Private Easiest Questions

[Aiden Porte]

Naboo
Porte Homestead
Sela Basran​

It was just about noon on the homestead, when the sun sat high enough to bleach the edges of the fields and turn every pale stone on Naboo into something softly radiant. The breeze carried the clean, green scent of grass and water from somewhere beyond the rise.

He stood on the small entryway that led into his home, one hand resting against the doorway's smooth frame, the other loose at his side. From here, he could see the gentle slope of the land, the line of trees in the distance, and the way the path curved toward the homestead like a quiet invitation. It was peaceful in the way only Naboo could manage, peace that felt earned, but never permanent.

Aiden had received word from Sela Basran that she intended to visit.

He had not needed the Force to guess at the reasons, though it hummed faintly in the back of his awareness all the same, like a second heartbeat. Sela was not the sort to arrive without purpose. She might want to talk about his withdrawal from the Jedi Order, to measure the decision with her own eyes and decide what it meant for him, for Naboo, for everything that had once fit neatly into the word duty. Or maybe, just maybe, she simply wanted to see him, to sit for a while under an open sky and speak like people rather than positions.

Either way, Aiden found himself smiling.

It was small, almost private, and it softened the tension he had not realized he was holding in his shoulders. Whatever questions came with her, whatever concerns followed in her wake, he wanted this. A conversation without a Council chamber. Without ceremony. Without distance. A visit on his own threshold, on his own ground, with the life he was building in full view around him.

He lifted his gaze down the path again, listening for the faintest hint of approaching steps, and let the bright midday light warm his face as he waited.

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD

​

WORDS WORDS WORDS

The loss -- no, Sela reminded herself kindly, for he was not lost at all, the exit -- of Aiden Porte had been like a tremor through the Temple. The strength of the muscle did not fail and the grip did not falter, but something in it was different. Something had changed. Something was diminished.

Sela had forbidden gossip in her classes and in her quarters, and was quick to suggest more useful activities for students who could find no other matter of import to focus their energies on. She had no way of knowing whether that would stop young people from gossiping at all, but she did not care for it in her presence and that would be non-negotiable. She was not privy to the exact reasons for Aiden's removal of himself from the Order which was, she was a little ashamed to admit, one of the reasons she was on the footpath out to the homestead.

Not to interrogate him. Not to pursue. She wished to understand him, and to make him understand that whatever his formal relationship with the Shirayan Order, he was only as isolated as he wanted to be. And then, probably not even then, because he had given a busybody of an old auntie his address.

A rookie mistake, she mused ruefully, her raspberry lips turning up at the edges in amusement.

The Master rounded a gentle swell and she looked up, reaching up to tug her hood back carefully. The midday sun was not yet sweltering, but much further in her robes might well undo the older woman. Luckily, the homestead came into view presently, and unless she was much mistaken there was the Jedi Knight standing in the doorway. Sela raised her free hand as she spotted him, the other shifting the weight of an oiled canvas bag over her other shoulder. Master Basran was not moving in; rather she had come bearing gifts.

As she approached, Sela called out a greeting. "Aiden, you are a sight for sore eyes."

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden saw her before he heard her, the shape of her cresting the gentle swell of the footpath like a familiar note returning to a song he had not realized he missed. There was a steadiness to Sela Basran's stride that time never seemed to steal, a calm authority that did not need a Temple corridor to carry weight. Naboo's midday light softened the folds of her robes and caught the edge of her hood as she tugged it back, practical as ever, refusing to let the heat win a battle it did not deserve.

He did not reach for the Force to read her. He did not need to. He could feel the intent in her presence in the same way he could feel the homestead beneath his feet, solid, honest, and entirely her. But there was also something else, threaded under it: concern, carefully contained perhaps curiosity, disciplined; and that particular brand of affection that made its way into a scolding when it had to, and into humor when it could.

Aiden's mouth lifted into a real smile, the kind he did not have to manufacture.

He stepped down from the entryway, meeting her partway as though closing the distance would make it easier on both of them. His hands stayed relaxed at his sides. No formal bow. No ceremonial posture. He was not greeting a Master in the Temple now; he was greeting Sela on his own threshold, on his own land, in a life he was still learning how to inhabit.

