded.

"Because a person who truly fears nothing… doesn't ask the questions you're asking. They don't wonder about redemption or meaning or whether anything is worth saving. They're already gone."

Her eyes held his, brown, calm, unflinching.

"You're not gone."

Another small pause. A truth delivered plainly:

"And people who still have something left in them… always fear losing it. Even if they don't know what it is yet."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

"Indeed… if there is something like that, I haven't found it yet. Who knows, maybe I'll eventually find the thing I'm missing so much. So I search, and I will find it — that reason I lack so badly. That I long for so badly…"

Lost in thought, he kept unconsciously brushing the sheath of his weapon. It slipped to the floor, and Skars bent to pick it up, casting an apologetic glance at the nearby tables, whose occupants shot him hostile looks.

"Isn't that what life is, in the end?" he continued. "A desperate quest to find the reason that drives us to live? A race to uncover our purpose so we don't have to think about the fact that we're temporary. That one day, sooner or later, we'll have to die and give up our place in this galaxy."


His words were accompanied by a smile, fatalistic, yet oddly peaceful, as if, no matter what happens, even in the worst of outcomes, there is always an ending waiting, inevitable and final.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened to him speak without interrupting, her gaze steady, her posture relaxed but attentive. She watched the way his hand kept drifting toward the weapon at his side—it wasn't fear, she realized, but habit—muscle memory shaped by a lifetime of danger. When the sheath slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a sharp clatter, she didn't flinch. Instead, she cast a quick, cool glance at the nearby tables whose patrons glared in irritation, her eyes warning them off before they even considered commenting. Only then did she return her attention to him, her voice measured and calm, carrying none of the judgment he might have expected.

"I think we've both faced our mortality," she said, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass in slow, thoughtful arcs. "Probably more than once. And probably in ways most people never have to imagine." There was no bravado in her tone—just quiet acknowledgment, the shared understanding of two people who had lived close to the edge for far too long.

She inhaled softly, eyes drifting for a moment as though considering the right words. "But I don't think life is supposed to be a quest. Not for everyone. Not for me." She gave a slight, almost imperceptible shrug. "Some people need destiny. Or purpose. Or some grand mission to justify why they keep breathing. And that's fine. Some people are wired that way." Her gaze sharpened slightly as she looked back at him. "But I'm not."

Aren leaned back in her seat, letting her shoulders relax, voice staying soft but firm. "I live because I want to. Because I choose to. Not because I'm chasing something. Not because I need to leave a mark on the galaxy. That kind of legacy… It's never mattered to me." She paused a moment, letting that truth settle. "I don't need statues or stories or a place in history to be happy. None of that feels real to me."

Her expression softened, not with weakness, but with a kind of quiet sincerity she didn't often show. "What would make me happy is having people I care about. A family someday, maybe. People who choose to be there because they want to be, not because they're tied to me by obligation or circumstance." She looked down at her glass briefly, as though surprised she'd said that much aloud, before lifting her eyes back to him. "That's what matters to me. That's what would give my life meaning."

She studied him for a long, thoughtful moment—this man who spoke of death like a shadow he'd grown used to, who clung to purpose like it was slipping through his fingers. "You talk about searching for a reason," she said gently. "About longing for something missing. About wanting a path that actually leads somewhere." Her voice softened further, almost to a warm tone. "Maybe your purpose isn't something out there waiting to be discovered. Maybe it's something you build. Slowly. One choice at a time. One connection at a time. One person at a time."

She lifted her glass slightly—not quite a toast, just a simple gesture of acknowledgment, an unspoken understanding. "And if you're still looking for meaning," Aren added quietly, "then there's still something alive in you worth finding. Even if you don't know what it is yet."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He lifted his glass as well. He stayed silent for a long while, thoughtful. He didn't know what to say. All he knew was that he knew nothing. He had never had anyone to rely on. The only relationships he'd ever known were those of an operative and a client, or a killer and a target. His features betrayed deep reflection, his mind turning at full speed as he tried to think of an answer.

Eventually he took a sip, blinked slowly, and met her gaze.

"I'm lost," he said. "I don't know where to go, who to see, who to turn to. My plan was to go back to the people who trained me, but now I don't even know what to think. Maybe I should drop everything, go to some distant world, start over as a farmer, a guard, or… something else."


