Private Moonlight Pull

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

​

The dreams hadn't stopped. They'd twisted, warped. Tessk's face still flashed behind his eyelids, that much hadn't changed, but lately there was more. Silver light cutting through the dark. Trees where there shouldn't be trees. Whispers he couldn't quite hear, but could feel all the same. They pulled at him in a way that wasn't just memory. It reminded him of the dreams he'd have of Dathomir. Of his mother.​

​

Ace had never put much stock in omens or gods or shrines. The Force he believed in that, it was kind of hard not to when it burned through your veins. But temples and rituals? He'd always figured those were for people looking for answers in the wrong places. And yet, here he was. Chommell Minor. In the middle of nowhere. Following a pull that felt more like a hook in his ribs than a choice.​

​

The trees thickened as he stepped deeper, until the forest seemed to swallow the moonlight whole. Then, the Grove opened: a hollow in the woods, still and quiet as if even the air bowed its head. At the far end, a cave mouth yawned, half-shuttered by hides of animal skin that shifted faintly in the breeze. In front of it stood a treestump worn flat and darkened by age, serving as a crude altar.​

​

Ace stood there, taking it in. At his heel, Tic let out a low, warbling chirp. The little BD unit tilted his dome toward the treeline, photoreceptors blinking nervously; one flickering in its usual stutter. Ace glanced down, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. His boot shifted just enough to nudge Tic's side, a small gesture meant to reassure, though maybe it was more for himself than the droid.​

​

"Yeah..." Ace muttered, dark eyes scanning the shadows. "You feel it too, huh?"​

​

He stopped just past the first line of trees, shoulders tight, hand resting close to his saber though he didn't draw it.​

​

"Alright." he said under his breath, more to the Grove than to Tic. "I'm here. Now what?"​

​

Jael Amnen ​

 

[Jael Amnen]

She had knelt before the altar for what seemed like hours. Her knees had grown numb, her legs had fallen asleep. All was for a purpose, even this show of piety. Jael Amnen sought further guidance as to her vaguely revealed future.

When it had come time for even prostrations, sisters in the faith had needed to lift her from the ground and support her, such was the weariness of her light frame. It was after the latter prostrations, some new entrant into the grove emerged.

Jael had recovered from her earlier supplications, and now stood, with head bowed, on the tree line. The Mother granted her the blending — the ability to mesh with her natural surroundings to all but the most perceptive of gazes. She broke the illusion by simply lifting her head.

"You shall not need that here," she said, with a melodic intonation.

She stepped forward, garbed in a thin flowing dress. Its modest forward-facing appearance hiding the low sweeping folds of the dress that sat gathered in the curve of her lower back. Her dress swept across the dewy ground, soaking in water at the hemline and slowly turning the light brown into a deeper muddy tone.

The air was cool, far too chill for such a garment. Despite goose-pimpled flesh, Jael looked perfectly at ease.

"Greetings. And welcome to the Grove of the Great Huntress...the moon-mother bids you welcome," she said, words seeming more natural than a chorus of birds in the morning.

"I am Jael — priestess and welcomer of troubled souls. You are welcome here. I bid you eased of all that weighs on you," she said with a gesture towards the altar in the midst of the grove, "please...sit."

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

A voice cut through the stillness like a bell. Ace's head jerked toward it, hand twitching closer to the lightsaber at his hip before his eyes found the source. A woman stepping forward, silver and shadow draped across her in equal measure, like she belonged to this place in a way he never could.

Tic beeped sharply at his heel, photoreceptor flickering in anxious bursts. Ace didn't hush him this time. His own pulse had already quickened.

"Uh-huh. You sure about that?" He muttered, low and dry, one brow ticking as his gaze lingered on her calm in the chill air.

But he didn't draw. Instead his gaze caught on her and lingered longer than he meant it to.

Silver-white locs framed her face, catching the moonlight as if it bent just to touch them. Gold traced her throat and arms in deliberate lines, not gaudy but precise, drawing the eye exactly where it was meant to go. Her skin, deep and warm, seemed to drink in the moonlight and give it back softened, radiant. And her eyes, sharp, almond-shaped, carried a weight that made him feel seen in a way he didn't ask for.

Tic's nervous chirp pulled him back, grounding him. His jaw flexed, and he looked away then swallowed.