He caught sight of the oiled canvas bag slung over her shoulder and his brow arched with quiet amusement, as if he had just been handed proof of a suspicion he already held.

"Master Basran," he said, and the title came out by habit first, then softened as his gaze warmed. "You say that like I have been hiding under a rock."

He let the humor sit for a beat, then continued, gentler, more honest.

"It is good to see you. Truly."

His eyes tracked briefly over her face, taking in the lines that spoke of long years and longer patience, and the bright curve of her mouth that suggested she had come armed with both intent and mercy. He glanced again at the bag.

"And it looks like you did not come empty-handed," he added, the faintest hint of a chuckle and tease in his voice. "Should I be flattered, or should I be concerned?"

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

"Between those two options? Concerned. And..." Sela began, but she slowed as she considered the question. "...cautious. And careful, I'm afraid."

Sela allowed herself to pause a few paces from Aiden, simply taking him in in the context of this environment. She didn't know it, didn't have a feel for it yet. But he looked at peace, and that was worth something to her. "It will not surprise you, I think, to learn that I am as concerned about propriety and Temple rules as anyone -- and rather more than some." She shifted the bag at her shoulder, and there was a gentle clinking sound from within. Mysteries on mysteries, but Sela was pleased to reveal all in short order. "The protocols around smuggling foodstuffs out of the kitchen storerooms to -- forgive me -- former members of the Temple were unclear. Custom can be as binding as law in institutions like this, as you know better than most. The long story made short -- em, shorter -- is that the guidelines are less restrictive about people using the kitchens to make things themselves and giving it to whomever they like."

She reached into her bag and pulled out a little jar, clear of color exposing pale green contents; it was efficiently wrapped at the top in a kind of pale cloth, with a small tag identifying it with a label and date in Sela's own hand affixed with an elastic that kept the cloth around the screw-top lid. "I heard you were fond of the shuura jam they sometimes served in the mornings, and I happened to have a bush in my allotment. It was a simple matter of convincing the stewards to lend me the recipe and requesting to use the kitchens during off-hours. My Padawan and I managed a batch without burning the place down. Well, just."

The older woman tucked the jam jar back into the bag and held it out to Aiden Porte . "The caveat -- why you should perhaps be cautious and careful -- is that I am a scholar and not a culinary artist. I believe it is not poisonous or harmful in any other way, but I could not vouch for how it compares to what the Temple serves -- in terms of the texture and taste. It looked all right and it tasted fine but I have nothing to compare it against for I am, I confess, more inclined to porridge of a morning." A slightly embarrassed smile there. "You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks."

Looking around at last, she allowed her gaze to take in the lines and the light, the lush green and the brilliant blue of the Naboo sky. "What a lovely place you have here. Are you getting on well?"

Aiden Porte​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's smile widened, the kind that carried warmth without turning sharp, and he let the jar settle into the crook of his arm as though it belonged there. The carefulness in Sela's explanation, protocols, custom, the Temple's unwritten rules, was familiar enough that it tugged at something fond in him.

"Well," he said, lighthearted and deliberately conspiratorial, "rules were meant to be broken."

The teasing tone landed gently, a nudge rather than a challenge, and his eyes brightened with it. He tipped his head toward the bag and the faint clink within, as if acknowledging the sheer audacity of her "cautious" generosity.

"And shuura jam has an incredibly great taste," Aiden added, grin softening into something openly pleased. "I do enjoy it. Besides, I am more than sure your culinary skills are up to par. I have full confidence in the survival odds."

Sela's praise drew a soft breath of amusement from him, and he shook his head, humility easy where truth lived.

"Thank you," he said, "but I cannot take credit. My mother and father built this place."

"As for me," Aiden continued, glancing back at her with the same steady kindness. A soft and easy smile all the same. "I am doing rather well. All things considered. It's okay to ask, I'm not hiding from it."

"Shall we put this jam to the test" he inquired, voice warm with sincerity. "And if it turns out you have accidentally invented the Temple's most dangerous new recipe, then at least we will have a very memorable afternoon."

