Private Sight Beyond Sight

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

The afternoon rush at Ravelin Spaceport carried a familiar cadence—one Jairdain had come to know intimately during her years living on Bastion. The spaceport was a constant river of movement, its energy flowing through her awareness in subtle, layered currents. Heavy freighters sending vibrations through the floor, the sharp hiss of cooling systems shedding heat, the rhythmic clatter of freight droids on their programmed routes. It was busy, but not overwhelming; structured chaos, tempered by military precision.

Sage trotted beside her, his tiny paws tapping a light, uneven rhythm against the durasteel tiles. The small green fox paused often to nose at grates or the hems of passing travelers, gathering scents that painted the world for him the way the Force did for her. The faint smell of starship fuel, caf from a nearby vendor, and sterile cleanser from maintenance crews all filtered through her senses.

But something new threaded the air today.

An unfamiliar presence—steady, contained, watchful. Not aggressive, but shaped by discipline and a certain hardened quiet. It brushed against her Force-awareness like the edge of a blade held in a still hand. Controlled. Intentional. But not hiding.

This must be the person she had agreed to meet.

She didn't know him. Not in name, not in history. Only that his message had been brief, precise, and carried an undercurrent of purpose. She could work with purpose. Purpose often meant truth, and the Force responded to truth far more readily than to declarations or bravado.

Jairdain stopped near the benches set against the inner windows of Gate Cresh-Seven. She rested one hand lightly against the railing, grounding herself in the soft hum of the spaceport machinery. Sage sat at her feet, tail curling around his haunches as he sniffed curiously at the shift in the air—the sign that her contact had arrived.

Jairdain inclined her head toward the approaching presence, her tone warm but composed.
"Are you Syn?"

She felt the subtle shift as he halted—a compression of the air, the faint rustle of his clothing, the weight of someone turning their attention fully toward her. He was cautious, but not closed. That was a promising start.

"Thank you for meeting with me," she continued, her hands folding gently at her waist. "I wanted to speak because the Force has stirred again around matters… old and unresolved. Something is waking on the edges of known space, and I believe your experience may offer insight I do not have."

She did not push. She did not probe. She extended the truth with the quiet confidence of someone who had learned long ago that the Force guided meetings as surely as it guided destinies.

"I do not know you," she said plainly. "But the current that led to this meeting felt deliberate. And I believe there is something we may uncover together—if you are willing."

Sage chuffed softly, as if echoing the invitation, before settling his head against his paws.

Jairdain tilted her face slightly toward Syn, waiting—not impatiently, but with the calm of a Jedi who understood the value of a moment offered freely.

"Shall we talk?"

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

The world had been a place he was sent to... for well anything really. With the fall of Coruscant and other places across the galaxy changing, going away or altering its stance on many things. He had been sent from the Temple of Omean He arrived with the silence of stone. A Jedi Master, he stood unmoving and a head taller than the guides, immediately drawing the eye. His powerful, bare chest was a study in functional strength, slick with sweat in the humid air. The most striking detail was the tight, charcoal-colored sash that covered the upper half of his face, drawn taut over the space where eyes should have been, leaving only the sharp line of his jaw visible.

This physique was not built for show, but for absolute, relentless purpose; the muscled sections of his chest and the chiseled geography of his abdomen spoke to centuries of physical training. His hands were to the sides slightly, yet the air around them felt charged. He projected an unnatural stillness, his expanse of shoulders squared, his head tilted slightly as if listening to a distant, private conversation on the world. For him, the world was not a spectrum of light and shadow, but a vibrant, flowing tapestry of energy and his mind, unfettered by sight, was utterly immersed in the force. The sound of her voice came to him as he turned to look at her offering a nod of his head.

"We shall."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

The air shifted before he spoke. Jairdain felt the disturbance as clearly as a wave through tall grass—the subtle displacement of movement from a large, disciplined body; the denser hum of someone who had spent centuries steeped in the Force; the quiet compression of space itself around his aura. Syn's presence was not loud or harsh, but massive, suggesting a life built on relentless discipline and the kind of strength that did not need to be shown to be understood.

