Private Hopeful fury | The Jedi Order

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine
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The transmission cracked through the hum of the navicomputers humming, a jagged pulse of static breaking into a strained, half-distorted voice. Aiden looked up from the holotable as the Republic crest flickered, then twisted into the blue-white haze of a distress feed. The voice on the other end trembled with fatigue, and behind it came the low, distant thrum of detonations.

Aiden's jaw tightened. Tython. A sacred world, once the cradle of the Jedi's earliest meditations, now little more than a scar beneath Imperial rule.

The transmission flared again, faint images bleeding through: the shadowed ruins of a temple, smoke curling between its shattered spires, figures moving fleeing through the undergrowth. Then a surge of static swallowed it whole.

"Coordinates." Aiden said sharply, and the navicomputer blinked in response, struggling to extract what fragments of data it could. "They've been on the run for months. Force sensitives. Children among them."

Aiden exhaled, the weight of memory pressing through his composure. "Then we don't have time to assemble a team."

The console chimed as the last of the transmission stabilized..

The silence that followed felt heavier than any order could. Aiden looked to Anneliese, the unspoken agreement already there between them.

"Plot the course." he said quietly. "I'm going to Tython, are you with me?"

 

[Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine]

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Tags: Aiden Porte


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Anneliese stood before the holotable, arms loosely crossed at her waist, eyes fixed on the flickering feed. The smoke curling from the ruined temples, the figures darting through the undergrowth, the twisted shadows of what had once been sacred—it all pressed into her chest like a weight she couldn't shake.

She ran a hand through her hair, brushing it back, the gesture slow, deliberate, grounding. The glow from the console reflected in her eyes, making them shine, almost unnaturally sharp in the dim light of the bridge. Her jaw was tight, her lips pressed in a line that didn't soften, not even as her gaze swept over the images of the fleeing children.

Tython. She had been here twice before, and each time it had taken something from her. The first campaign had stolen pieces of innocence she hadn't even realized she had lost. The second… she had done what she could, and still, the world had burned beneath her feet. And now this—children running through ruins, hunted, terrified, desperate. Her chest tightened again, and the hum of restrained fury rose in her chest, low and coiled.

"They're children," she said finally, voice quiet but firm, almost a growl beneath the calm. "Force-sensitive. They've been running… too long." Her fingers brushed against the holotable, feeling the coordinates like they were a lifeline. Her hand lingered there, steady, as if anchoring herself to the task ahead.

Her eyes lifted from the table to meet Aiden's, and in that stoic stare, there was no need for words. It spoke volumes: determination, anger, and an instinct older than her own memory. The older protect the young. Always. That was the law she carried in her bones. The one she could not bend.

"Then we go," she said, slow and deliberate. "We get them out. Every one we can. No hesitation. No mistakes." Her voice was measured, but there was an edge under it, a coiled predator waiting for the first sign of threat.

Her gaze flicked back to the hologram of the shattered temples, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel the old grief—the memories of fire, of loss, of Tython's desecration—but she didn't let it rule her. It was fuel now, sharpened into purpose. Her lips pressed tighter, a subtle hum vibrating from deep in her chest, a sound almost imperceptible but full of raw energy.

"Plot the course," she said finally. "Let's move." She turned from the table with a fluid motion, shoulders squared, spine straight. Even in the quiet of the bridge, even without raising her voice, there was no mistaking it: the flame she carried—the responsibility, the fury, the unyielding instinct to protect those who could not protect themselves—burned brighter than ever.

And beneath it all, a promise she had never needed to speak: We will not fail them.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine​

Aiden stood across from her, the flickering blue light of the holotable catching along the edge of his jaw, tracing the tired resolve etched there. The static from the dying transmission still echoed faintly, a ghost of a plea that refused to fade. He watched Anneliese in silence, watched the tension in her shoulders, the deliberate steadiness of her breathing, the fire in her eyes that he had seen too many times before. Every word she spoke only confirmed what he already knew: she was ready to walk through hell again if it meant saving even one life.

“Tython…” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “That world’s seen enough death.”

He leaned closer to the console, fingers dancing over the controls as he began to lock in the coordinates. The display shifted, revealing the swirl of hyperspace vectors overlaying the system, imperial patrol routes, sensor nets, fortified orbits. The planet sat deep in the red zone, surrounded by Imperial presence thick enough to choke any signal that tried to escape.

“Imperial surveillance has the upper atmosphere locked down.” he said, voice low and pragmatic. “If we go in through standard lanes, we’ll be ash before we hit atmosphere.” He paused, glancing up at her. “We’ll need to come in through the northern sector, the sensor shadows from the orbital debris field. It’s not much, but it’ll give us a window.”