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

Sela's amusement was apparent on her face, the skin around her eyes crinkling gently as she smiled. "I appreciate your vote of confidence, Aiden. We shall see if you maintain it after we try the jam."

"As it happens," she said delicately as she got close enough to speak at normal conversational volume. "I do have some questions. I would like to understand, that is all. I was not privy to the remarks you made to the Council, of course, and you know how gossip can be in a place like that. One big game of Broken Communicator. I thought I would hear it from the kaadu's own mouth -- if, of course, the kaadu feels like talking about it."

There was a pause there. Sela was not so presumptuous as to think that the young man owed her an explanation, or that she was entitled to one. "And if he does not, then there is enough jam here to last, presumably, until my next visit, and the walk and seeing you did me good all the same. And -- before I forget -- I brought a problem of my own that I was hoping you might shed some wisdom on. You must remember, Aiden, that I did warn you about being so insightful that you attract additional problems."

She gestured freely with her unburdened hand as if to say she assented to all he proposed. "By all means, dear. Now, tell me what you usually do with jam. I saw a rather inventive padawan putting something he said was jogan jam on a ham and cheese sandwich, but the way his fellows were teasing him suggested that was an -- ah -- nonstandard application."

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's expression softened at her careful phrasing, at the way Sela offered him an exit before she ever stepped toward the question. It was one of the things he had always respected about her. She could be persistent without being invasive, direct without ever turning cruel.

"You are welcome here," he said warmly, and the words carried the ease of truth rather than formality. He shifted aside and gestured her further into the kitchen with an open hand, inviting her fully in as though the threshold itself mattered. "Come on. Get comfortable."

He moved with practiced calm, the kind that came from years of making small, steady motions in the middle of much bigger storms. He crossed to the counter, set the jar down carefully, and reached for a kettle. The quiet clink of metal and ceramic filled the space in a homely rhythm as he began to get a pot of tea going, setting it over the heat with the simple confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times and still found peace in it.

"Well, I am not going to lie, that is a rather unusal mix to have the jam on." Aiden added, his tone gentle and lightly amused, "I usually prefer jam over a slice of toast. That is the standard application, in my opinion." He glanced at her with a friendly spark. "I can cut us a few slices."

He pulled the bread from its cloth wrap, the scent of it warm and plain, and began to slice it with careful, even strokes. There was nothing hurried in him. No defensiveness. No need to brace for impact. If questions were coming, he would meet them the same way he met everything else lately, one honest piece at a time.

"And while I am doing that," he continued, voice soft and inviting, "Please tell me what this problem is that you were hoping I could help you with."

He set two slices onto a plate, then another, and reached for a small dish for the jam. The kettle began to whisper faintly as it warmed, a comforting sound that made the kitchen feel even more like a refuge.

Aiden looked back to her again, steady and kind.

"Whatever it is," he said, "We will take it as it comes. We can get to my council decision in time, I want to help you first."

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

"Thank you, dear," Sela smiled warmly as she passed Aiden and wandered inward, eyes casting about the kitchen. It was a lovely place, she had to admit. Homely, she thought, which was a nice contrast to the Shirayan Sanctuary. The Sanctuary was, for Sela, home -- but it was a bit highfalutin sometimes, for her tastes. "Lovely," she said pleasantly. She followed directions like a good houseguest and perched on a kitchen chair, settling the collection of jam onto the table.

"Ah -- my question -- yes," Sela said, tugging at her cloak absent-mindedly. "It is in relation to my padawan, Reid. He is very earnest. I think you would like him. He has an inquisitive mind, which I think is the Force punishing me for my transgressions -- nearly universal in the fact that they revolve around my own inquisitive mind -- but that is, I think, a story for another time." She smiled and folded her hands into her sleeves. It stopped people seeing her fidget, and allowed her to retain the aura of a very composed and serene Jedi Master.

Of course, Aiden Porte knew better. But old habits died hard.

"The thing is, he had rather a more adventurous sort of master. Master Coras was, if you'll pardon the expression, quite a swashbuckkler of a man." She smiled fondly. "I am certain that philosophical discussions on the nature of the Force, tending the temple gardens, and sparring is ever so exhilarating for a boy -- really, a young man -- of his age, but I think he might benefit from something a little more..."

