Private Long Return | The Jedi Order

[Aiden Porte]

Naboo
Theed Spaceport
Anneliese Kaohal
​

The Naboo morning light spilled across the landing bay in soft gold, washing the durasteel platforms and starfighter hulls in quiet gleam. Aiden Porte stood near the edge, his cloak stirring faintly in the breeze coming off the plains beyond Theed. The city was just beginning to stir distant bells, the hum of repulsorlifts, the gentle murmur of life yet his focus was narrowed to the open sky above Theeds hangar.

He hadn't slept much. Not after hearing that voice through the static.

Anneliese Kaohal.

The name alone carried a weight of memory laughter echoing through the sparring halls of the Jedi temple on Coruscant, whispered confidences over datapads late into curfew, the three of them, him, Anneliese, and Roman Vossari bound together by youthful certainty that they'd always stand side by side. That certainty hadn't survived the wars. Neither, he had believed, had she.

Until the signal broke through the comm array two nights ago.

It had been faint, fragmented a distress beacon from a vessel adrift near the Mid Rim. He'd nearly dismissed it as static until the modulation caught his ear: the same encryption the Alliance used before the collapse. The same frequency she used. When her voice finally crackled through, very much alive. Aiden had felt his breath leave him. All the discipline in the galaxy couldn't steady the surge that hit him then, shock, disbelief, relief all at once.

He'd directed her toward Theed, toward safety. And now, the sky above began to shimmer a speck of silver descending through the atmosphere, engines flaring softly as the transport angled toward the bay.

Aiden's heart pounded faster than he'd like to admit. He folded his arms behind his back, trying to affect calm, but the truth was in the set of his jaw and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his wrist. He had faced Sith, pirates, and worlds in ruin without faltering. Yet the thought of seeing her again, the friend he thought lost to the galaxy and war, warmed his heart.

As the vessel lowered, repulsors thrumming against the durasteel deck, he drew a slow, steady breath. The ramp began to descend with a hiss of pressure release. The scent of starship fuel mingled with the Naboo air.

Aiden stepped forward, a faint smile breaking through the anxious composure of the Jedi Knight.

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

Items: Lightsaber I Engagement Ring I Outfit X X II Equipment X X X I Theme Song I Bloodline Tattoo | Sigil Bead Necklace ( Gift )

Tags: Aiden Porte
​

The ramp hissed open, steam curling at her boots as the ship's engines cycled down. For a heartbeat, Anneliese stood at the top of it—still as carved stone, head bowed beneath the morning light that spilled over her shoulders. The wind teased at the loose strands of her red hair, tugging them across the scar that cut faintly through her brow. She breathed once—slow, deep—then descended.

Each step echoed with something older, steadier than before. The rhythm of someone who had fought for years and learned to walk with the ghosts. Her cloak swept around her legs, worn and scorched in places, the sigil of her clan stitched at the hem in thread the color of embers. The hum of her saber—yellow, faintly alive even dormant—hung at her side. She had been a Padawan once. Now she carried herself like a storm tamed by will alone.

And then—her eyes found him.

Aiden Porte. Older. Broader in the shoulders, calmer in the way only the battlefield can teach. For a moment she simply looked, green gaze locking with his across the distance, disbelief and something dangerously close to joy warring in her chest.

Then the discipline broke.

She moved—swift, effortless, the years of command and war dissolving into something raw and simple. Boots struck durasteel in a run, the sound sharp and bright in the open air. When she reached him, all that careful composure shattered as she threw her arms around him, laughing into his shoulder with the kind of sound she hadn't made in years.

"You karking idiot," she breathed against him, voice thick with emotion she refused to name. "You got older."

She leaned back, hands still on his shoulders, eyes roaming his face as if to be sure he was real. The Naboo sunlight caught the green in her eyes and the faint sheen of sweat on her temple. "Maker, I thought you were a ghost," she said, half a laugh, half a sigh. "And here you are standing in the light like nothing ever changed.”

Her smile softened, the kind that lived somewhere between relief and ache. "I missed you, Aiden. More than I'll ever admit twice."

Then, with that familiar glint of mischief that hadn't dulled with age, she added, "Now tell me—before I start weeping like one of your Naboo poets—what in all the stars did you do to your hair?"

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal
​

Aiden didn't breathe at first. Couldn't.