He straightened, closing the holo feed. “We’ll need stealth protocols, low power until we breach the cloud line. After that…” He hesitated, though only for a moment. “After that, we move fast. Extract the survivors. Avoid contact if we can. But if the Inquisitors are already there…”

He didn’t finish. The silence filled in the rest, the memory of every confrontation they’d ever had with the Dark Side, the way its presence warped the air, the way it hunted through the Force like a living wound.

Aiden’s expression hardened, the faint hum of the ship’s engines resonating in the air between them. “You’re right.” he said quietly. “They’ve been running long enough.”

He moved toward the cockpit, the soft hiss of the door breaking the silence as he passed her. “Prep your gear. We hit orbit in twenty minutes.”

For a moment, he stopped just before stepping out, glancing back at her. The blue glow of the holotable reflected faintly in his eyes. “We’ll find them, Anneliese.” he said, his voice softer now but no less certain. “And this time, we bring them home.”

Then he was gone, the hum of the ship rising as the coordinates locked in, and the stars ahead began to shift, stretching into lines of light as the cruiser leapt toward Tython.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine]

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Tags: Aiden Porte


The holotable's light flickered across her face, painting her features in cold blue and pale shadow. Anneliese studied the display in silence, her arms folded, weight balanced lightly on one heel — a stance of quiet control. The longer she watched the sweep of Imperial patrols, the more it became something else in her mind — not strategy, not flight paths, but movement. Territory. Instinct. The rhythm of a hunt.

Her hand came up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She let her fingers linger there for a moment, threading through the strands as she leaned closer to the projection. "You're right about the northern approach," she said at last, her tone calm, deliberate. "But look here—"

Her fingers drew through the hologram, cutting a thin path through light. "Three clicks sunward of the our target. The debris field does thicken there, and the patrol pattern thins out. Your right Aiden, They'll be focused on the obvious lanes, not the underbrush. We slip beneath the wind, stay low, unseen."

She straightened a little, her eyes still fixed on the blue glow. "You've never run with a pack, I know. But this—" she motioned to the orbiting chaos of ships and metal, "—this is no different. You don't face the prey head-on. You flank. You listen to the quiet. You let the hunt breathe before you strike."

A faint, knowing smile crossed her lips, gone as quickly as it came. "You guide us in Aiden — I’ll hide us — power low, shields feathered, bleed the heat until we're colder than stone. We don't move until the air itself forgets we're here."

She reached for her rucksack, swinging it easily over one shoulder. The motion was smooth, practiced — more ritual than readiness. Then she followed him into the cockpit, the light dimming behind her.

When they dropped from hyperspace, she was already moving. Fingers in her hair again — pulling it back this time, tying it off — her other hand flicking switches in sequence. Systems dulled to whispers; the ship became a shadow of itself.


A pulse on the scanner — a shape cutting through the dark. Imperial. Close.


Her breath stilled. She adjusted the dampeners with a slow, precise motion, watching the escort drift by like a predator scenting the air. The ship's hum faded beneath her pulse. She didn't speak — only watched, poised and silent, eyes following the dark hull until it slipped past and the quiet returned.

Only then did she exhale, slow, steady. Her gaze softened toward the stars ahead. "Window's open," she murmured, voice barely above the hum of the instruments.

The faintest curl of her hair brushed her cheek as she turned her head, eyes narrowing on the planet in the distance. "Now," she whispered. "Let's hunt."

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine​

The cruiser slipped out of hyperspace, metal whispering against cold vacuum, kept the engines at a heartbeat. The planet rolled beneath them ash-streaked blues, sickly green oceans ringed with gray, and the bridge smelled faintly of ozone and anticipation. Outside, Imperial beacons blinked red against the cloud line; inside, the holotable held only the soft breath of projected stars and the thin ribbon of their approach.

Aiden sat hands on the controls, though every muscle hummed with readiness. He could feel the planet before they breached the atmosphere: a pressure at the edges of the Force, like a bruise. Beneath the ambient noise, something else pulsed, small, frantic, a chorus of frightened heartbeats threaded through the Force itself. Children. Old wounds. A plea folded into the current.

He closed his eyes for a fraction and reached, not with sight but with that other sense an empathetic ache that the Jedi learned to read. The survivors were thin, scattered, clinging to ruins and caverns. Their fear was a live thing, raw and close, and woven into it were flashes of something darker, cold, searching, hungry. Inquisitors.