Her hands came out of the sleeves, rotating at the wrists, as if to say more without using the word. Finally she settled on: "Pulse-pounding. But safe. Master Coras used to fly a starfighter, so I thought -- perhaps flying lessons." Sela paused thoughtfully, her lips twisting thoughtfully. "Is it a mistake, do you think? It feels almost like endorsing Coras. Now, he was a fine Jedi Master, do not get me wrong. But he did not embrace the Shirayan Code that I am trying to teach Reid. Not to say that he is -- was -- wrong and I am correct, or that Reid must embrace the Shirayan Code to be a successful Jedi, but I do feel I have some responsibility to make the best case for the Code that I feel is best."

Sela looked up at Aiden fully in the eye. "The question is, I suppose, this: would that undermine the Shirayan Code, in your view? It does seem rather -- like dessert, associated with Coras, whilst I am the one making him eat his vegetables."

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden listened with the kind of attention that made space for someone to be uncertain without feeling foolish for it. Sela's questions were never idle, and he could hear the care underneath them, the worry that she might misstep, that she might hand her Padawan the wrong kind of sweetness and have it spoil the meal she was trying so hard to serve.

He smiled anyway, warm and good-natured, because he understood exactly where it was coming from. The people they taught were not all taught the same. Some needed stillness. Some needed motion. Most needed a little of both, delivered with patience and a steady hand.

As Sela spoke, Aiden turned back to the counter and began plating the toast, simple and practiced. Two slices of bread on each plate. He reached for the jar of jam and set it near the edge of the cutting board, the label in Sela's handwriting catching his eye again. There was something quietly grounding about that someone bringing a piece of the Temple out into the world without making it feel like a leash.

"As you know," he said gently, hopeful in tone, "The Code is not a cage. I do not believe finding a different way to teach undermines the Shirayan Code at all."

He loosened the cloth at the lid and opened the jar, then took a knife and drew a smooth, careful scoop. As he spread the jam across the bread, he continued in the same calm, easy cadence, truth without harshness.

"To be completely honest," Aiden added, with a faint, self-aware smile, "I do not follow the Shirayan Code to a tee. Not in the way some would measure it." He glanced at Sela briefly, not challenging her, simply trusting her with honesty. "To me, it is guidance. A set of principles. And whatever else good someone wants to make of it, what they can carry, what they can live."

He finished one slice, then the next, jam glistening slightly in the light. He set the knife down and turned the plate in his hands as if it were an offering rather than a conclusion.

"You could take a bit of Master Coras and a bit of you," Aiden continued, "And make it more streamlined." His tone stayed respectful, supportive. "If I may suggest, incorporate both together, the way you were already thinking with flying. Let it be purposeful. Let it be structured. Let it be something he earns through discipline rather than something he chases for excitement."

He lifted one plate and held it out to her with a soft smile, inviting her to take it without ceremony.

"You are on the right track," he said, and there was warmth in the words, not judgment. "You always have been, for as long as I have known you."

Aiden's expression gentled further, as if he realized how easily encouragement could sound like correction if it was not handled with care. He did not want that. He wanted her to feel seen.

"I do not mean that to sound condescending," he added quietly, earnest. "I just mean it as truth."

He nodded once, firm but kind.

"We all believe in you."

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

"You need not worry about my being offended or feeling condescended to," Sela assured Aiden, raising a hand to ward off any such idea, a broad smile spreading on her face. "You are among those in my orbit whose intentions I assume are for the best. It is not the privilege it sounds, because -- as you can see -- you run the risk of me showing up at your doorstep with questions." Still, his words were a comfort. Sometimes being a Jedi Master and a teacher was something of a solitary pursuit, as counter-intuitive as it sounded. The choices were her own, and the mistakes were her own.

She took the offered plate of jammed bread and smiled her thanks, raising it to her face to take a little sniff. It certainly smelled like the fruit. That was promising.

Her thoughts returned to his suggestion, and she noted the wisdom in it. She didn't push that, because she knew the effect that it would have on someone like Aiden if it began to feel like empty flattery. "I believe you are on to something there," she conceded delicately, waiting for him to settle before she continued. She considered what that might look like -- some hybrid activity that could demonstrate the virtue of both Coras and Basran. Her mind immediately flickered to putting Whyren's Reserve in a cup of tea, and she suppressed a snort of laughter behind a sleeve.

