First Reply Shadow Grows

[Aiden Porte]

​

The gunship descended through the ochre haze of Geonosis, its repulsors howling as it cut through the dry, dust-laden air. Red sands stretched endlessly below, broken only by the jutting spires of ancient hives and the long shadows of the planet's skeletal mesas. Even through the hum of engines, Aiden could feel the planet, a presence raw and wounded, steeped in the echoes of battles long past. The Force here was not silent; it whispered in uneasy tones, a memory of blood and betrayal clinging to every grain of dust. While under HIgh Republic domain, there was signs of renewal, but it would be long before the scars of the past would heal.

They were still healing.

He stepped from the ramp as it settled, boots sinking into the loose grit. Heat rolled off the landscape in shimmering waves, and his cloak caught the wind, snapping faintly at his side. He had tracked the thieves for three days across hyperspace, following fragments of transmissions that spoke of a relic steeped in corruption — a talisman once held by a cult devoted to the shadowed aspects of the Force. Its trail ended here, amidst the labyrinthine caverns beneath the planet's crust.

Closing his eyes, Aiden reached out.

The light came to him easily, a steady current that flowed through his breath and heartbeat. But beneath it, he felt it a tremor in the Force. Something foul. Ancient. The artifact called to any who would listen, whispering promises of power, of dominion over death. And though the thieves who carried it may not have understood what they stole, Aiden knew well enough the danger of leaving such a relic intact.

He began his descent into the nearest canyon, the rock walls narrowing around him like the ribs of some vast beast. The deeper he went, the stronger the pull became each step heavy with unseen pressure. Faint scorch marks painted the stone, signs of blaster fire and recent struggle. One of the thieves lay ahead, sprawled against the rocks, his weapon still clutched in lifeless fingers. His eyes were open, but there was no color left in them only a hollow reflection of the void.

Aiden knelt, brushing dust from the body. There was no wound. Only emptiness. The artifact was feeding now.

 

[Pal Veda]

Sand, dust, and sun. Rocky formations rising in the distance. Frankly, not much else.

Cut to a Zephyr-G swoop bike racing across the expanse, maximum throttle. The handsome driver’s face was mostly covered — the lower half protected by a shemagh pulled over his nose and mouth, his eyes hidden behind a pair of Rogue Squadron issued sunglasses. He glanced at the map projecting from the small datapad attached beyond the handlebars. The signal was getting stronger. Only a couple more clicks.

The idiots! Pal cursed the crew he was tracking. He’d told them not to go after the artifact. He thought he’d convinced them to abandon the mission. Everything Kumar had told him, all the research he sent him — this was a fool’s errand. Now they were paying the price. And now Pal had probably lost some of his best subcontractors in the process.

He came to the canyons and searched for a path down. It didn’t take long. He parked the swoop, grabbed his small pack, and headed out. Would anyone still be alive? Probably not. With the datapad tracking the beacon in his left hand and the trusty DL-44 in his right, he carefully began his descent, head on a swivel.

Surprisingly, Pal made it barely a kilometer before spotting someone further down the trail. But that wasn’t the source of his signal. Blaster raised, he cautiously proceeded, calling ahead, “Kumar? ’s that you?” He readied his finger on the trigger just in case.


Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Pal Veda
​

The canyon walls closed around him as Aiden descended, the heat of Geonosis pressing in like a physical weight. The wind carried with it the tang of dust and iron, the kind of air that burned the lungs and stung the eyes. Yet beneath the harshness of the desert, he could feel it the echo of something unnatural, coiling through the Force like smoke in a sealed chamber.

He paused on a ledge, gaze sweeping over the jagged terrain below. A figure was moving through the canyon human, cautious, armed. Not a soldier. Not one of the thieves. His presence felt sharp but untrained, a blaster-sure mind hardened by survival, not meditation.

Reaching out through the Force, Aiden brushed the surface of the man's awareness enough to sense purpose and fear, but no darkness. Still, the Jedi's hand drifted toward his lightsaber. The artifact was near. It would be calling to anyone who walked within reach of its influence.

He stepped forward, boots crunching over stone as his voice carried across the canyon.

“Kumar? ’s that you?”

"Not Kumar, just Aiden Porte. Lower the weapon."

 

[Pal Veda]

Aiden Porte? What are the chances? Pal moved his finger outside the trigger guard and dropped the barrel toward the ground, but he kept his wits as he moved forward. He was relieved when he came close enough to properly identify the Jedi.