"Down there." he said softly, nodding toward the coordinates. "They've moved inland. Near the eastern spire cluster. Small camps. Caves."

Outside, the cruiser sighed as the atmosphere took hold. They blew through the cloud line in a strip of silence. Below, the world was compromised beauty: broken temples, toppled columns, trees sap-stiffened and dark. Near the spire cluster, a smudge of movement, the survivors' camouflage, rippled like a disturbed shoal.

"Are you ready for this?"

 

[Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine]

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Tags: Aiden Porte


The cruiser shuddered as it pierced the clouds, the hull humming in harmony with the dying rhythm of the world below. Anneliese rose, slipping the ceremonial robes from her shoulders. Underneath, she was clad in mission gear, practical and unadorned, the weight familiar and grounding. She ran her fingers over the straps of her pack, feeling the balance and readiness she had come to rely on.

The ramp hissed open, letting in the ash-laden air, cold and sharp against her skin. She paused, letting the wind tug at her fiery hair, eyes scanning the ruin-strewn landscape below. Broken temples, toppled columns, trees stiffened as if frozen in grief—the planet itself seemed to hold its breath.

She closed her eyes, reaching through the Force. The world spoke to her in subtle pulses: the tremor of cracked stone, the whisper of scattered leaves, the shivering thread of life still hiding in caverns and shelters. Beneath it all, a chorus of fear and fragility—children, old, wounded—fused with something darker, restless and hunting.

"This world… it's crying out," she murmured, voice barely more than a wind-blown sigh. She opened her eyes, taking in the eastern spires rising jaggedly against the gray-green sky. "The survivors… they're close… I can feel them."

Her boots hit the ash-crusted stone, each step careful, measured. She brushed a hand against a charred wall, sensing the scars etched into it, listening to the echoes of lives that had passed through. The Force hummed beneath her skin, guiding her gaze, tracing the faint tremors of life moving through the ruins.

Anneliese let out a slow breath, letting the sorrow and the hope mingle in her chest. "They're scared… but they're still fighting," she said softly. Her eyes lifted to the horizon, to the shadows that moved between the spires. "We just have to follow the threads… see where they lead."

She glanced at Aiden, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them, then squared her shoulders. The wind tugged at her, and the ash swirled around her boots like the planet itself was urging her forward. "Let's go," she said, voice steady but gentle, almost reverent. "They're waiting for us."

And with that, she stepped fully onto the world, letting the Force carry her into the heart of its sorrow, its hope, and the quiet, desperate pulse of those who still clung to life beneath the ruins.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine​

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The ramp opened with a groan. Frigid Tython air struck Aiden as he stepped onto the ramp, the chill as sharp as memory made real. Ash and iron choked his lungs, a bitter scent he wished he'd forgotten. He advanced, boots sinking into gray dust. Wind threaded through the shattered remains of the Jedi's former cradle.

The hum of the ship faded behind him, replaced by the hollow quiet of a world still haunted by what it had lost. He felt Anneliese's presence a step behind, steady, sharp, alive, and let it anchor him as he stretched his senses outward. The Force here was fractured, its current heavy and dissonant, but beneath the ruin, he could still feel it breathing. A fragile rhythm. The survivors.

"They're close." he said, scanning the horizon. He gestured toward a half-collapsed, fire-blackened spire. "Two kilometers northeast, in the caverns below that ridge. But…" His voice thinned, grim. "Something's hunting them. Two presences, dark, familiar. Inquisitors."

He crouched, pressing a gloved hand to the cold rock. He focused, channeling the Force's tremor as he sought glimpses, children darting through tunnels, fear clinging to them like smoke. Another pulse followed: colder, deliberate. Predators were closing in. His jaw tightened as he sensed their approach.

"Anneliese." he said, rising. "At the ridge, we split. I'll draw them off. You get the survivors to the ship. Keep the children close. The Inquisitors will sense the strongest first."

A gust swept through the ruins, flinging ash like snow. Aiden cinched his cloak, its hem snapping in the wind. The planet's surface sprawled before them, a graveyard of temples and memory. In a heartbeat, he felt every life once burned here. Every lesson, every vow.

He moved down the scree of the valley, each silent, sure step avoiding loose stones. The Force gathered around him, not in peace, but in resolve. As thunder split the sky, Aiden Porte led the way into Tython's broken heart.

"Come on, time is against us."

