Light
The training hall had settled into its familiar quiet, the kind that came only after exertion, when echoes of motion still clung to the air like fading breath. Aiden Porte moved through the space with unhurried purpose, gathering practice sabers and returning them to their racks, smoothing disturbed mats with the edge of his boot. It wasn't a task assigned by the Order; it was simply something that needed doing. Order followed effort. Calm followed order. That had always been enough for him.
He paused briefly near the center ring, eyes lifting to the high windows as pale light filtered in, dust motes drifting lazily through the beams. The Force was steady here, grounded by repetition and discipline, but beneath that familiar rhythm, something shifted.
Aiden straightened.
The sensation was faint, more intuition than warning: a presence approaching the hall, careful but unsettled, carrying intent that had not yet decided what shape it would take. Not a threat. Not urgency. Conversation. Concern, perhaps. Aiden reached for the Force gently, not prying, just enough to confirm what his instincts had already told him.
Phillip.
He exhaled slowly and set the last saber into place, hands resting on the rack for a moment longer than necessary. Whatever had brought Phillip here was still forming, still uncertain, and Aiden would not rush it. He turned toward the entrance just as footsteps neared the threshold, his posture relaxed but attentive, ready to listen long before a word was spoken.
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