"Troubled souls." He exhaled, long and slow, suspicion edging back into his voice as his gaze flicked toward the altar she gestured to. "Makes sense."

His boots carried him forward, every step was measured like he was making sure not the ground woulnd't fall underneath him. Tic chirped once, low and uneasy, as Ace came up to the stump-altar. He crouched first, testing the space with his eyes, before lowering himself down.

"I'm Acier." He said finally, with a faint defiance. "And if this "moon-mother" really "bid" me here… then she must have a sense of humor."

Then, he paused and bit his lip slightly - glancing around the grove, taking everything in. Ace's expression was inquisitive but the undercurrent of caution lingered, his dark eyes met Jael's.

"I've dreamt about this place. A lot. Why?"

Jael Amnen ​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Though she made no sound, her smile still laughed. "Humour is often the salve for deeply felt trauma," she said after a moment of what seemed to be personal contemplation.

"You seem a witty soul."

She watched with silver, doe-like eyes as he inspected the altar. There was nothing special about it, save its usage. There was no magic, nor Force-related properties. It was simply a piece of stone carved from the cave behind them. It had lain their for generations. None remembered its maker.

"Greetings, Acier," she said, seating herself beside him, movements fluid and lacking urgency.

She had invited herself into his reach without a note of worry. Sitting there with the poise and grace of a being beyond the mortality. Her eyes took in his, hers seeming to sparkle just slightly — their furrows and crypts seemed to roll like waves.

"I cannot speak to the Mother's will. Be assured that those dreams were from her," she said, lips parting just enough for words to form.

Her narrow, otherworldly hand moved to gently rest upon his. Her touch was like a feather. "Do you hunger? Thirst? Will you share of our harvest?"

She cast her eyes towards the droid, lifting her fingers from his hand to wave them faintly at Acier's companion. "If your droid requires charging, we do keep facilities for such things on hand...though they are rarely used. We have no droids of our own."

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

She moved closer, calm as still water, like sitting within his reach didn't even cross her mind as a risk. That alone put him on edge. Most people learned fast not to step into striking distance unless they wanted trouble. She did it without hesitation. Was it confidence? Trust? Or just indication of a sheltered lifestyle.

Her hand brushed his and he stiffened, shoulders tightening, though he didn't pull away. Tic chirped once at the gesture, half-curious, half-anxious, photoreceptor flickering in uneven pulses.

"Trauma." Ace muttered, finally glancing back at her. "You could figure all that out just from a dry joke?"

The longer she stayed near, the more he felt it. It was faint, like careful threads moving under the surface. It was familiar.. She wasn't just speaking to him, she was feeling him. Probing without claws, with something softer, but no less pointed.

"You've got the Force in you." He said finally, low and matter-of-fact. It wasn't a question just recognition. His gaze locked on hers, as if daring her to deny it.

For a moment he held it there, then shifted his eyes back to the crude stone altar.

Her offer of food or water gave him an out, and he took it but still declined. Shaking his head, he said "No, thank you."

When she waved toward Tic, the little BD unit warbled faintly, ducking back toward Ace's boot like a child hiding behind a parent's leg. That drew the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, almost a smile.

"He's fine." Ace said, tilting his head down at the droid. "Think he'd rather stay with me."

The accommodations, the pleasentries, the softness - it was all a little too much. Was this all some kind of act? Or... was he still too wound up to notice when someone didn't have an ulterior motive.

"I have... a lot of questions." His hand flexed against his thigh, restless, before he tilted his head slightly.

"Your 'moon-mother', what is she? And you, you're a priestess, okay. But what do you do?" His brow furrowed, tone edged with suspicion more than curiosity. He gestured loosely toward the altar, then around the hollow.

"Is this some sort of getaway for traumatized souls and you... what? Accommodate them? Expecting nothing in return?"

Jael Amnen ​

 

[Jael Amnen]

With his rising tension, Jael drew her hand back to her lap, fingers folding lightly into the other as though holding a secret. "So many questions," she said, her smile slight, graceful.

She looked away from him, into the dense, dark undergrowth. Her posture seemed to lean away from him, not departing, but granting space. "All who come here carry grief and loss," she said softly, before offering a quick but tender glance, "trauma, if you will."