Coras would have loved that. He would have insisted on trying it. For research purposes, he'd have said. Sela's insides twisted painfully at the sure knowledge that joy and grief often lived together.

"I will have to give it some thought," she said once she had regained her composure, though the smile lingered on her lips. "I am open to suggestions, of course, if you have any."

His approach to the Code was a matter of some debate. Sela had struggled for years to shake of the shackles of doctrine and dogma. She chose to see received wisdom as just that -- not immune from questioning or even doubting, yet not something to be discarded at a whim, either. After all, in order to become doctrine and dogma, it would necessarily have had to serve sone group of people well enough, right?

"Is that -- forgive me, Aiden -- the nature of your decision to leave the Order?" Sela asked quietly, referencing to his view of the Code as something besides a cage. "I am aware of philosophical differences in those learned members of our Order. I confess to nurturing some of them myself. But if you will indulge me, this seems like it could be something more."

She allowed herself a beat. "There again there is every possibility that my fondness for you clouds my judgment, and is catastrophizing into something dramatic which is not, at all, so. I suppose that is why I wished to discuss it with you directly. So you can tell me how much I ought to worry." Sela didn't say whether she was worried for the Order or for Aiden; both were equally likely in the event of a schism.

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's expression softened even further at her reassurance, and for a moment the lines of strain that sometimes lived at the corners of his eyes eased as if they had been granted permission to rest.

"I appreciate that more than you think, Sela," he said quietly, warmth threaded through every word. "And you are welcome to stop by anytime."

He let that sit between them like a promise, not heavy, just steady. When she returned to the idea of a hybrid approach for Reid, Aiden nodded with genuine interest, the hopeful part of him glad to have something constructive to hold onto.

"I too will meditate more on this," he added, a small smile flickering as he glanced toward his plate.

Then Sela's question circled back to the reason she had really come, and Aiden did not shy away from it. He did not bristle at her concern, and he did not try to wrap the truth in anything polished. He simply met her eyes and spoke with the gentle honesty she deserved.

"No," he said softly, "This was something else...."

He drew a slow breath, grounding himself in the warmth of the kitchen, the quiet of the homestead, the simple reality of tea and toast. Then he continued.

"I was helping a friend, Pal Veda, on Geonosis," Aiden explained. "He had lost his friend in the canyons and beyond. We searched for him, and we came across a dark artifact. It was strange, and it was very strong with darkside of the force. I used what power with the light I had to destroy it, so it would not lead anyone else to their deaths, or be able to corrupt anyone..."

His gaze lowered briefly, not in shame, but in the careful focus of someone choosing restraint.

"Apparently whatever essence was inside has taken a liking to me, a piece of it anyway." he said, and there was no melodrama in it. Only a quiet, sober fact that he refused to let grow teeth in the air between them.

When he looked back up, his voice remained kind, but his conviction sharpened into something unmovable.

"I will not let this darkness consume me. It will never claim me," Aiden said. "But should something slip, should something happen to me of a dark nature, I do not want it affecting the Jedi Order, or even have the council deal with any negatives because of me. I cannot fight a war on multiple fronts, especially when I am fighting a darkness within myself. Stepping down, I can still assist the Jedi Order, but as an independent Jedi. This is the best thing to do."

He did not say it to frighten her. He said it to reassure her, in the only way that mattered to him, with honesty and preparation instead of denial. Aiden reached for his toast then, bringing the bread and jam to his mouth. He took a bite, chewed slowly, and for a moment the simple act of eating grounded him back into the present. His shoulders eased. His eyes softened.

After he swallowed, Aiden smiled and nodded once, genuine warmth returning to his expression.

"This is very good," he told her, as if that small truth could be an anchor too. "You did very well."

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

Sela tried to keep a hold of her emotions, but the deeper into his recounting of his tale Aiden got, the more apprehensive she became. And when he came to the crux of the matter, she felt her stomach clench with a cold jolt of terror, and her jaw went slightly stack. Sela Basran, speechless, was a rare enough site. Sela Basran speechless and frightened? That was another Nexu hunt altogether.