 

[Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine]

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Tags: Aiden Porte


The words lingered in the cold, carried by the wind that swept down the ridge. Ash drifted in slow spirals around them, the air thick with iron and memory. Anneliese stood a few paces behind, watching Aiden's silhouette against the ruin — the way he always moved first, shoulders squared toward danger, steady as gravity itself.

She tightened the straps along her belt, the motions smooth, deliberate. Beneath her boots, Tython breathed — shallow, fractured, alive. The Force ran like an old wound beneath the stone, a pulse she could feel in her bones. Every sigh of wind was a cry, every tremor a heartbeat calling for help. The planet itself seemed to mourn.

Her gaze found him again, and a faint, knowing smile touched her lips. "The strongest first?" she said quietly, brow arching. "Careful, Porte… pride looks good on you, but it's terrible strategy."

The teasing fell away as her eyes drifted toward the ridge. Through the Force, she could feel the survivors — small, flickering lights scattered beneath the earth. And beyond them, the colder presence of hunters closing in, methodical and sure. The Inquisitors.

"They're close," she whispered, half to herself. "And they're not alone."

She stepped up beside him, her tone softening — that calm, measured cadence she used when reason mattered more than rank. "If I phase ahead, I can reach their forward camp — plant charges, make a show of it. Draw their attention long enough for you to flank them clean. You'll have the element of surprise, and I can move through the tunnels to reach the survivors before the dust settles."

Her gaze lingered on him, eyes bright even beneath the gray light. "You don't have to take this alone, Aiden. We hunt as one — that's how we win."

A gust swept between them, scattering ash like snow. She looked toward the ridge again, voice dropping to a whisper that carried more plea than command.

"I'll get them out — trust me on this. But let me help you first. We don't know how many Inquisitors are out there… please."

The word hung there, soft but cutting through the wind like a blade of its own. Not weakness — but a promise.

And then she moved, slipping into the ruins with the quiet precision of a hunter following the pulse of the wounded world towards her first objective, to create a diversion.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine​

He chuckled lightly, and a small shake of his head ensued. "I didn't mean to make it sound like that."

Aiden watched her slip ahead, her form flickering between shattered stone and drifting ash. For a heartbeat, he almost called her back, not out of doubt, but out of the sudden, quiet weight that settled in his chest when she said please. It wasn't a word she used lightly. Not a word she'd ever throw like dust on the wind.

He drew a breath, slow and cold, letting the Force pull the world into focus. The ridge stretched before him, jagged and broken. Beneath the surface, the survivors' fear pulsed like a muffled drum, each child a trembling spark fighting to stay alight. And threading toward them, inevitable as winter, were the predatory shadows of the dark side.

Her plan was sound. Dangerous, yes, but so was everything about Tython.

Aiden stepped forward into the ruins, his cloak brushing ash from a fallen pillar. "Anneliese" he murmured under his breath, knowing she could feel the thought even if she couldn't hear the words. I trust you. Always.

He didn't move ,not yet. He needed the Inquisitors to sense him when the time was right His hand hovered near the saber at his hip, but he didn't ignite it. Noise would come later. A hunt began with silence.

He would wait for her signal, then it would be time to act.

 

[Arhiia Voronwe]

Wrong Account

 

[Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine]

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Tags: Aiden Porte



Anneliese felt his trust settle across their bond like a warm hand between her shoulder blades. A grounding. A promise.

It steadied her breath in a way nothing else could.

She slipped deeper into the fractured ruins, far enough that the wind swallowed her silhouette. An alcove, half-collapsed and veiled by brambles, offered her the space she needed. Her fingers moved with practiced speed—unfastening clasps, peeling away the ash-stained tunic, folding everything into a compact bundle that she tucked into the shadows. No hesitation. No modesty. This was the work of the hunt. The work of an Alpha.

Her bare feet pressed into cold stone.
And then she let go.

The shift tore through her with a familiar violence—bones snapping and reforming with wet cracks, muscles drawing tight and then expanding, skin rippling into a pelt of fiery copper fur, the same wild, untamed color as her curls. Light caught along it in molten ribbons, turning every movement into a flicker of living flame. Her emerald eyes blazed brighter, feral but razor-focused.

She shook once, a low rumble echoing in her chest, and the wolf stood where the woman had been.

She dipped her muzzle down, gripping the belt of explosives between her teeth, careful but swift.

Then she ran.

Her paws hit the earth in a staccato rhythm—silent, lethal. Each stride devoured distance, weaving through shattered foundations and toppled statues with liquid precision. She moved faster than a speeder's headlamp but quieter than a dying ember. Even Imperial-grade sensors wouldn't catch more than a flicker, a distortion, the phantom of a heat ripple.