Her eyes went back to the night-time forest. "The Force moves through me," was all she offered, as though more would cheapen the truth.

The wind above the canopy picked up, with a gust moving the branches above them. It was enough to cast more moonlight upon their mutual seating. The dust upon her skin shimmered, catching the glow so that for an instant she seemed less flesh than reflection. Moonlight made form.

"The Mother is...part...of the Force. But not as you would know it. She is light in the darkness, but could not exist without the darkness. She is comfort and provider," she said, with a tone that conveyed deep longing, "we do not hold to rigid notions of dark and light here. All are welcome to the Mother's embrace. I...as her Priestess...have been given the responsibility to care for all the Mother's children..."

Her attention turned back toward Acier. Full lips sealed for just a moment as she looked him over with curiosity.

"...such as yourself. If I cannot provide for the needs of your droid...Acier...perhaps I could fulfil yours?"

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

He noticed when she pulled back, returning her hand to her own lap. Ace, for a brief moment, longed for her touch to return but curled his fingers and calmly turned his head away. Listening as she spoke.​

​

She was elusive in her answers, which served to add frustration to his already tense heart. When he finally turned to look upon her once more, he saw something... almost ethereal. And in that moment, it was like he'd forgotten to breathe.​

​

The gust carried light down through the canopy, catching the fine dust across her skin until she seemed less flesh than reflection, a figure carved from moonlight. It hit him quick, sharp, in a way he didn't expect. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing, and he dragged his gaze away with a scoff through his nose.​

​

Well, at least he was receiving some sort of answer on the 'Mother'. As vague as it was. Ace raised a brow, curious, and his dark gaze lingered on her, momentarily he wondered if the 'Mother' was some sort of alternative view of the Force. Like how the Dathomiri would call it Magick.​

​

When Jael looked upon him again, he met her silver eyes and he was taken aback once more. The woman's features were striking, mesmerizing even. She was effortlessly beautiful, like a lie too convincing to ignore. His lips thinned as he continued to hold her gaze.​

​

"Responsiblity to her children?" he echoed, tone in half-disbelief "'Kay, I'll bite."​

​

Ace reflected on Jael's words "Perhaps I could fulfill yours?" She couldn't mean... No. Of course not. Right? Ace's freckled face betrayed his wandering thoughts. Quickly, he gently shook his head and his face steeled - returning to his usual blank expression.​

​

At his feet, Tic gave a low, mournful chirp, photoreceptor dimming. The little droid tilted his dome toward him, almost as if he could sense the storm Ace refused to name. Ace's throat tightened at the sound, but he didn't acknowledge it.​

​

His mind went to Tessk. His lifeless body flashing in his mind, the mark of a lightsaber carved into the Trandoshan's smoking chest. Then to Dathomir, the prophecy... The Final Weave. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips.​

​

"You can't give me what I need." He stood up sharply and promptly, then began pacing "No one can."​

​

Ace stopped pacing, shoulders tight, back half-turned to her. His hand hovered near his lightsaber but didn't touch it, fingers twitching once before falling slack. He glanced over his shoulder, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw and the exhaustion in his eyes. What else did he have to lose?​

​

"If you really think you can… then show me."​

​

Jael Amnen ​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her gaze did not yield. If anything, it deepened.

The silver of her irises seemed to move as though liquid, slow streams circling within her eyes, flowing inward and outward like the tide of a hidden sea. They held him fast, daring him to search for their end, daring him to draw nearer to their current. The longer he met them, the easier it would be to forget the forest around them, the altar, even the droid's soft whirring.

When she finally looked away, it was not sudden but languid - as though the spell had not been broken, only set aside for later.

Jael rose with quiet grace, her dress whispering across the damp ground. She moved toward the cave mouth, her figure slipping past the hides that veiled it. For a long moment, two, three, there was nothing. Only the forest's silence and the faint drip of water somewhere unseen. The pause was just long enough to let the question linger, had she left him to his own devices?

And then, she returned.

Her arms cradled a rounded clay pot with its lid sealed tight, steam already hinting at its escape through faint seams. In her other hand, two earthen bowls rested, simple but well-kept. She lowered them with care upon the old stump-altar, brushing away a fallen leaf before setting the pot in the center.

"Selara prepared this earlier," Jael said, her voice soft as though the woman's name deserved reverence, "she has a gift, our finest cook. Even the most restless soul cannot help but be stilled by her stews."