"My dear," she began, quietly stricken, her hand going to her chin, as if she had meant to cover her mouth but thought better of it. Aiden had probably experienced all of this before -- the shocked reactions, the reflexive offers of aid, the things friends and colleagues did when one of their had something unpleasant befall them. Sela trusted Aiden to know that she was shocked, that she wanted to help, all the little courtesies.

But there were other matters. So she fast-forwarded, and before she could stop herself, she lurched into something indelicate -- asking the question before she could filter through being appropriate and sensitive.

"Is that -- wise?"

The question hung between them for a moment, and it was clear -- both on her face and in the Force -- that she regretted phrasing it just that way. "What I mean is -- ought you to be apart from the people who know you best? I understand the instinct to limit possible danger and damage, but what of damage to you? If things progress, should you not have people around you to look for warning signs?"

Sela herself was now doing quick calculations as to how much jam she could reasonably making and bring out to the Porte homestead before it started to be like she was smothering him...

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's smile came back slowly, soft at the edges, the kind that tried to lighten the moment without dismissing it. He met Sela's eyes with a steadiness that held gratitude as much as resolve.

"It is a fair question to ask," he said gently. "I am glad you did."

He drew a quiet breath, letting the warmth of the kitchen and the small comforts of the table keep him grounded. He had not resigned to disappear. He had not fled to become a ghost on his own land. He had come here because he believed distance from the Council chambers might give him clarity, and because he could not stand the thought of his private war becoming the Order's public burden.

"I did not resign to be alone," Aiden continued, voice kind and careful. "I felt it was wise. I do not want the Order to suffer if I do something because of that darkness."

Even as he spoke, he felt the shape of the flaw in his reasoning, and it showed in the way his gaze dipped for a moment, the expression on his face turning thoughtful, almost rueful. There was a quiet honesty in him that did not let him rest comfortably inside his own arguments. Aiden knew he was being a little ignorant. He had been acting as if he alone would notice the signs, as if he could stand above the limits that had broken other people. As if sheer stubbornness, or experience, could make him immune.

He let out a small, humorless breath, then looked back up at Sela.

"The damage to me," he said, "I am not concerned about."

His tone did not carry bravado. It carried a weary acceptance, the kind that came from too many near misses and too many nights spent pulling himself back from the edge.

"But the damage to others I wish to avoid," Aiden added, quieter. He paused, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he could hear how it sounded out loud. "It sounds stupid the more I think about it. Like I am cut from a different cloth than everyone else."

He shook his head slightly, not in denial, but in self-correction.

"I just feel that with everything I have been through," Aiden said, and his voice softened into something almost vulnerable, "How many times darkness should have claimed me, how many times death should have taken me… and I am still here."

He looked at her then, searching her face not for permission, but for understanding.

"That has to count for something," he finished, a hopeful question threaded into the statement. "Right?"

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

Sela understood Aiden very well. It was the kind of noble, self-sacrificing thing she had seen from many Jedi in her years. It wasn't wrong. It wasn't right. But it was perennial -- some things never did change. Her dark eyes softened and she looked at him with a kind of compassion and pride that didn't often reach her. "I understand completely, Aiden," she said quietly. She paused to consider, using the opportunity to take another bite of the jammy bread.

She had to confess that the jam wasn't bad at all.

"It does count for something," Sela assured him after dabbing her lips with a napkin. "But -- forgive me -- I wonder if you weighed it all up properly. The cost to the Order in what you could be offering, versus the risk that you might -- what? -- sully their reputation? When you consider that you also lose the benefit of proximity to your friends and colleagues, who could -- for lack of a better phrase -- keep an eye on you, I am not convinced it is an equal trade-off."

She paused a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. No, Sela admonished herself. No, this must be deeper for him to choose this path. You have not walked in his shoes.

"But," Sela raised a hand as if to concede a point. "I am hearing this for the first time. You have been living with it. It is a privileged position for me to have an opinion on it, let alone to suggest that you did not think it all through." She paused a moment and studied Aiden over the short distance between them. "You know yourself better than anyone else. If you have come to this conclusion I can only conclude that you have thought it through, however little I like the result. I am sorry. My natural instinct is to draw you inward, but you are a grown man and of course you must decide what is for the best."