She had felt only a hint of him before, but up close, the sensation sharpened: a man carved by purpose, by silence, by a lifetime lived without the need for sight. His Force-signature was wide, heavy at the edges, carrying a kind of ancient steadiness she rarely encountered outside the oldest of Masters. Jairdain inclined her head respectfully, acknowledging not rank, not reputation, but the unmistakable resonance of someone who navigated reality through currents deeper than light.

Sage pressed briefly against her ankle, his small form warm and steady as he, too, assessed the newcomer. The fox's nose twitched once, twice—then he settled at Jairdain's feet with an air of quiet acceptance. Animals rarely needed details; they understood presence more cleanly than most sentients ever could.

Jairdain folded her hands before her, letting her surroundings fall away until only the Force's contours remained—the soft edge of Syn's awareness, the muted hum of the crowd, the distant thrum of landing gear locking into place somewhere deeper in the port. She let the moment breathe for a heartbeat, enough to understand him not as a silhouette or a figure, but as a pattern—precise, deliberate, controlled, and far older than any guide who had escorted him here.

"You walk as one who has carried the Force longer than most worlds remember their own histories," she said gently, her voice warm without being intrusive. "It is an honor to meet you, Syn."

His agreement—We shall—landed between them with the weight of a promise made without embellishment. She felt the firmness in his tone, the certainty that left no room for hesitation.

Jairdain dipped her chin in return. "Then our paths move with purpose."

She stepped forward, her movement fluid, her awareness tuned to the slight press of air that marked the space between them. She could feel how he listened—truly listened—to the environment, the way she did: through vibration, through the thrum of life, through the subtle tensions in the Force that revealed more truth than any pair of eyes ever could.

"There is a transport leaving in twenty minutes," she continued. "A quieter route. It will give us time to speak before we reach our destination."

Her face lifted toward him—not in sight, but in recognition of another who lived by senses most sentients never learned to trust.

"You and I perceive the galaxy differently from others," she said softly. "Perhaps that is why the Force saw fit to bring our steps together now. Whatever lies ahead… we will navigate it by more than sight."

Sage rose, giving a tiny, eager sound as he padded toward the direction of their gate.

Jairdain took a measured breath. "Shall we walk?"

She waited—not for guidance, but for the shared rhythm between two blind Jedi to naturally align—before moving in step beside him, the currents of the Force opening a path neither of them needed eyes to follow.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

Her presence was different then others. He rarely interacted with other miraluka or blind force users not from avoidance but from... well some were just not that interesting or insightful. He had learned over the centuries the loudest proclaiming wisdom usually had the least useful to share. The jedi master walked as his hands clasped behind his back for a moment. There were his sabers on his hips, in special clips for the pants he had. The protective material flowing into the hardened boots but they stepped quietly even for his large size. THe jedi master would have raised an eyebrow but he was walking with her. The path going somewhere as he wondered what one seeks.. he rarely met just because.

"All paths fork and divide. With each step one takes through life Lady Trio, you make a choice; and every choice determines future paths. However, at the end of ones lifetime of walking you might look back and see only one path stretching out behind you; or look ahead, and see only darkness." He said it with a look but continue. Not with words but with his movement to remain with her here until she spoke more. Her talk about seeing the world the galaxy in similar ways was interesting. "As you say." He was curious and debated it. She didn't have the scent of a miraluka.. they usually overdid it in places to mask whatever phantom scents they were perceiving.

He was using his movement to send out resonating force in his booted and silent steps. Guiding and directing him as he could feel and see the world around him through the force. "Sadly for some there are few who have seen the galaxy as I have... mostly. There were some who came from it but they slept while I was alive to watch it all and learn."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain could feel him—truly feel him—far more clearly than she could have ever seen another person. His steps were nearly silent despite his size, but their force-signature resonated through the floor and the air alike, each movement creating a pressure change she had learned to read as easily as breath. Syn walked like a man who had long ago mastered the art of moving without disturbance, yet his awareness was expansive, reaching outward in echoing waves. Through the Force, she sensed the countless layers of discipline built across a lifetime far longer than hers.