With slow precision she lifted the lid. A fragrant heat rose, earthy and rich, spiced with herbs from the grove's edge and thick with root and grain. The scent was hearty.

She dipped the ladle, filling one bowl, then another. Without ceremony, she set one before him and kept the other for herself.

Her eyes sought his once more, silver currents flowing as though they had never ceased. "Come. Let us begin with this."

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

Her gaze didn't waver, and for a moment, neither did his. The silver currents in her eyes shifted and flowed like tides, slow, endless, calming. They held him in place, daring him to look deeper, daring him to lose himself. And for a moment, he almost did.

He blinked hard, jaw tightening, and the spell broke just enough to breathe again. When Jael rose, her dress whispering across the damp ground, Ace's eyes tracked her toward the cave mouth. Then she vanished past the hides, leaving only silence.

Ace's brow furrowed. "She just leave?" he muttered to Tic.

The BD unit warbled softly from the ground by his boots, tilting his head toward the cave as if in answer.

Ace let out a short breath, half a laugh without humor. "Yeah, I know that's where she went. Nevermind."

The quiet stretched for several more moments before she finally returned. This time her hands were full, carrying a clay pot that breathed steam. She set it on the stump and the scent hit him before he saw what she carried: rich, earthy, heavy with herbs and spice.

Still standing, Ace wandered over to the stump and to Jael - watching as she explained. Was this some sort of relaxant as well then? For a moment he tensed, his old insitincts waiting for the pit in his stomach that always came when something was wrong. But it didn't come. No sharp tug, no wrongness coiling in the gut. Just warmth.

With that confirmation, he finally sat. Glancing at Tic, then back to the bowl, he exhaled deeply and with it, his muscles loosened. Then he tried a mouthful. Slowly, careful and deliberate. For a moment, he was still. His jaw worked slowly, eyes fixed on the bowl. Eventually, his lips pressed into a thin line, unreadable. He gave a small nod before setting the bowl back on the stump with care.

"You said about responsibility. Taking care of your "Mother"'s children. What's it mean for you? Personally."

Ace had to know more about her, he couldn't take the feeling that she was reading him, learning him while he remained in the dark.

Jael Amnen ​

​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her eyes lingered on him after the question. Her irises did not sit still, but circled and flowed, endless, drawing a gaze deeper. For a moment, silence was her answer, silence and the weight of beauty allowed to do its work.

At last she spoke, melodic and confident in tone. “Responsibility…” she echoed, letting the word roll like water over stone, “it means to tend the wounds that others hide. To keep company with grief when no one else will. To feed what hungers can be fed. To guard the shadows until dawn comes.”

She reached forward, slender fingers brushing the rim of his bowl, a simple gesture weighted with intimacy. Steam curled upward, lightly obscuring her face. Silver light made shadows about her cheekbones, her lips, the delicate hollow of her throat.

“But understand this,” she continued, eyes locking his again, the silver tide swirling in quiet insistence, “I do not keep without cost. The Mother does not grant without offering. If you would have me bear part of your burden…you must give something of yourself into my keeping.”

She leaned back slightly, her posture regal, though her smile curved with something more mischievious. “A token. A fragment. Something that is yours. What I hold, I hold sacred. What you give, I keep. Nothing material...even if it be just a newborn trust.”

Her gaze did not waver. It offered no escape, only the quiet promise of being drawn closer. “So tell me, Acier…” her words lingered, sultry as the night air, “…what will you offer to the Mother in return for me?”

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

Her answer lingered in his head long after the words fell quiet. Tend wounds. Keep company with grief. Guard the shadows. It sounded clean, too clean. And a little poetic. The kind of thing you'd expect from someone who spent their life in temples and rituals.

But... there was something in her tone, something that wasn't recited, nor hollow. She genuinley believed what she was saying, what she was doing. Or at least, she wanted him to believe she did. Ace's jaw tightened at the thought. Belief like that was something he considered dangerous.

And then came the part about cost. His stomach sank. Figures. He should've known, nothing given came without a cost. It was the first lesson Bonadan ever taught him, and the last one it left behind. Every favor, every kindness, every scrap of bread. Always a hook buried in it.