He leaned back into his seat, his hand brushing the scar over his left eye as he shook his head. He envied the people whose only concern for tomorrow was their work, those people whose lives were so simple, so naïve, so… futile.
Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened without interrupting, her expression composed but no longer distant. His silence stretched long enough that she could almost feel the weight of it — the kind that didn't come from hesitation, but from someone confronting truths they had avoided for far too long. When he finally spoke, when he admitted I'm lost, something in her softened, not in pity, but in recognition.

She took a slow breath, her gaze steady on him as she lifted her glass just slightly, mirroring the gesture he'd given her. "Who trained you?" she asked quietly. The question wasn't sharp or demanding — it was gentle, a thread offered to pull on if he wanted to. "You don't have to tell me everything. I'm just trying to understand where you're coming from."

She let the moment breathe, then continued, her voice calm and even, the way someone speaks when they've lived through too many endings to fear a beginning. "Starting over…" A faint exhale left her, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "I know something about that."

She leaned back just slightly, shoulders easing as her gaze drifted toward the cantina's window. Beyond it, Empress Teta glowed — orderly, polished, nothing like the frantic pulse of Denon's neon-drenched corridors. "The life I had on Denon was stolen from me," she said, her tone simple, matter-of-fact. "Torn out from under me in one night. I didn't get a choice. I just… had to leave. Everything."

Her fingers tapped once against her glass, an absent gesture of someone grounding themselves in the present. "So here I am," she murmured, tipping her chin toward the world outside. "Starting over on a planet I never planned to be on. Building a life from the ground up because the old one is gone."

Her eyes returned to him, steady and sure in a way that wasn't bravado but survival. "It's not easy. It's not glamorous. Some days it feels like I'm just… patching myself together with whatever I can find." There was no self-pity in her tone — only truth, the kind spoken by someone who had already lived through the worst of it.

"But you know what?" she said, a faint flicker of warmth reaching her voice. "Starting over means the past doesn't get to decide everything. You get to choose parts of yourself. Build new ones. Leave behind what you don't want to carry."

She lifted her glass again, this time in a small, deliberate gesture — not a toast, but an acknowledgment of shared ground. "So if you're thinking about beginning again… you're not alone in that. And you might be surprised at how many lives can fit inside one lifetime."

Her gaze softened a fraction. "And if you want to tell me who trained you… I'm listening."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

"First, I was trained by the underworld in my home system. That's where I learned to kill. They handed me contracts, and I carried them out. Simple as that.
Then, after I ran from the syndicate, I ended up drifting across the galaxy. I got the chance to join some Mandalorians, a people built for war, at least in the case of the clans. And this one was no exception. That's where I truly learned how to kill."
A silence, and Skars restart :

"After that, I joined a group of Force users, to hone the abilities I'd started to suspect I had. Nothing impressive, but… talents. Like an unusually sharp sense of danger, for example. As far as I know, that group isn't part of any known order. They mostly live apart from the galaxy, with a philosophical view of peace."


His story ended there, leaving a quiet space between them, while the idea of starting over no longer felt foreign to him. His grey eyes stayed fixed on his glass, as though the events he'd just described were unfolding inside it.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened closely — not with pity, not with alarm, but with a growing sense of recognition she hadn't expected. When he finished, a soft breath escaped her, followed by a small, quiet laugh. Not mockery — surprise. Understanding. Something warmer.

"Well," she said, amusement threading gently into her voice, "that's… strangely familiar." She lifted her glass, tilting it lightly toward him as though acknowledging an invisible pattern between them. "Sounds like we've been walking parallel lines without even knowing it."

Her smile lingered, subdued but genuine. "I'm currently working with the Mandalorians myself. Different clan, different reasons, I'm sure — but close enough that I know what you mean." She didn't elaborate; she didn't need to. Anyone who had been around Mando'ade long enough understood that the culture was equal parts family, forge, and fire.

She set her glass down, tapping it gently with her thumb. "And… I've spent time with a Force-using group, too." A faint shimmer crossed her expression — something guarded, something half-remembered. "Not Jedi, not Sith. People with their own philosophy about peace and conflict." Her voice softened. "Maybe similar to yours."