When the ramp hissed and the steam curled around her boots, it was as if the galaxy itself had stopped to bear witness. For a fleeting instant she was just a silhouette framed in gold and memory. Anneliese Kaohal, the firebrand who'd once dragged him and Roman through every reckless dare the Jedi on Coruscant could conjure. He'd replayed this moment a hundred times since he heard her voice in the static, the impossible chance of survival but nothing prepared him for the reality of it.

The moment her eyes found his, everything inside him stilled. She moved, and the years between them collapsed in a heartbeat.

He didn't think as his feet carried him forward. When she collided with him, laughter bursting against his shoulder, he felt the years of discipline fracture like glass. His arms wrapped around her and he twirled her around with much joy, the kind born not of control, pure, grateful instinct. He breathed in the scent of travel-worn fabric and something that had always been her.

"Anneliese." he murmured, the name cracking faintly as if his voice didn't trust the sound of it. He pulled back just enough to look at her, searching her face, the same impossible light behind her eyes. "I could say the same to you. Last I heard about you was from Roman and that was...." He let out a small sight as his mind drifted to Roman briefly before he looked back to her and her words made him laugh.

He exhaled through a grin, shaking his head. "Just a few years older. Wiser though? The Council is still wondering about that." His gaze softened, voice dropping to something quieter. "But you, Force, Anneliese, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

The wind stirred between them, carrying the hum of distant waterfalls and the soft pulse of Theed. For a moment, they were just two souls orbiting the same light again.

When she teased him about his hair, Aiden's lips curved into a familiar, lopsided smile. "Ah," he said, hand brushing through the shorter, disheveled cut. "Blame the humidity. But truly, is it really that bad?" He said with a laugh as he wrapped his arm around her and gave her a side hug, as they walked. A beat passed. The laughter faded into something gentler.

"It's good to see you, Anneliese." he said at last, voice low, threaded with feeling. "Really see you."

And for the first time in years, the weight he'd carried since the war didn't feel quite so heavy.

"Where have you been?"

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

L o n g i n g

Aiden Porte


Anneliese's laughter faded, though the warmth in her eyes didn't. She exhaled slowly, the sound closer to a sigh than breath — the kind that carried years in its weight.

"Where haven't I been," she said softly, half-smiling as her gaze drifted past him toward the city's horizon. "I didn't vanish to hide, Aiden. I left because I needed to understand who I really was — not as a Jedi, not as a soldier, but as what my blood was trying to tell me I was meant to be."

She folded her arms, a thoughtful quiet before she went on. "Val supported me, though it wasn't simple. The GA needed stability, and walking away from that… wasn't something I did lightly. But Qiilura was calling. My people were scattered — the clans divided, fighting each other over land and pride. If we were ever to survive again, someone had to remind them what unity meant."

Her expression turned distant, almost reverent. "The rites of ascension were… not ceremony. They were ordeal. Fire, pain, fasting. The vision quests—they brought me before the spirits of my forebears. I saw their wars, their sacrifices, the price of the bond we share with the land. I had to earn the right to speak in their name."

She paused, eyes lowering briefly as though reliving it. "When I came back, I led the clans through their disputes. Ended blood feuds that had lasted generations. Sometimes with words, sometimes with force. We cleansed the valleys of what corruption still lingered from the wars—Bogan beasts, raiders, everything that defiled what was sacred. It wasn't peace, not at first. But it's becoming something close."

Her voice softened then, that calm steadiness returning. "The training never stopped. If anything, it became more brutal. But it had purpose. I wasn't fighting to survive anymore — I was fighting to restore."

When he mentioned Roman's name, she went still. Not tense — just still. The silence lingered a breath longer than natural. Then she shook her head slightly.

"Roman…" Her tone was gentle, not bitter. "That part of my life ended as it needed to. He changed. I did too. Not all growth is meant to happen side by side."

Her eyes lifted back to him, that same ember-bright steadiness that had always set her apart. "But you — you haven't changed as much as you think. You still wear that same grin when you try to hide you've missed someone."

She smiled faintly then, tilting her head. "And maybe I needed to see that again. Reminds me not everything I left behind was lost."

She stepped closer then, slipping easily into his side as he still held his arm around her. The motion was natural, seamless, like something remembered rather than new. Her frame pressed into his — smaller than he remembered, but every inch of her felt like high-tensile steel beneath skin, coiled and honed, tempered by years of strain and sacred purpose.