Tessk's body flashed behind his eyes: the stink of scorched scales, a smoking wound where a chest should be. His own breath had been loud in his ears that day, louder than the hum of the blade. He'd told himself it was necessary. He still told himself that. Some nights he even believed it.

Another shadow followed... his father's. Darth Metus. Power said like a verdict. The same hot wire lived under Ace's ribs; he could feel it coiling there when his temper slipped, when the fight got too close. The Grove's quiet didn't smother it; it only made it louder.

And then Dathomir. A daughter to change the fate of the galaxy… to lead it into a darker age. He wasn't that child. He wasn't even meant to be here... an anomaly born because his mother chose love over law. But prophecies didn't care about paperwork. The threads seemed to knot around him anyway.

At his feet, Tic let out a soft, low warble, photoreceptor dimming. Ace didn't look down, but his boot shifted, the barest nudge, a wordless I hear you. He let the silence hang a breath longer. Then he made the choice. If there was going to be a cost, better he pay it than let someone else pay it for him.

He slid the bowl aside with care, set his hand between them, palm-up, open.

"I wasn't meant to exist…" The words came rough, unpolished. His eyes lifted, meeting the silver tide of hers without flinching. "But I am meant to do terrible things."

He held the offered hand there, steady. A token. A fragment.

Jael Amnen​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her fingers drifted into his palm, feather-light, as though she were afraid the weight of her touch might break the offering. She traced the lines slowly, reverently, as one might read an ancient script. Her silver irises shimmered as they followed her own hand’s movement, like streams winding over his palm.

“These paths speak,” she murmured, brushing along a deep crease, “some say they tell of fate. I only see choices…and the scars they leave.” Her thumb paused at a crossing of lines, lingering as though she could feel more than skin.

Her eyes lifted to his, the tide of silver unrelenting. “Tell me, Acier...when a wolf is cornered, does it bare its teeth because it is cruel? Or because it cannot see another path?” A slight tilt of her head, her voice softer now. “And if a falcon hunts, is it wicked for answering hunger…or when it chooses to eat more than its share?”

She leaned closer, her breath warm where the steam rose between them. “I see your pain. I do not turn away from it.”

For a moment her composure faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable. Her gaze returned to his palm, tracing one last line to its end before folding her hand lightly around his.

“Soon, I must ascend. The ritual will make me High Priestess. It is an honor…but one I fear. To bear not only my own choices, but the weight of all who look to the Mother.” Her lips curved, faint and wistful. “Am I to be the guide of this faith? Do I have...am I...enough...it is a great burden to bear.”

Her hand squeezed his, light but steady, her voice lowering to a near-whisper. “So tell me, Acier…which are you? The wolf? The falcon? Or a man of your own choosing?"

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

For a moment her mask slipped, just enough for him to see it. His eyes searched her disarming features - a flicker of doubt where there hadn't been any before. The High Priestess-to-be, afraid of her own weight. He caught it, and though she smoothed it over quickly, the image stayed. She was quick in returning the focus back to him.

Ace didn't call her on it. Not now. But he tucked it away, a sharp little note to revisit later. Proof that even the devout cracked under their burdens.

Her touch lingered like a weight in his palm, feather-light but impossible to ignore. Every line she traced burned sharper in his head than he liked to admit. As she did so, Ace couldn't help the gaze that lingered on Jael's features.

Wolf. Falcon. Man of his own choosing. His exhaled through his nose, echoing a weariness. Ace wanted to answer that last one, wanted to say it and mean it. But the words caught in his throat, heavy with memory. All of his worst moments, his worst instincts, cycling through his mind over and over.

If he'd been a wolf, it was only because the corners he'd been pushed into left no other choice. If he'd been a falcon, it was only because hunger didn't care about right or wrong. And if he was supposed to be a man of his own choosing… then why did it feel like every choice he made still dragged him closer to the same end? The same destiny?

His lips parted, but nothing came. His gaze dropped to the altar, then the ground, then back to her silver eyes.

"I don't know..." he admitted at last, voice low and rough. "I want to be more than violence and desperation. But every time I try…" He trailed, shaking his head once, jaw tightening until it ached.

His free hand curled loosely into a fist on his knee. "Tell me, priestess..." He said, echoing her earlier words "If you see all these lines... do you see me choosing, or do you see me circling the same damn path no matter what I do?"