Then she shook her head lightly, almost rueful. "But that's where our similarities end. I've never killed anyone. Not once." Her gaze stayed steady, her tone calm — not proud, not ashamed—just truth. "I'm not trained to fight. Never have been. I'm a technician, not a weapon."

She leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her eyes studying him with a clearer, almost bemused warmth now. "But somehow you and I still ended up in a bar, in a strange city, talking about beginnings and endings like we've lived the same life with different colors."

A slight grin touched her lips. "Maybe starting over isn't as unusual as we keep telling ourselves."

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

The assassin could only agree with the technician's words. He finally put a name to the feeling she stirred in him: resemblance, the sense of seeing parts of himself reflected in her. A similarity between two souls, a meeting born of chance. Perhaps that was what he had sensed from the beginning, what had kept him from simply refusing to speak to this stranger. The feeling that their paths had been, somehow, not so different.

"The question isn't whether one can change their life. The question is whether one is willing to leave so much behind. Some people will say yes, others that it isn't worth it. But when you have nothing, and you're not sure you'll ever have more, does it really matter to try to force fate, rather than letting yourself drift into a gentle giving up? Letting go."


As he spoke those words, he burst into laughter, genuine, edged with irony.
"I never thought I'd say something like that. You're quite something, Aren. When I walked in here, I never expected to meet anyone like you."


He sobered again.
"I think you're right, whether it's the work of the Force or not, here we are, talking about our lives, as if we were living the same story in different costumes. And yet…"


He let the sentence trail off, thoughtful.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren watched his laughter soften the hard edges of his face, watched the shift from bleak resignation to something she hadn't expected to see in him — a moment of real, human levity. It eased her expression as well, a slight warmth settling in her chest despite herself.

She took a slow sip of her drink, letting a beat of quiet sit between them before replying.

"You're not wrong," she said at last, voice low but steady. "Letting go… drifting… It's easier than fighting for a future you're not convinced you deserve." Her gaze shifted to the window, the lights of Empress Teta flickering like distant embers. "I've done that too. More times than I want to admit."

Then her eyes returned to him, clear, level — not judging, not prodding, just meeting him where he was.

"But having nothing doesn't mean you have to settle for nothing," she continued. "You said you're not sure you'll ever have more, but… that's something you can change. If you want to."

She let that linger, not pushing, simply offering.

When he called her "quite something," Aren huffed a quiet laugh, a single breath of disbelief as she tipped her glass toward him in a small, sardonic toast.

"Likewise," she said, her tone warm but wry. "I didn't expect any of this either. You're not exactly the kind of company I thought I'd find tonight." A faint smirk pulled at her mouth. "And considering how this evening started, that's saying something."

He drifted back into thought, words tapering off, and she leaned forward slightly, studying the lines of contemplation on his face.

"And yet…?" she prompted gently, inviting him to finish whatever truth he'd nearly spoken. "What were you going to say?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He accepts the compliment with a small nod, taking the time to drink before speaking again, his tone more measured now, warm, but reassuring:


"Letting yourself drift is sometimes easier than simply continuing to fight. But it's for our freedom that we fight. If we stop, we lose one of the few things we have left. Who knows, maybe we are strong enough, persistent enough to reach our goals, but at what cost? You're like me. In my case, it was killing that hardened me. In yours, it was life's harshness that made you the strong person you are. Tell me if I'm wrong."


A smile blossomed on his lips, one born of simple pleasure. The pleasure of a banal conversation, of the small things.


"And yet we didn't know each other before tonight, and that's incredible. Maybe I'm disconnected from reality, and it's commonplace for similar people to cross paths by chance, but I find it astonishing. The beautiful surprises life has in store for us…"
As he spoke, he brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, the gesture almost… carefree. In that fleeting moment, Aren could glimpse another facet of Skars, one that rarely surfaced. The part of him that was still a child, one who never had the luxury of growing up fully, pushed aside by a harsh life without rule or mercy. That hint of carelessness, so at odds with the young man's usual thoughtful demeanor.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren let his words settle, her expression softening into something thoughtful — not defensive, not dismissive, just quietly honest. She took a slow sip from her glass, then set it down gently, fingers tapping once along the rim before she answered.

