Private First Steps Into a Larger World

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

The Lightspire’s observation platform basked in its usual, impossible calm. The hum of distant engines, and the starlight bending across the void gave the place a spectacle that was all its own. Brandyn stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture immaculate, expression unreadable save for the slight tension at his jaw.

It had become easier, too easy, to lose himself in in his work. The reflection stared back at him in the glass was not the man he wished to be, but the one circumstance had carved out of him. The ache beneath the metal plates of his cheek never truly faded. The emptiness where his daughter should have been never dimmed. And Cybelle…he did not know how to reach her anymore, how to offer comfort when he himself was unraveling in ways he refused to name.

So he did what he had always done. He sought purpose. Structure. A distraction from that which broke him slowly.

A new Padawan was not meant to fill a void, yet perhaps guiding another would steady him, force his focus outward rather than inward, where the questions were unberable.

He sensed her before the door opened. A presence he remembered faintly from years ago, no longer a child in white but something more refined, sharp-edged beneath the grace. Aïda d’Luminaire.

The door whispered aside.

Brandyn straightened a fraction more, the Knight’s expression slipping into place with practiced precision.

“Padawan d’Luminaire,” he said, voice steady, low, and formal, “thank you for meeting me here. The Lightspire is…a fitting place for new beginnings.”

He allowed himself a small respectful nod.

“We’ll speak of expectations soon. For now...welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

| TAG: Aïda d’Luminaire |

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[Aïda d’Luminaire]

To her credit, Aïda showed no signs of anxiety.

Anxiety was not a polished creature. It was not a forgiving creature. It had gnawed at her stomach the night before—everything was running through her fingers far too quickly, and she was sinking as if she were in quicksand. She barely understood a thing as all the possibilities had rushed passed her mind. This, to be recognised, to be respected, this was everything she wanted. Yet why did everything feel so wrong when she drifted off into an uneasy sleep last night. She was losing control of her life fast, and she had never been taught how to grab hold of it.

She could hide whatever anxiety was there behind elegance and grace, but she knew it wasn't enough. A Jedi like her new master was bound to sense her uncertainty with ease. So she forced herself to banish it completely from her system, anything that betrayed her emotions. On the walk here it had certainly been difficult, but manageable. It was not hard thereafter to channel back her usual hubris. That cocksure attitude and blind belief in herself turned out to have more use than the Jedi had reprimanded her for. If she thought of herself as the invincible chosen one, the rest can't easily.

The door hummed softly as it opened, revealing before her what would be a whole new world.

From her demeanour to her attire, Aïda wanted everything to signal her first step into a larger world. She had chosen to dress simply today—her first meeting with her master would prove itself enough of an occasion even sans baroque garments. When she graduated into her position as a Padawan her first priority had been a change of clothes, out of the disgusting Jedi brown and into the purest of whites. Today she had chosen robes over a dress, in the traditional style her peers donned into the similarities ended there; even stripped of the colour, they were a soft satin.

With her pair of strapped boots Aïda stepped onto the observation deck swiftly, not glancing back as the door shut to a close behind her. She sensed before her a man of seriousness and duty, posture as immaculate as her own with hands folded behind his back. The indents where her sockets would have been fixed on him, and as her mind threatened to bore holes through that thin layer of silk, she realised he could have been just as on edge as her, and trying just as much to hide it. To others, it might have been that clench in his jaw, to her, it was a ripple of disturbance in the Force surrounding him. She may not have eyes, but she was not blind either.

Each breath was slow, steadied, her body meticulously poised and her heartbeat slowed. As she neared, she fixed her gait into gentler steps, more glide than walk, with a carelessness as if she was about to greet an old acquaintance. Slender fingers, shrouded in lace gloves and with perfect polished nails, rose to the bridge of her nose, yet their tips did not doe touch skin. Instead, they twitched, and summoning the Force, pulled down the mask to reveal pale skin and tranquil features. The fabric dropped to her neck, a wave of white smothering its intricate designs.

Stood before her new master, Aïda offered a slight, elusive smile. Then, she swept her blindingly white robes up behind her and lowered her body into a bow. Her hand rested on the Cartesian whale bone hilt of her lightsaber. As much as she knew it betrayed her athirst for finally taking her place as a protector of the peace, she could not deny it. She had been told that she was too volatile, her rashness into battle to strong, her desire to fight too fiery. Yet one must first become a god to become an angel; one must first become an angel to become a martyr—anyone believing it worked vice-versa was living in a falsehood.

"Padawan d'Luminaire, thank you for meeting me here."

The words were deep and rigidly formal. Aïda had not been quite certain what she was to expect. She had whispered with her friends, laughed behind closed fingers, guessed behind closed doors. Like everyone, even Brandyn Sal-Soren had a reputation. But still she knew, none of it represented him in his entirety, and none of it told her if he would be a good master. And therefore Aïda had made no preparations for what to say in response. She paused, then straightened and decided on the obvious answer that left only a blank canvas of impression: "Master Sal-Soren, you are welcome."

"The Lightspire is…a fitting place for new beginnings."

"Is that so?" She mused in polite conversation, yet her mind was in deeper thought than her actions showed. New beginnings…. If she were to have told that little girl on Alpheridies that she was going to be a Jedi Padawan she would have dismissed her as swiftly as her uncle did her existence. She glanced around her, eyes drifting to the countless stars in the far distance, wondering if she could find the system where her home world was. Then, as if nothing Ham had happened, her concealed vision snapped back to her master.