“Son of a gundark!” Pal exclaimed, now much more at ease. “I’ve gotta say, this is a surprise.” He hadn’t seen Aiden in a while, not since they were stuck on Tatooine with Sor-Jan Skywalker fighting a horde of poor farmers and Tuskens infected by the Blackwing virus. While Pal recognized him well enough, the Jedi had changed a bit since their last encounter. For one, he looked more like a refined Jedi and less like a rugged spacer. Good for him — assuming that’s what he wanted.

Turning back to the task at hand, Pal raised the inevitable. “Judging by our present circumstances, I think you can guess why I’m here.” His eyes briefly scanned their surroundings before turning back to Aiden. “And if you’re here, I’m guessing I’m too late.”

The datapad in his hand pinged, alerting him that the emergency beacon was now on the move.



Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Pal Veda
​

Aiden's expression softened beneath the shadow of his hood, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The years between them folded for a moment, and it was as though the heat of Tatooine's twin suns still burned on their backs, the air thick with dust and the stench of infected flesh.

"Pal Veda" he said quietly, the hum of his still-lit saber lowering as he tilted it toward the ground. "Of all the places for paths to cross again." His tone was steady, carrying a note of both surprise and relief though his gaze never quite lost its edge.

He stepped closer, boots grinding over the red grit. "I'd say the chances are slim, but the Force tends to find humor where logic doesn't." The smile flickered again, brief, human, before fading to something graver. "If you're tracking the same signal I am, then yes you're late. But not too late."

"The artifacts ahead, deeper in the canyon, I can feel it feeding. If we don't destroy it soon, it'll draw in more than just thieves."

Aiden looked back to Pal, that same quiet steadiness returning. "I could use your aim, I know you still got it. But once we reach this artifact, if it starts lashing out stay behind me. It's not the sort of thing you want whispering in your head."

 

[Pal Veda]

“Feeding?” Pal asked, puzzled. Of course it was feeding. These Jedi and Sith fools never learned. For centuries the space wizards went back and forth, engaged in an endless power struggle, all the while sewing chaos across the galaxy. And many times that chaos manifested into real objects. Pal found himself on missions to retrieve these objects on occasion, usually for the Jedi. They’d fill his pockets full of credits then lock whatever holocron, talisman, or other imbued relic away, thinking this time it would be different, this time they’d keep it safe and under control. At least this time, this Jedi had enough sense to destroy this artifact.

Another beep, and Pal shared his information with Aiden. “I know the crew on this job. The head of the group is Kumar. Stubborn ole smuggler that never caught a break. He sent a transmission saying he’d found what they were looking for. Next thing I know, I get pinged by his emergency beacon, and radio silence.”

The air was still, but a shiver ran down Pal’s spine. He didn’t need a mastery of the Force to know something was terribly wrong here. This uneasiness caused him to grip his blaster a little tighter. “I’ve definitely still got the aim, you just keep whatever the hell this thing is out of my head.”

Pal took a look at the datapad and motioned ahead. “The beacon is pinging from further into the canyon, and it seems to be on the move again.” He transferred the tracking information to his wrist comp, slid the datapad into his small pack, and pointed in a southernly direction with the barrel of his blaster. “Let’s go take care of this.” With that, he was on the move.


Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Pal Veda
​

The faint echo of Pal's boots against the canyon floor was all that broke the silence. Aiden followed a step behind, his cloak brushing over loose stones, eyes drawn to the horizon where the narrow cliffs swallowed the light. He could feel it more now, not the hum of life that came from wind, sand, or breath, but something hollowed out and echoing.

The Force here felt inverted, wrong. It didn't flow; it fed.

He steadied his breathing, one hand resting lightly on the emitter of his saber not to draw it, but to anchor himself. The hum of its kyber crystal was a familiar comfort, a reminder of order in a place that seemed built to devour it.

"Feeding." Aiden murmured at last, repeating the word under his breath. His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it. "They should've destroyed it, whatever it was tied to. People, trying to control what should never be caged."

"I'll keep it out of your head." Aiden promised after a moment, stepping beside him. His tone was level, a calm counterpoint to the tension in the air. "But it will try. Relics like this… they remember pain. They call out to it. If you feel anger or grief, you'll feel it pressing harder."

A shift in the wind drew Aiden's attention. Dust swirled at the mouth of the canyon, spiraling upward into shapes that broke apart as soon as they formed. A whisper not sound, not even thought brushed across the edge of his perception.

He exhaled slowly, lowering his center of gravity, scanning the ridgelines.

"The beacon's moving, yes." he said. "But not on its own."