"So…" she murmured, the corner of her mouth curving as she glanced up at him. "What about you, Aiden? What have you been up to while I was off?"

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal
​

Aiden's jaw tightened slightly as he listened, not from discomfort, but from the deep, quiet awe that came when someone revealed the truth of their long path. The morning light caught the edges of Anneliese's profile, haloing her in gold and flame, and he realized just how little the years had dulled her. If anything, she seemed more alive now, as if the fire in her blood had found its purpose at last.

His voice drifted, faintly wistful. "Sounds like you got a lot accomplished, that's good."

He fell quiet then, taking in the weight of her words, the rites, the fire, the scars the spirits left behind. The part of her that was both Jedi and something older, more primal, had always fascinated him. She had followed that call. He'd stayed. And somehow, they'd both survived.

When she mentioned Roman, a muscle moved in Aiden's cheek, grief and understanding flickering in the same instant. He nodded once, slow. "Yeah." he murmured, gaze lowering to the durasteel beneath their feet. "He changed. We all did. But… I get it. You needed your own horizon. I think he's still trying to find his."

Her teasing pulled him back. That faint, knowing smile the one that saw straight through him. He couldn't help the laugh that escaped, quiet and genuine. "Still hiding it poorly, am I?" he asked, glancing sidelong at her. "You are right, I did miss you Anneliese"

The way she leaned into his side felt both new and achingly familiar. His arm shifted instinctively, drawing her a little closer protective, though she hardly needed it. The warmth of her against him anchored something that had been unmoored for far too long.

When she asked what he'd been up to, his grin softened into something quieter. "Oh, you know." he said, voice carrying that old trace of humor that always covered something heavier. "Let's see, my first love died in my arms. My home was burned to the ground by sith, my Father gave his life to close a netherworld gate, my mother and sister are missing. It's safe to say I've struggled for a bit. But luckily I was able to ground myself with help of my friends." So much had happened, Aiden had done as much as he could to deal with everything, and it is truth. It wasn't just him, there was always someone that had helped him. However the biggest thing he could've done was disregard the offer to join the darkside, hope and light would not abandon him so easily.

His eyes lifted toward the distant hills, where the morning mist still clung to the grass. "After that, after I was able to find myself again. The Empire took control of the core, and I spent much time back and forth saving displace jedi and civilians that were trapped on the core worlds, its something I'm still doing." He exhaled softly. "Guess I couldn't stop being who I am, either."

He looked back at her then the faintest smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I train when I can. Meditate when I remember. Drink more whiskey than is probably healthy. And… I wait."

A pause. His gaze deepened, steady, quiet. "Waited for a sign that not everyone from my past was gone." He gave a small shrug, and a teasing smile, giving her a gentle squeeze before he let her go. "Turns out, that sign decided to crash through my comm system and insult my hair in the same hour."

His eyes softened on hers, the warmth there undeniable. "You came back at the right time, Annie. The galaxy could use a little of that fire again."

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

F i r e

Aiden Porte


Her breath caught the moment he spoke of his father, his home, the ones lost to him. A flicker of disbelief ran across her features—eyes widening ever so slightly, the pulse behind her temples quickening. She could feel the animal in her rise, a coiled tension in her muscles that had become second nature among her people, the primal fire that demanded action, demanded justice.

"No…" she whispered, low, the word barely audible, more a growl than speech. "Stars damn it… Aiden." Her gaze sharpened, molten, feral, locking onto him as if trying to measure the weight of everything he'd endured. "Your father… your home… her—"

Her hand shot out instinctively, pressing briefly against his shoulder, grounding herself even as her chest rose with that steady, dangerous rhythm of a predator's heartbeat. "You should not have had to bear that alone. Not any of it." Her eyes softened for a fraction, warm behind the heat, but the edge remained—coiled and ready, always ready.

She stepped back, jaw set, fists clenching as though she could crush the injustice itself. "And the Core… the Core fell again while I was away? While I was—living among my people, learning, surviving—?" Her voice rose, sharp and raw. "After everything we bled for, after all we lost, how?"

Her hands flexed, fingers curling, the primal tension radiating off her like heat. "Tell me… Val, Kahlil, the younglings… the Temple, Tython, Prosperity —what happened to all of it? Someone must have held the line, right?"