"For now...welcome. It's good to see you again."

She allowed herself a smile at that. "Thank you, Master, it has been too long."

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Brandyn turned back towards the view of the stars, and the planet below. It was a commonplace vista for all, but he tried valiantly to retain the wonder of it. He saw more of the void than the light these days though. And he fought that slide.

"Call me Brandyn. Please," he said with an unexplained heaviness. He was of noble birth. He was a founding member of the Nabooian iteration of the Jedi Order. But he was not the hero that he had dreamt of being. His life was riddled with failures. Aïda presented both distraction, and reminder. He had failed in his training of Cerys Dyn and Lysander von Ascania , both having fled to different paths. He did not deserve the reverence of a title such as Master. Not until he had proven to be worthy of it.

Pain flared across his face, reverberating down his neck. It's shadow lingered, long after the spike. He barely winced. This was his life now, and by far and away not the greatest pain he did bear.

"I have read you file, Aïda, but I always find them so incomplete," he said, making a motion with his hand to indicate she should stand at his side and join him in looking out on the nothing, "describe yourself to me. Your strengths first. Do not fall prey to false modesty. Be honest with me. Tell me the areas in which we must be careful you do not fall to hubris...and those areas in which I can immediately trust you as competent."

| TAG: Aïda d’Luminaire |

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[Aïda d’Luminaire]

"Brandyn," she mused softly. Dropping the formalities, were they now? "As you wish." Aïda did not see the flicker of darkness across his face, did not see the shadow of a wince flashed past like hyperspace. Through covered eyes she sensed the darkness in him, the heaviness in his words and the way they settled in the air between them. While the other knights sought to climb the ranks, relished in their titles, Brandyn was something more than just humble. Something, Aïda knew, was not in her place to ask.

"I have read you file, Aïda, but I always find them so incomplete."

"Hm?"

An inexplicable smile crossed Aïda's face—elusive, impossible to read, and with an edge of amusement. But. This was no laughing matter. He was correct, his statement so accurate it almost made her heart ache. A tingle ran down his spinal chord, as if he had sent down an electric shock by words alone. There was a sudden flutter in her stomach, not one out of nervousness, but what tasted almost like excitement. It tasted so sweet to her lips. They pursed in consideration.

Finally, someone who understood.

The Order had reduced her to her bones, but it was as if she was wearing the wrong skeleton of some crude mimicry of herself. They stripped her away into something else entirely, yet they never even knew who she was. She was aware how they saw her through the years, from that orphaned little girl on Alpheridies to the youngling too volatile for her own good. She was not only a petulant child, she was a dangerous one. She spun into battle without a second thought, far too violent for a girl en route to be a keeper of the peace. But it was never her dream to be a soldier— no, she dreamt of far bigger things. She wanted to be a queen, so she started behaving like one. The Order never saw that. The Order was inconsiderate. The Order was inhumane. And the Order was wrong.

Rage bubbled in her throat, rage she had learnt how to control. She never fought her emotions, she channeled them. All her ambition meant she was something more than bluff, not all bark and no bite. The only reason she got so far was that undying passion that burnt in her heart like a wildfire in June. It was the power that had kept her alive, an eternal flame that tested heated her insides. To be as star, as they said, one must burn. Yet in a galaxy full of stars, how brightly did she need to burn to not go unnoticed? When all her peers were learning to suppress their true wells of strength she was learning to hone them. Sentiment did not make one weak, it made one powerful.

"Describe yourself to me."

Why, she was sorely unprepared for an interview.

"You must be aware that the Jedi Council has may faults," she started, placing her words with caution as she decided to approach the matter from another direction entirely. "With all due humility, the Jedi Masters see me as one of their greatest." A long pause—then she stepped up to join her master at the observation deck, looking out into the unforgiving nothingness and the blinding stars. "Have you too not been taught to reject passion? Passionate rage… passionate love… you learn the Jedi are above that." She paused in thought, hands tightening around the hilt of her sabre, "Why is it something below us?"

Her smile faltered.

"I believe I am their greatest asset; it's a pity they don't have a instruction manual."

Brandyn Sal-Soren

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

A raised brow was not enough to stop her on her self-glorification, but Brandyn was too stunned at her promotional material to think of any other response. When it ended, he simply pursed his lips. Held back his laughter. And turned back to face the stars beyond.

Aïda was certainly something. Her new master laughing at her probably would not set a good precedent for their relationship though.

"You are a member of the Order of Shiraya now. You only need care about its Council of Knights..."

He glanced at her without turning his head.

"...of which I am one." It was a gentle warning to tread carefully. "And my sister is the leader. Sure. I have mandatory brother-sister tension with her, but she is not that bad."

He shook his head slowly.

"Aïda...you have a lot to learn...my young friend...stay close, listen carefully...and you will see in me why passion is not a trait that Jedi should encourage."

He turned, put his hand on her shoulder and smiled, in a warm older sibling sort of way.

"...in other words. Be what I say, not what you see me to be."

He began to walk away, down the causeway and over the forested artificial arboretum on the station. "Come along now, Padawan d'Luminaire."

| TAG: Aïda d’Luminaire |

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