His presence brushed against hers with a kind of ancient gravity… not oppressive, but dense, weighted with centuries of observation and choices that left imprints like old scars on star charts. Jairdain felt none of the dull arrogance she had met in some elders of the Order—those who mistook years for wisdom. Syn's wisdom was something earned, sharpened, tempered.

In many ways, his presence moved like a blade still in its sheath.

Sage padded close to her boot, the fox's body warm against her ankle as he walked between the two Jedi, catching the tension-currents and harmonizing them with simple animal ease. Jairdain reached down briefly, her fingers brushing Sage's back in a grounding gesture before lifting again.

Syn's words flowed through the Force as much as through sound, each one carrying a sense of lived truth rather than practiced doctrine. All paths fork and divide… She felt the echo of his reflection, the way he wasn't offering her a lecture, but a glimpse of his inner landscape—half memory, half philosophy.

"You speak as one who has walked many lifetimes of paths," Jairdain replied softly. Her voice carried the warmth of someone genuinely listening, not merely waiting to speak. "And someone who has learned to feel the shape of them even when sight—and certainty—are absent."

She let her own steps synchronize with his, the rhythm unforced. She never matched her pace to anyone lightly, but with him it felt natural, as though the Force had already chosen the cadence for them.

"You say some see only darkness when they look ahead," she murmured, a thoughtful tilt of her head giving him the full of her attention, "but darkness is not emptiness. It is potential waiting. A field unlit, where the next choice has not yet been made."

She felt him consider her words—not through expression, but through the subtle tightening of his aura, the way his awareness narrowed with interest rather than dismissal. Her smile was faint but genuine.

"I am not Miraluka," she offered, answering a curiosity he had not voiced but had certainly felt. "Nor do I sense the world exactly as they do. Some think blindness is a uniform state… but even in the Force, each of us sees differently."

Her hand brushed lightly along the railing as they walked, not for navigation, but for the texture of the moment—the grounding sensation of metal warmed by hundreds of passing hands.

"You have seen the galaxy in ways few have," she continued, echoing his earlier admission. "You speak of sleepers… and I wonder whether you walked among eras that feel distant even to me. It is no small thing to watch the galaxy change and remain standing when others fade."

She turned her head slightly toward him, her awareness settling on him with quiet clarity.

"But even one who has witnessed ages can benefit from a meeting guided by the Force. If our paths have converged now—after so long shaped separately—then there is meaning in it."

Sage gave a soft chuff and nudged lightly at Syn's boot with his nose, as if punctuating her words with something simpler, more instinctive.

Jairdain's posture remained relaxed, steady.

"What is it," she asked gently, "that the galaxy has shown you, Syn, that still stirs questions in one who has seen so much?"

And she let the space between them widen—not in distance, but in invitation.
A calm, open field for him to step into if he wished.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

"More then some but less then one might think." He said it as he listened to her and walked. Guiding his path with the force but there was more to that as he allowed the force sight to alter and shift.. she could sense the small things detection was important for a miraluka and it was overlooked in some cases. He did think about her question though as he spoke with a small nod of his head. "Sometimes memories are the only barrier between what we were and nothingness." He said it and looked outwards from where he was. his feet moving soundlessly but also sure enough. "If we cannot recall our past, we cannot ground ourselves in the present, which means we fail to instruct or grow."

He thought about it and there was a lot to it then that.. he rarely talked about his own past with people. "My memory shows my past, reveals my present self, and helps me calculate the shadows of tomorrow." He remained there though with only a small chuckle to himself. "From my long life, I know that memories are simply beacons in the perpetual dark." She wasn't wrong, the darkness ahead was not nothing it was always something but the unknown and the future weren't great to look into to far. "A child, scarcely formed, arrived before me at one of the temples." He was speaking and the memory was there. "Her future, so much greater than her young self, was the only reason I did not dismiss her then."

