Liin Terallo
Synthetic Force User
The stars never blink the same way twice.
A thought that came to me as the ship broke from hyperspace and the mottled blue faded back into black. I had been staring out the viewport for most of the trip; watching streaks of light twist and coil like threads in a loom. There is comfort in the repetition of travel -jump, coast, refuel -but it never lasts. Something always waits at the next port.
The pilot called for a brief stopover to refuel. I did not argue. The air on the ship had grown stale, and I needed to stretch my legs anyway. The port was not anything special; steel, grime and flickering lights. It was the sort of place where merchants shouted prices louder than the hum of the power lines. But it served it's purpose.
I kept my hood low with my steps light, trying to disappear into the movement around me. A few supplies was all that I had needed. Power cells. Rations. A proper flashlight for when I go below ground again. The shadows on Makeb are thick - denser than memory, heavier than fear - and I will need more than nerves to walk through them.
But as I stepped down the ramp, a cold shiver ran through the air. I felt it - not with any sense I could name, but in the tightening of my pulse, the way people’s gazes snagged on me and then slipped away. Some of them could feel it too. The Force users.
To them, I must feel like a hole in the fabric; something that should not exist, and yet does.
So I quickened my pace in a bid to elude them.
Tag:
Quinton Vorn