Ace's expression was stern, watchful. Almost as if it were demanding her truth, no riddles, no evasions or deflections. Just straightforwardness.

Jael Amnen​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her fingers lingered in his palm, light as falling ash, tracing the lines as though each were an inscription carved by time itself. For a while she followed them in silence, eyes lowered, silver irises circling like restless tides.

“One cannot see ‘choosing’ in them,” she said at last, her voice soft, steady, “for choosing is forever in flux. These lines tell only where you have been, not where you will go.”

Her gaze lifted then, no longer at his palm but at him, her silver eyes luminous, insistent. “I do not need to read your hand… to see that there is a goodness in you that yearns to be free.”

She let the words rest, then drew a single fingertip across a crossing of lines on his palm, lingering as though at a crossroads. “The wolf bares its teeth when it knows no other path. The falcon hunts because hunger commands it. But you…” her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, “…you are more than what cornered you, more than what starved you.”

Her composure softened, just for a heartbeat, revealing something unguarded. “None of us live free of fear. But we are not required to permit it to be our guide.”

Her fingers closed gently around his hand, reverent, as though she held something sacred. Her voice lowered to a near-whisper, intimate as a vow. “So tell me, Acier… will you let the lines bind you? Or will you choose, even if the choice is heavy?”

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

“I do not need to read your hand… to see that there is a goodness in you that yearns to be free.”

Her words sat like a weight in his chest. It caught him off guard, a word he hadn't heard pointed at him often, if ever Ace leaned back slighlty, lips pressing into a thin line, but he didn't pull his hand away.

More than the wolf. More than the falcon. The thought made something in him ache. He wanted to believe it, was desperate to. But every memory that rose to meet it was blood, ash, fire. That his choices had only dragged him deeper into the same pit.

Ace's gaze dropped, breaking from hers for the first time. The steam from the stew curled between them, a veil he let himself hide behind.

"I'm afraid." He admitted, the words barely above a whisper. They sounded strange in his mouth... foreign. "Not of losing. Not even of dying. Afraid of what I'll become when there's no one left to pull me back."

He swallowed hard, shook his head once as if to dismiss it, then forced himself to meet her silver eyes again.

"I can make the heavy choices. It's all I've ever done. But the fear that every choice I make just leads to ruin…" His voice trailed, low and rough. "That's what eats me alive."

For a moment, silence pressed between them. Then he inhaled, and the edge in his voice returned.


"But you…" His gaze sharpened, steady on her. "You said yourself you fear what comes next. Ascending. Bearing their weight. You carry doubt too. So, Jael..." his hand shifted slightly beneath hers, firm now, almost challenging "When it's your turn to choose… what happens if you're wrong?"

The question hung heavy in the night air, stripped of its armor.

Jael Amnen​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her hand remained against his, the warmth of her touch unflinching even as his words pressed her. She did not shy from it. Instead, her fingers curled gently to enclose his palm, as though receiving something sacred.

“I will be wrong, Acier. Not once, but many times.” Her voice was low, steady, and carried no apology. “The Mother does not demand perfection, only that I do not abandon the choosing itself. And I choose faith.”

Her thumb traced once more across the lines of his hand, then stilled at the place where they broke and bent. Her eyes lifted to his, silver tides glimmering with something vulnerable now, less untouchable priestess and more woman.

“When it is my turn, I will be wrong. But even the broken threads are gathered into the weave. That is the Mother’s way. She binds what frays. She makes even ruin part of the pattern.”

Jael leaned closer, the veil of steam brushing her features in soft waves. Her lips parted, a whisper escaping just for him. “So yes, I fear. I fear being found wanting. I fear that the burden will crush me. But if I falter, it will not be because I refused to choose.”

Her hand tightened around his, light but certain, an anchor against the doubt he carried. For a moment the world seemed narrowed to only the space between them, his hand in hers, her silver gaze unrelenting. The breath of her words was warmer than the stew that cooled at their side.

“You ask what happens if I am wrong…” Her tone softened, intimate, almost daring him closer. “…then I will be wrong. But I will still be, and still be choosing. Will you?”

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

Her words pressed into him. Heavy. It wasn't what he expected, not the priestess's poetry or the evasions he'd braced himself for. She'd given him honesty, raw and simple. Wrongness folded into faith. Ruin stitched back into the pattern. It made something twist in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was comfort or frustration. Maybe both.