THat had a small look though whe he thought back on it and Iella was well she had been something certainly. "Her mind was raw and hungry for knowledge a fertile ground for the force. Which allowed the teaching to help her out." He said it while moving more with some interest. "THen she went on to refound the silver jedi and give a place for many others. Best memories I have even in my long life... a lot of it will only be worth so much. Seeing old friends grow and perish. Watching time eat away at theirr children will eventually cause much to be there."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

She could feel the way he walked through the world.

Not just the confidence of a practiced Master, but the particular texture of his awareness. Each sound, each shift of air, each subtle vibration in the floor became a point in a vast, silent map he was constantly reading. His Force-sight moved differently than her own—sharper at the edges, almost granular in the way it brushed over small details. Detection, he'd said, was important for a Miraluka, and she could sense how deeply that principle was woven into him. Where her perception flowed in broader strokes, his moved with the precision of someone who'd spent lifetimes refusing to be surprised by a hostile galaxy.

His words about memory settled into her with a slow, steady weight.

"Beacons in the perpetual dark," she repeated quietly, tasting the shape of the phrase. "I think… I understand that more than I would like."

Their steps carried them along the terminal corridor, the hum of the spaceport rolling around them—announcements, luggage repulsors, distant engines cycling. But the Force wrapped them in a quieter sphere, one defined more by lived experience than physical surroundings.

"I have not lived as long as you," she said, and there was no envy in it, only acknowledgment. "But I know what it is to lean on memory so I do not disappear into what has been taken from me. Faces, voices, small moments of laughter in places that no longer exist… sometimes those are the only things that keep the present from feeling hollow."

Sage trotted between them, occasionally bumping lightly against her ankle, then his boot, as if stitching the space between them together with small, physical confirmations that they were here, now, alive and in motion.

"You are right," Jairdain went on, her voice soft but clear, "that if we cannot recall our past, we cannot ground ourselves, and we cannot teach. The young don't just need our knowledge—they need our mistakes. The times we were wrong. The times we almost turned away from the light and didn't. Without those memories, they would inherit only ideals, not tools."

His mention of the child at the temple—unformed, underestimated, then rising to reshape an entire Order—stirred a faint, genuine smile from her.

"I know that kind of memory too," she said. "The ones where you almost dismissed someone, or doubted them, and the Force quietly insisted, look again." Her tone warmed. "Those are some of the brightest lights, aren't they? When you get to watch someone step into a future bigger than any of your first impressions."

The echo of Iella's legacy — the Silver Jedi, the lives sheltered and shaped under that banner—she could feel the mix of pride and inevitable grief beneath his words. Old friends growing, perishing. Time eating away at their children. That was a seeing she doubted she would ever fully know, but she respected it deeply.

"There is a cost to remembering so much," she acknowledged gently. "Most beings are never asked to hold as many endings as you have. I imagine there are days when it must feel less like beacons and more like… a sky of stars you can never quite reach."

She walked in silence for a few breaths, letting the Force carry her sincerity toward him.

"But I would argue this," Jairdain added, turning her attention fully to him in the way only another blind Force user could. "If memories are beacons in the dark, then you—you yourself—are a kind of lighthouse. You've watched storms come and go, watched ships break and others make it through. And you're still here. Still watching. Still willing to speak to someone you've never met because the Force nudged you into it."

There was quiet respect in her words that followed.

"That is not nothing, Master Syn. That is not 'less than one might think.' That is a lifetime—or several—of refusing to vanish."

Sage gave a small, approving chuff at precisely the wrong moment, as if punctuating her seriousness with something stubbornly alive. Jairdain's lips curved.

"You said memories help you calculate the shadows of tomorrow," she finished softly. "Then perhaps, if you are willing, we can compare notes. Your centuries and my shorter, messier span. I would like to hear more of what you've seen… and what, after all this time, you still wonder about."

