Light
The freighter's landing struts groaned as Aiden Porte guided it down onto the uneven durasteel pad of Tanaab's spaceport. The engines sputtered in protest one last time before cutting out completely, leaving only the faint hiss of cooling metal and the hum of nearby ships in their stead. He exhaled slowly, fingers still resting on the throttle controls as the cockpit lights dimmed.
"Again." he muttered under his breath, leaning back in the pilot's chair. The scent of ozone and burned circuitry filled the cabin familiar, irritating, almost comforting in a strange way. He'd coaxed this ship across half the Mid Rim, and still she found new ways to argue with him. A Jedi could face battle droids, Sith cultists, and pirates without flinchin but a malfunctioning hyperdrive? That was another trial entirely.
He grabbed his cloak from the co-pilot's chair and descended the ramp, letting the evening air of the port wash over him. Tanaab's skyline was an odd mix of rural calm and urban edge: grain silos standing beside neon-lit towers, freighters parked alongside livestock haulers. The scent of rain and oil mingled on the breeze. "Mechanic first thing tomorrow." he promised himself, though he already knew he'd end up under the hull by dawn, hands blackened and robes half-burned from frustration.
For now, though, the day had earned him something simpler.
The local pub was easy to find every port had one, usually marked by laughter, off-key music, and the faint tang of Corellian ale. The sign above the doorway flickered, half the letters missing, but the sound of life inside drew him all the same. He stepped through, the weight of travel easing slightly as warmth and noise replaced the chill of the tarmac.
A few heads turned as his armor gave attention as the blue gem at the center glowed strongly but he offered a small nod and moved quietly toward the bar. The barkeep, a grizzled Ithorian with a scar across his neck pouch, tilted his head curiously.
"Not often we get monks with lightsabers around here." the Ithorian rumbled through his translator.
"Just a traveler with engine trouble." Aiden replied, a faint, good-natured smile touching his lips. "Corellian Whiskey if you have it.."
As the drink was poured, Aiden leaned against the counter, letting the murmured conversations and cantina melody wash over him. For a moment, he allowed himself the rarest luxury: stillness. The Force moved quietly through the room calm, ordinary, alive.
He took his first sip, the taste sharper than expected, and exhaled a quiet laugh.
A flicker in the Force stirred then faint, like a ripple in still water. Someone nearby carried more than the usual weight of a port drifter. Aiden didn't turn immediately. He just listened, the calm of the moment sharpening as the evening began to unfold.