When he spoke, she exhaled through her nose sharply, the fury simmering but tempered with purpose. Her eyes softened just enough to meet his gaze, steady and intense. "I… I didn't mean to lash at you, Aiden. Forgive me. It's just—" She shook her head slightly, letting the fire ebb but not vanish. "I've spent so long running with the pack, letting instincts guide me, that hearing this… it ignites something in me, it’s just second nature at this point."

Her lips curved faintly, fierce and determined. "But you… you stayed. You held on through it all. That matters. That counts." Her voice dropped, quiet but unwavering. "You're not alone anymore, Aiden. Not this time."

Then, after a moment, she straightened fully, letting the primal energy settle just enough to speak with that lethal, quiet command that had become hers among her people.

"And if the Empire thinks it can hold the Core without paying the cost… they've just made themselves my target…."

 

[Aiden Porte]

Anneliese Kaohal
​

Aiden didn't flinch when her voice broke through the air that low growl, the heat that rolled off her like the edge of a wildfire barely kept in check. He'd seen Anneliese Kaohal angry before, but this was something deeper, older a fury born not from ego, but from grief and the sacred instinct to protect.

Her hand struck his shoulder, grounding, fierce and for a breath, that simple human contact steadied him more than meditation ever could.

Hey." He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "It's okay to be upset, that's a human response."

He met her eyes unyielding, steady and let her see it. Not just the scars, not the practiced calm of a Jedi Knight, but the hollow that loss carved behind the ribs. "My father was gone before I could reach him." he said quietly. "The homestead burned, but was rebuilt. My great love returned by way of dark magic, evil. I almost went with her, but I didn't. I was forced to kill her, and she died in my arms again."

The words came slow, deliberate. No self-pity, just truth worn thin with time. It wasn't that he didn't care, but he had lived with what happened, he had faced the darkness and he defeated it. He wasn't going to let the past bury him.

"The empire came so quick, Val and Kahlil left prior to the Empire arriving, I'm not sure what happened. A lot of Jedi and innocents died on Corsucant. I arrived to help Corazona von Ascania evacuate as many as we could. We did our best, and we saved as much was we could. But somehow it didn't seem like it was enough."

"I still make trips into the core worlds and rescue any whom still need a way out, the Empire has everything locked down right now. But we still sneak through and save who we can."

"Annie." he said, voice low, almost reverent, "I know that fire. I've seen it light the path before. But don't let it consume the one carrying it. You being here, being back that is everything. Together we can save and avenge those that were lost. We have to stick together."

He exhaled softly, his voice gentling with something warmer. "You don't need to apologize, for anything. We have our own part to play, you did what you had to do." For a long moment, he just watched her the warrior forged from rites and ruin, the girl he'd once sparred with beneath temple skylights now standing like a promise reborn.

He glanced toward the hangar doors, the sunlight spilling wider across the floor. "Let's get you settled. Then we'll talk about what comes next."

 

[Anneliese Kaohal]

H o p e

Aiden Porte


For a long moment, Anneliese said nothing. She listened — not just to Aiden's words, but to what pulsed beneath them. The ache, the survival, the quiet conviction that had carried him through fire and ruin.

She understood it. In her own way, she'd lived it.

Qiilura drifted across her mind's eye — the endless green, the hum of insects, the warmth of Isola's laughter against the hush of night. The galaxy had burned, but on that distant world, life had gone on. They had built something living, something enduring. Not out of denial, but out of necessity.

She felt no shame in that now. The Force had drawn her away for a reason, and she had obeyed. Duty had worn a different face there — one that looked like survival, rebuilding, strength without permission.

Her eyes found Aiden's again — calm, clear, and unflinching.

"You did what had to be done," she said, voice steady. "So did I. Maybe that's what the Force wanted — not heroes, not martyrs, but those who would keep the pieces moving when everything else broke."

She stepped closer, the faint scent of ash and wild herbs clinging to her.

"I don't think like a Padawan anymore. The galaxy doesn't have the patience for idealists. Sometimes you heal. Sometimes you prune. Either way, you make sure the roots survive."

Her gaze softened just slightly, the faintest trace of warmth breaking through her composure.

"You're right about one thing — we stick together. Not as what we were, but as what we've become. I lead my people because they need strength. You lead because you carry hope. Between us, that's enough to start again."

A pause. Her expression turned contemplative, almost distant.

"The question isn't whether we can save the galaxy anymore, Aiden. It's whether we can reshape it before it devours what's left of us."

Then, quieter — a whisper of resolve.

"Tell me where to begin."