She did not push. She walked beside him, their steps in quiet sync, offering him the one thing someone that old rarely got:

A space to be known by someone who understood darkness
—yet never once mistook it for emptiness.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

"Things I have seen." He said it while moving and it went around in his mouth as he debated it. "That could be a long list or a short list depending on how you take it. Endings for many I have known would fill the sky." She did have a small chuckle with that. "I have seen my brothers and sisters killed, dying some in pain, some from infighting. I saw jedi fall at my hand, raiding their temples as we pulled their thrones from the walls." He said it while thinking back and there was a lot. "ANd that is all before I was sixteen to give an idea. There has been a lot more that few others would understand. Even less I have met can think it over. The past for them is something in stone where there wasn't things moving in the shadows or also going on. They see heroes as heroes and use their names as a means to almost invoke power. The others all slept and use the time as a means to show they know pain or suffrage. It can be amusing."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

His words unfolded with a gravity she felt more than she heard—like stone tablets being set into place one by one, each etched with memories too heavy for most beings to carry. There was no boast in his tone, no drama, no attempt to shock her. Only truth. Raw, unvarnished truth formed over centuries. She felt it ripple through her senses: the calm acceptance of someone who had lived through enough endings to know they were no longer worth flinching at.

She walked beside him in silence for a few breaths, letting the Force absorb the echoes rather than letting them fall unconsidered into the air. Sage padded quietly between them, the small fox's instinctive caution rising briefly before softening. Even he sensed that Syn spoke not from cruelty, but from history.

"You speak of things most beings cannot begin to imagine," Jairdain said softly at last, her voice steady, not shaken. "Not because they lack intelligence… but because their lives have been too short to hold that many endings."

She tilted her head slightly toward him, sensing the hard edges in his presence—not sharp, but weathered, like stone shaped by wind over centuries.

"You have seen the kind of violence that becomes myth for the rest of the galaxy," she continued. "Wars that become murals. Fallen Jedi who become names in dusty archives. Victories and atrocities that younger generations distort until they barely resemble what truly happened."

Her steps remained slow, deliberate, matching his ancient cadence.

"And you are right—many cling to the past as though it is a fixed tale carved into stone. They forget that while they recite those legends, others like you were living the shadows between the lines."

His comment about raiding Jedi temples, killing before he was sixteen, would have unsettled many. Jairdain did not move away from it.

"We all come from somewhere," she said, calm but deeply sincere. "Some find the light early. Some find it late. Some are forged in war before they ever learn what peace even feels like."

Her hand brushed lightly along the wall as they walked—texture grounding, pressure subtle, her Force-sense tracing Syn's emotional landscape with solemn respect.

"I do not fear what you have done," she said plainly. "Nor do I judge it. The Force shapes each path differently. What matters is not the blood your hands once carried… but the choices you make with them now."

Sage paused, glancing up at Syn with small, curious chirrups, as if sensing the depth beneath his words.

"You've outlived the people who would have understood your earliest memories," she observed gently. "You've watched Orders rise and fall, children of legendary Jedi grow old, entire philosophies burn out and bloom again. I imagine that kind of perspective is lonely—especially when others treat the past like a storybook rather than a battlefield."

She angled her face toward him, meeting his presence with quiet clarity.

"But here is the truth, Syn: I want to understand. Not the sanitized version… but the real one. If you choose to share what you have seen, I will listen. Not as a judge, not as a historian, but as one who knows what it is to see the galaxy through darkness and still walk forward."

Her final words were warm—gentle but firm.

"You have survived more endings than most will ever know. And still you walk. That alone tells me more about you than any archive ever could."

She gave a faint smile as Sage leaned against her leg again.