She frowned thoughtfully and sighed inwardly. Now came the hard part.

"With that being said: would you tell me more about this artifact? This is something of an area of interest for me, as you know. Perhaps there is information available out there that could help your situation."

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's gaze stayed on Sela, warm with gratitude rather than defensiveness. He could hear the care beneath her questions, and he respected her enough to answer it plainly.

"You are not wrong to worry," he said gently. "And I am grateful you are willing to say it out loud." He let a small, rueful smile pass. "I told myself I was protecting the Order from fallout, but you are right that distance has its own cost. I did not leave to be alone. I left to keep my fight from becoming a Council problem, but I am not so proud to think I can spot every warning sign by myself."

When she asked about the artifact, Aiden's expression grew more focused, as if he was stepping carefully through the memory.

"It was black," he said quietly. "Not just dark in color, but like it swallowed the light around it. There was a faint glow within it, like fire burning under glass. The darkness came off it strongly, but it did not feel like it was trying to corrupt. It felt like it was trying to consume, as if it was feeding."

He met her eyes again, steady and sincere.

"If there is knowledge that can help me, I would appreciate it," Aiden said. "And if you are willing to be close enough to notice what I might miss, I will let you."

"I was able to draw a picture of it." He stood up as he moved to the desk in the living room, returning with a parchment as he handed it to Sela.

 

[Sela Basran]

NABOO
PORTE HOMESTEAD
​

"Curious," said Sela as she absorbed Aiden's description. She took another bite of the jam and bread -- she had not previously been a fan of the fruit by virtue of not having tried it much, but in truth it was delicious, and it gave her something to do and focus on while her brain was threatening to run away into panic and despair -- and turned the words she heard over in her mind.

The picture was even more valuable than the description. "May I?" she asked, holding out her hand for the drawing when he offered it. She groped in the neckline of her tunic and drew out a small glass loupe by its chain, with which she examined the drawing carefully, tracing an eye over each detail she could see. She made a faint sound -- neither approving, nor disapproving, just an acknowledgment of something -- and Aiden would feel the fear and anxiety around this artefact slowly dissipating, as if mist burning away in the late morning sun, leaving only that which the mist had surrounded: resolve.

"Could I trouble you to make a copy of this for me?" she asked Aiden suddenly, looking up at him through the loupe momentarily before realizing it due to his absurdly magnified features and her own enormous eye peering out the other end. "I can send a Padawan for it, or pick it up the next time I stop by -- if you will have me, of course, after the rather pushy houseguest I have been," she added with a self-deprecating smile.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind," she mused quietly. "As you know, 'dark artefacts' are ten-a-credit in our galaxy, and we have not even begun to scratch the surface of what could possibly be out there, undiscovered. But -- I can cross-reference the archives for physical description. It is as good a place to start as any." She drew a small notebook out of an unseen inner pocket and began jotting notes on Aiden's recollection of the artefact.

Aiden Porte


​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden watched the fear ease up, and the change, was as clear to him as sunlight moving across the kitchen floor. The darkness had not vanished, but it had given way to something steadier, something he trusted far more in her hands.

When she asked for the drawing, he nodded at once.

"Of course," he said warmly. "You do not even have to ask."

The loupe earned a small smile from him, especially when she looked up through it and caught herself. He could not help the quiet laugh that slipped out, soft and affectionate, the kind that belonged only in homes and not in council chambers.

"You are always welcome here," Aiden said, sweet and certain. "Even as a pushy houseguest. Especially then."

He shifted a little closer to the table, resting one hand near his plate as she began making notes. There was something reassuring in watching her work, in seeing her mind move from concern to method.

"I can make a copy for you," he continued. "I will have it ready, and if you want to send a Padawan, I will hand it off. Or you can come by yourself and bring more jam, if that is how you intend to keep bribing your way into my kitchen."

His tone stayed light, but his eyes were sincere when he added:

"Thank you, Sela. Truly. Even if nothing turns up right away, knowing you are looking into it helps."