Minutes stretched like taut wire.

Ahead, the enemy outpost crouched against the hillside—ugly, angular, arrogant.

She slowed, belly low to the ground, breath controlled to the width of a needle. She slipped beneath a broken slab of duracrete, skirted the perimeter, and ghosted her way through a breach in the wall.

Inside, coolant vapors curled through the air, stinging her nostrils. She followed the thrum—the bitter, humming heartbeat of the reactor. Perfect.

She padded forward, placed the explosives against the housing with delicate precision, securing each magnetic stud with a careful tilt of her head.

Footsteps.
Not dull. Not armored.
Light. Balanced.
Predatory.
Inquisitors.

Two passed just meters from her hiding place—their presences cold, serrated, tasting faintly of crimson blades waiting to be drawn. One paused, head tilting as if scenting the air. Her body went still as carved stone, breath a whisper, her copper fur blending into the dark rust of the ruptured conduit. The Force brushed dangerously close—probing.

Then it moved on.

"The children are close," one murmured, voice edged like a blade. "Their fear is getting louder."

A growl pressed against her throat, but she swallowed it. Silent. Patient. Deadly.

When their steps finally faded, she slipped back out—faster now, purpose tightening her stride. Once clear of the outpost, she launched into a dead sprint, tearing through the ruins until she reached the ridge above.

The fear of the survivors pulsed below like trembling stars.

The cold, coiled presence of the Inquisitors pressed from the east.

She planted her claws into the stone, threw her head back, and unleashed a snarl that cracked the air like a thunderclap—raw, Force-laden, unmistakable.

The signal.

Aiden, now.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal-Delaine​

Ash burst beneath his boots as he sprinted through the jagged corridor of fallen columns, cloak snapping behind him. The air grew colder with every step, Inquisitors converging, the dark side thickening like a storm about to break. But he pushed deeper, driving straight toward the heart of the pressure.

He felt her presence, burning bright at the ridge above, daring the predators to look her way.

And they did, a shift in the current. Three sharp spikes of cold. Their attention snapped toward her.

"Good," Aiden breathed.

He leapt onto a fractured slab, sliding down its incline as stone and dust scattered. At the bottom, he skidded to a stop, hand lifting. The Force surged, calm, focused, controlled. He let it expand outward, casting a deliberate ripple through the ruins.

The dark side recoiled, then lunged toward him.

Aiden's lightsaber flew to his hand, but didn't ignite it yet. Light would draw eyes too soon. Instead, he slipped into a half-crouch, breathing steady, presence condensed into a tight, shimmering core.

Through the Force, he touched the faint cluster of survivors hidden beneath the canyon floor, children trembling, clinging to one another. He wrapped them in a whisper of calm, a promise without words. Hold on. We're coming.

Then he felt Anneliese move, darting from the ridge, fast and certain, slipping back toward the caverns while the Inquisitors redirected toward him.

Perfect. A cold voice sliced through the wind behind him.

"Found you."

Aiden turned slowly, standing tall as the nearest Inquisitor stepped into view, crimson blade igniting with a hiss like a serpent waking. He exhaled once, long, measured, and ignited his saber with a clear, resonant snap-hiss that painted the ruin blue.

'Anneliese. there all yours, get them out.' He whisphered through the force to her.

The ash swirled around him as the first Inquisitor stepped into the open, tall, armor blackened and smooth as obsidian, crimson blade humming with a hungry vibration. Behind him, the second cast a long shadow across the broken valley floor. Their presence pressed in like a closing fist, cold and eager.

Aiden felt the tremor in the Force before either moved.

Then the air snapped as the inquistor moved forward and lunged, heavy, deliberate, blade carving a falling arc meant to split him in two. At the same heartbeat, the second vaulted over him, cloak whipping through the ash as he flipped, coming down behind Aiden with a predator's precision.

Aiden pivoted into the charge, saber rising to catch the first crimson blade in a clash that spat sparks across his shoulder. The impact vibrated through his arm, but he let the Force ground him, feet sliding into the stone with practiced certainty. The second's blade came for the back of his neck.

Aiden dropped, letting his knees fold, letting gravity take him. The red blade hissed just overhead as he rolled backward, twisting beneath the falling figure. The Inquisitor landed where Aiden had been, boots crunching stone.

Aiden rose in a fluid spin, blue blade slashing upward to force the airborne attacker into a defensive block. Sparks scattered like fireflies as their sabers met in a flash of light.

Two on one.

Good. That meant Anneliese had a clear run.