"Come. Share what you choose. I am here."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

She was different it reminded him of talking to ones like Feena or Sky. An impressive feat as he rarely met ones who could talk and make it interesting. Sera maybe but others usually altered the intentions to fit whatever it was they wanted or needed to be the center. He kept moving forward though as he debated what to speak of. "It is a rarity, there are few who like talking let alone asking for such things." His memories remained as he thought about it and only a few things came to mind.. well a lot but pertinent to the conversation or of something that could be of interest. He had seen a couple. "There are things still unknown to many and for the rare few there are still beings like me, which is what I must go after. Not many have a choice but their instincts are considered powerful and dangerous. The few who I have met though match the power of me except Iella... a warrior through and through until the end."

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

There was a shift in him as he spoke—small, almost imperceptible to anyone sighted, but to her it was as clear as a turn in the wind. A firmer grounding in the past. A reaching back along threads of memory woven so tightly into his identity that the names alone carried entire histories.

Feena.
Sky.
Sera.
Iella.

She did not know these names. But she felt the reverence, the loss, and the truth behind each one.

"You speak of them with great weight," she said softly, her voice a quiet breeze moving through the underbranches. "And of yourself with far less. It is the way of the old, I think. The wiser someone becomes, the more they speak of others as extraordinary, and themselves as merely present."

Sage circled her ankles, sensing the gravity in Syn's tone, his small body brushing both their legs before darting forward a few paces.

Jairdain continued at her usual steady pace, her feet guided by the Force through dips and knots in the forest floor.

"There is no shame in rarity," she said. "No shame in being one of the few the galaxy does not quite know how to categorize. Power is never the danger on its own—it is how one chooses to wield it. Instinct is only destructive when untethered."

Syn's presence shifted again—like stone acknowledging the truth in softer soil.

"You say there are still beings like you," she murmured. "Beings shaped by ages, by instincts older than the Jedi Order, by choices made in eras that most beings only read about." Her head turned slightly toward him. "And that you must go after one."

She felt the subtle tightening in the Force around him—resolve, not aggression.

"You seek them because they are dangerous?" she asked gently. "Or because they are alone?"

A beat of silence. Not a void—simply space for the thought to breathe.

"Iella," she echoed quietly, tasting the name as he had spoken it. "A warrior. One who stood with strength matching yours, perhaps surpassing it in her own ways."

Jairdain's voice softened even more, carrying the weight of compassion she offered only to a very few.

"Those we call warriors leave their marks in us long after they fall. Their echoes shape our choices long after they are gone. It is not a weakness to remember them, Syn. It is acknowledgment."

They walked on, the forest whispering around them, the air shifting with the presence of distant predators—yet none approached.

"You have walked further and longer than most," she said. "Seen more than most. Survived more than most. And still you choose to walk with others. That is not a small thing."

Her hand lifted, brushing the back of her knuckles lightly against his forearm—not intrusive, simply present.

"If there is a being you must seek," she said, "then I will walk with you as far as the Force allows. Not as someone who can match your strength… but as someone who can steady the path when instincts run too deep."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"You do not have to face the unknown alone—not today."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

"Iella did a great many things but I am am not certain who would have been stronger if it came down to it. Well maybe experience and refinement would have won out. Sustaining a fight wears down the rest." He said it but the mention of a mark got him to chuckle. "Oh she left quite a few, she had a fire few could argue with and it was what made her such a good grandmaster and eventual mother. More so it was an impressive task she set herself out to do." He said it and thought about many things that they had done, fought battles and there was the dangerous situations they had been in... but also the hopeful ones. "She surprised me many more times then I had though." He said it though with a look. "I don't seek, shadows serve. Unless the council deems it I merely travel where needed." Largely true he only sought when he was sanctioned to go after observatories. THey still housed so many dangerous elements from a time well before.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

His tone changed when he spoke of Iella—subtle, but unmistakable to her. The faint, warm current beneath the words. The way his presence expanded, as though recalling someone who had filled the galaxy simply by standing in it. Jairdain listened with the kind of stillness only one without sight could offer, letting the Force carry the shapes of his memories into her awareness like distant echoes warming the air.

"She must have been remarkable," she murmured, the words barely more than breath. "A fire strong enough to stand beside your own is no small thing."