"You're not wrong," she said, voice calm but tinged with something more personal than before. "Life's been… unkind. And I've had to keep moving, keep adapting, to stay ahead of everything that wanted to pin me down." Her shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. "But I don't think that makes me strong. Not in any deliberate way. I survived because I didn't have another choice."

A beat — then a small, genuine smile curved her lips.

"But I appreciate that you see strength there. Even if I don't always feel it."

She leaned back in her seat, studying him for a moment as his smile — lighter, freer than any he'd shown yet — softened the hard lines of his face. There was something almost boyish in that gesture of brushing his hair aside, something untouched by the violence and discipline that shaped him.

Aren's gaze warmed slightly, recognizing the glimpse of the person beneath the weapon.

"And yes… it is strange," she admitted. "Running into someone whose life looks nothing like mine on the surface, yet still lines up in all the wrong ways." She lifted her glass in a small, acknowledging tilt. "Two strangers with similar scars. Not the kind you see—" her eyes flicked briefly to his lightsaber, then back "—but the kind you feel."

Her smile softened into something gentler.

"Life's full of surprises. Some good, some not. I didn't expect this conversation… but I'm not complaining."

Then, with a slight tilt of her head and a spark of curiosity threading through her tone, she added:

"You say freedom keeps you fighting. But what does that mean for you, Skars? Freedom from what… or for what?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He responded almost immediately, his voice carrying a subdued pleasure:
"That's a good question. For me, freedom is going wherever I want. Being able to traverse the galaxy without worrying about someone holding me back. Ironically, it would also mean being free to do what I enjoy, at least outside of work. I hope that one day, I won't have to worry about killing people to survive, in whatever form that takes. You mentioned having a family. Maybe one day, I'll do that too, who knows."

A new smile revealed once again the youthful side of the assassin.
"Although, honestly, I can hardly imagine anyone wanting me as a husband. I suppose being a hitman isn't exactly in the top tier of most attractive professions."

This declaration brought another smile to the scarred man.
"Even better, I know what would be perfect. Not just people to love, but also a home of my own."


He drifted into a dreamy gaze, staring at the ceiling like a fool, before continuing without moving.
"What are your dreams? What is freedom to you? What do you desire, what drives you to live, Aren?"


Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't answer right away.

His questions — gentle, earnest, almost startlingly sincere — settled into her like pebbles tossed into still water, sending slow ripples through thoughts she rarely touched. She stared down at her glass, turning it once between her hands, as the faint reflections of the cantina lights flickered across its surface, like drifting stars.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before — not shy, but careful, contemplative.

"…Freedom is a strange thing for me," she said. "I've spent so long running that I'm not sure I ever stopped to define what it actually meant."

Another pause, her gaze drifting toward the window where Empress Teta's skyline glowed faintly through the shifting haze.

"But if I'm honest?"
Her eyes flicked back to him — steady, clear, a little vulnerable.

"My dream is… to see droids treated as people. Not tools. Not property. People. With rights, choices—lives that aren't dictated by whoever owns them."

She exhaled softly, almost bracing for him to laugh or misunderstand.

"It sounds strange, I know. But I've seen what they're capable of. How they learn, grow, and adapt. Some of them have more compassion than organics ever manage."

Her fingers brushed the table absently, as if tracing something long familiar.

"That's one of the reasons I do what I do. Fixing, building, and helping them stay functional. I want a galaxy where a droid doesn't get wiped just because their owner is bored, or scrapped for having an independent thought."

The words had clearly been sitting inside her for a long time, waiting for a rare moment when she felt safe enough to speak them aloud.

"And… beyond that?" A faint, wistful smile touched her lips.
"I want a small place of my own. Nothing grand. Somewhere quiet. With people I choose around me. A life where I'm not running or hiding or being used by someone stronger."

She tapped her glass lightly, considering him with a faint tilt of her head.

"So yes… maybe your dream isn't as far from mine as you think. A home. People. Peace." Her smile deepened just a fraction.

"Even if we take completely different roads to get there."

After a moment, she added — gently, genuinely curious:

"Do you think someone like you could ever stop running long enough to build that home?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He nodded softly :

"Why not. Even if it seems highly unlikely because of their very creation, independent droids wouldn’t necessarily be a problem. Plenty of people would try to kill me for saying this, but droids, if well-programmed, would without a doubt make much better companions than organic species ever do.”