At his feet, Tic let out a faint chirp, tilting his head toward Jael as though he too sensed the shift. Ace's gaze flicked down for the briefest moment, his lips twitching into a line that wasn't quite a smile. He nudged the little droid lightly with his boot again.

When he looked back up, she was closer and he blinked in surprise. The veil of steam curled around her face, silver eyes luminous, her breath warm between them. It felt like she was daring him nearer, and for a second, he almost did.

His shoulders drew tight, jaw flexing, as though pulled by something he didn't want to name. Instead, he broke the silence with a short, rough exhale through his nose - almost a laugh, but without humor.

"Yeah." He said quietly, voice weighted with resignation. "I'll choose. I don't really have another option."

A real chuckle escaped him now, but it was void of any levity. He met her gaze again, unflinching now, the tired certainty in his eyes laid bare.

He left his hand in hers, the warmth of her touch steady against his calloused palm. It felt strange, unfamiliar, but he didn't pull away. Maybe that was its own kind of choice.

His gaze held hers, steady, dark. "You said you fear it'll crush you. All that weight, all those eyes on you." His voice measured. "So why not walk away? Why carry it if you're not sure you can?"

The words weren't mocking. They weren't even sharp. Just blunt. His thumb twitched faintly against her fingers, not quite a squeeze, not quite a pull, but enough to test whether she'd tighten her hold or let him go.

Jael Amnen​

 

[Jael Amnen]

Her fingers did not release his. Instead they settled more surely, enclosing his palm with a reverence that made the space between them feel consecrated. When she answered, it was without ornament.

“You asked why I do not walk away. Because faith is not about ease...dear one...it is about purpose,” she said before letting silence fill the space.

Her thumb traced the small break in one of his lines, lingering there as if to bless a wound. She leaned nearer, closer than one should if you were being cautious, until the shakiness of her breath met the warmth of his. The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip once, an unguarded, human tell, then her mouth stilled again, parted just enough to speak and no more.

“I am afraid,” she admitted softly. “Of the mantle. Of the eyes. Of failing those who come here with their grief cupped like water in their hands. But fear will not be the voice that chooses for me.”

She tightened her hold, inviting steadiness rather than taking it. When she spoke next, her voice lowered to something intimate as a vow.

“I will go where purpose calls, even if it is heavy.”

Silence followed. She was intentional, patient, while her gaze held his. She did not close the last inch between them. She only turned her face fractionally toward his, the faintest offering of closeness without command, as if the night itself were leaning in to listen.

“And you?” A whisper, warm as the steam between them. “What will you choose in this moment?”

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Chommell Minor

Equipment:
Training Jumpsuit | Lightsaber | Modified DL-27 | Tic

The question lingered, her lips inches from his, silver eyes unrelenting. For a heartbeat he felt it - the pull, sharp and undeniable. His chest tightened, every part of him wanted to close that last inch just to see what it was like.

But then the thoughts came. Was this her? Or the priestess? Was the warmth of her hand meant for him, or just another part of her vows: a role, a duty, a mask she wore for whoever came seeking solace? If he let her all the way in, if he showed her what really lived in him. The anger, the grief, the ruin, the darkness brewing louder every day. Would she still sit this close? Or would she recoil like the rest, seeing only a wolf bred for violence?

Ace's shoulders stiffened, breath catching as if the air itself had turned too heavy. He'd never been this close to someone like this, never felt the weight of it pressing down on him. The heat in his blood wasn't foreign but what it asked of him was.

Then, he broke the moment with a sharp inhale, his hand still firm in hers. But his head turned aside, jaw tight, eyes dragging away from her silver gaze. There was no sharpness in the gesture, only the weight of something more sorrowful.

"I…" His voice faltered, then steadied, rough as stone. "I choose to spare you."

He held it there a breath longer, then gently closed her fingers together, folding her hand into itself. Only then did he draw his own back, the connection severed with deliberate care. The space between them stretched wider again as he leaned away, retreating into himself, the walls snapping back into place.

His gaze lingered on the ground between them, expression hardening back into something guarded. "Save it for someone less messy," he muttered, voice low, flat. "You're a priestess. That's all this is."

Jael Amnen​