There was affection there—not romantic, but reverent—the affection one warrior reserves for another warrior who changed the shape of his path. Jairdain smiled softly as he spoke of her fire, her competence, her role as both Grandmaster and mother.

"You speak of her with both pride and respect," she said gently. "Those are the marks that matter. Not scars or victories—but the ways someone reshapes us without intending to."

The forest around them rustled with shifting life—creatures moving through the canopy, distant predatory calls carried on the heavy air. Jairdain felt no fear in it. Instead, she let the wildness weave around his story, grounding it in the living world as they walked.

When Syn mentioned he did not seek unless commanded, something in her expression softened—almost indulgent, like she had heard a truth he had not meant to give.

"You say you do not seek," she said quietly, "but that is not entirely so."

She turned her head toward him, her face angled toward him with a precision born of years of blind perception.

"You travel where needed, yes, where danger unsettles the balance, where old powers stir. Where shadows refuse to rest." Her voice warmed. "But that is not the path of someone who merely follows orders. That is the path of someone the Force itself calls forward."

Sage trotted between them again, pausing to sniff the air before bounding ahead, tail flicking like a small green flame. Even the fox sensed the weight of the conversation and the solidity of the bond forming between them.

"I do not believe shadows serve you," she continued, a hint of quiet amusement threading her words. "I believe you serve the light that must sometimes pass through shadow to do its work."

She walked a few more steps before speaking again, with a tone that was gentle but firm.

"And if the Council sends you after old observatories… ancient wounds… remnants of forgotten eras… it is because very few can bear that burden without being swallowed by it. You move among those ghosts without letting them claim you."

Her hand brushed lightly against the back of his arm again—never intrusive, always measured.

"You are not simply sent, Syn. You are chosen. And that is the rarest path of all."

She smiled, warmth threading through her voice like a quiet sunrise.

"And I am grateful to walk even a small part of that path beside you now."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

He looked at her for a moment. "Astute partially, I can go places others can't but a shadow is very different then most think. Most follow the remnants of the covenant. Code names, assassinations, the means justifying the end. THey treat it like any other place within the order... and forget that the shadows were hunters of the darkside even among the jedi. Sanctioning and sending one out meant all other options had been expended." He said it while still moving and allowing the force to guide his steps as the shadow robes he wore gleamed in the force when he ran a hand to reveal them. Several suppressors on it.

I tell those who come to the temple of Omean trying to be a shadow as if it is a lesson. It is a mindset, a mentality... "Did you ever notice how in the holocrons, when ever the council needed to handle the darkside, or make a sith lords disappear, or whenever they needed a display of power, they sent a shadow? Did you ever wonder what a jedi like that must be like? A whole existence spent absolutely serving the light of the force, but always with one hand dipped in blood. Would you ever really want to see a jedi shadow?"" He said it while looking at the woman with a look as if asking her the same question but also relaying the lesson he would give.

"I asked Iella that and she told me she would. Which is how we came to first change things. Our first encounter was one thing but Valen secured many things in both of our minds and it was only two months into her training. She wanted to not only see it... she wanted to see all of it and understand why the shadows serve when they have more power then most others. It is only their own self restraint that protects the order as most of them are paranoid and kept inn a temple away from the rest of the order." He said it while moving and then stopped to look into the force as heextended his senses out over the city.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain walked beside him in steady silence, letting his words sink into the space between them like roots pressing gently into soil. There was a depth in the way he spoke of the Shadows — not as feared legends whispered across the Order, nor as the cold instruments of necessity that the holocrons often reduced them to, but as living beings forged for a purpose so heavy that even the Light hesitated to look directly at it. She felt the shift in the Force when he revealed the layers of his robes, the subtle thrum of the suppressors rippling through the air. Where others might have recoiled, she leaned into understanding, letting the truth of him open like a long-sealed archive.