He smiled then, brushing the dust off his clothes before continuing in a confident tone:

“I was thinking about the creation of a planet where droids could move freely, live without constraints. I think I’d like to live there.”

Finally, he answered Aren’s question, uncertain, with a few hesitations:

“I don’t know. And wouldn’t building a home mean willingly putting the people I’d love in danger? I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow, let alone in a few years. Will I ever be able to stop running?”

It ended in a breath, the fatality of his own existence nearly unbearable.
The young man felt exposed by this conversation. It brought out aspects, feelings he had tried to bury.
A silence settled after the assassin’s words, full of things left unsaid.

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren listened, her expression shifting — not in judgment, but in recognition. The kind that came from someone who understood what it meant to be built by circumstance rather than choice.

At the mention of independent droids, something warm flickered across her face. Respect. Agreement. Maybe even hope.

"You'd be surprised," she said quietly. "Most people don't think about it at all. They see droids as tools, not people." Her gaze dipped to her hands, thumb brushing lightly over a faint oil stain on her palm. "But… I grew up around machines. My best company has sometimes been the ones who don't pretend to be anything else. Free will or programming doesn't matter — what matters is choice."

She leaned back, letting out a slow breath.

"Your planet idea? A place where droids could move freely?"
A small, genuine smile curved her lips. "That's not a bad dream, Skars. Sounds… peaceful. Something worth existing for, at least."

But the softness in her expression deepened when he spoke of the danger he believed he brought with him. Of running. Of not knowing how to stop.

She was quiet for a long moment before she answered — not out of discomfort, but because she wanted to give him a real answer, not filler.

"I don't think anyone truly stops running," she said finally. "Not people like us."
Her voice stayed gentle, steady. "But maybe that's the wrong way to look at it."

Her gaze lifted to his, calm and unflinching.

"We don't stop running. We just… change what we're running toward."

Another tiny pause, a breath softer than the rest.

"And building a home doesn't endanger the people in it. Not if you choose wisely."
She shrugged lightly. "Danger finds you whether you're alone or surrounded. At least with people… you have reasons to fight back."

She glanced toward the window where the lights of Empress Teta flickered against the night, all sharp edges and polished stone.

"I'm starting over here," she said quietly. "I didn't plan it. I didn't want to, really. But life didn't care what I wanted."

A faint, rueful laugh escaped her.

"So I'm making something new. Slowly. Carefully. Maybe badly." A small smirk. "But still trying."

Her eyes returned to him—curious, steady, without judgment.

"You talk like someone who thinks they don't deserve anything good. But you're sitting here imagining a world where droids are free and sentience matters more than blood."

Her voice softened.

"I think that says more about the kind of home you could build than you realize."

She tipped her head, studying him.

"You say you don't know what you'll do tomorrow."
Her brow arched slightly.
"So… what do you want to do? If you weren't running, if you had a choice?"

Akyla Rein (Skars)

 

[Akyla Rein (Skars)]

He took his time to think, as he usually did, his little tics betraying the thoughts buzzing and darting through his mind. Then he explained:


"I have enough savings to settle somewhere, technically. But I don't know how to go about it. I don't know if I'd be capable of stopping fighting, because it's part of who I am. My savings won't last forever. In any case, I don't know what settling down would even mean for me. I'm 23. I'll have plenty of time to think about it later. But I suppose I'd need a place to breathe, from time to time."


His slouched shoulders and the sigh that followed revealed his fatigue, his desire to find a place of his own, a place where he could be safe from this hostile galaxy, a place that belonged to him. "Maybe filled with droids," he thought with a smile, before turning his questioning gaze toward the young woman:


"Do you have a place like that? A place you can call home? If so, how did you know, 'this is the moment, here and now"?"

He traced slow circles along the rim of his glass, unconsciously mirroring Aren, before ordering another drink — silently asking her with a small gesture whether she wanted one as well, and requesting one or two accordingly.

While waiting, he let his gaze drift toward the cantina window, losing himself in the nocturnal lights of the planet outside.

Aren D'Shade