"I have noticed," she said softly, her voice low and steady, shaped by patience rather than naivety. "And I have understood more than most. People imagine the Shadows as faceless blades or quiet monsters, but the reality is far more solemn. The Order calls you only when all other doors have closed. When the Light cannot reach a place unless someone carries it into the dark by hand." She moved with the sure-footed grace that came not from sight but from sensing every shift of breath and living thing around them. "You are not sent because the Council desires the end. You are sent because everyone else has already failed to find another way."

Her face turned toward him, blind eyes precise in their focus, as though she saw him far more clearly than ordinary sight would allow. "I know the Covenant echoes," she continued. "The code names, the sanctioned endings, the quiet missions buried beneath layers of secrecy. Those who mistaken the Shadows for assassins never understood the truth. What you carry is not power—it is burden. The willingness to act where others turn away."

She lifted a hand, letting it brush the edge of his presence through the Force, the gesture subtle but sure. "I trained in the Shadows as well," she said, her voice warming with a quiet honesty. "Not with your years. Not with your breadth of history. But enough to know the weight. Enough to understand the silence expected of us. The restraint. The way you must act where others cannot, yet carry the blame alone so that they do not have to understand what it cost." Her jaw tilted with soft conviction. "I do not fear what you have done. I know what it means to do it."

They continued forward, the forest's pulse shifting around them in a rhythm that felt ancient and aware. She sensed the way his attention extended outward toward the distant city, a careful sweep honed by centuries of vigilance. She matched his pace, letting the tension and stillness of the moment settle naturally around them.

"When I was young," Jairdain murmured, "I heard the same stories. Shadows spoken of as nightmares to frighten Padawans or saviors who operated beyond comprehension. But none of those stories spoke of the person beneath the mission. The heart. The choices." A breath escaped her, soft as moss. "And then I walked that path myself. And I learned the truth."

Her voice deepened, threaded with something steady and unshakeable. "It is not the kills that define a Shadow. It is the willingness to refuse darkness even when surrounded by it. It is the act of holding a line no one else will acknowledge exists. It is carrying the Light into a place that was never meant to hold it." She shifted slightly, turning toward the warmth of his presence with quiet certainty. "That is why the Council trusted you. Not because you were the strongest… but because you did not let what you faced consume you."

Sage trotted ahead, pausing just long enough to glance back, his small green form a flicker of bravery against the ancient forest. Jairdain's voice softened, rich with meaning. "You ask if I would want to see a true Jedi Shadow," she said. "Truly see them. Not the myth. Not the monster. The person."

She angled her face toward him again.
"I already have. I see him now."

A long, deep silence followed — not empty, but full, like the space between heartbeats before truth settles. She stepped a little closer, her shoulder brushing his arm with familiarity born not of boldness but of understanding.

"You say Shadows are kept apart," she continued gently. "Hidden. Isolated so the Order does not have to face what their existence truly means." She exhaled — calm, empathetic, unwavering. "But even Shadows deserve to be witnessed. To be understood. To be reminded that they are not defined by the blood they spill, but by the choices that prevent far more from being spilled."

Her next words came with quiet certainty, a foundation beneath all the others.

"So let me say what you never ask aloud: even those who walk darkest paths do not have to walk alone." Her blind eyes lifted toward him, though she relied entirely on the Force to understand his presence. "I am here, Syn. Not to judge your past. Not to shadow your mission. But to remind you that you are still part of the Light you protect. You do not have to bear its weight without company."

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

An interesting sentiment and he gave a bow of his head in respect while he was moving. She was more introspective then he knew which was a good thing. He preferred the surface in some cases and the deeper meaning came with the action. He had worked on it but training himself while he moved. "It is something good to hear, in so much as a jedi shouldn't want the praise. There is always something to be said about knowing your efforts have done something." He chuckled for a moment though as he reached out with the force and didn't need to extend his limbs. "Though this world is ripe with the scents and presence of those who any common sentinel would be able to make a difference with. Most I doubt one would even need to bring out their blade."He said it and there was something fun to be had almost in being able to help in the smaller ways. The shadows did a lot but when one wasn't doing the duties you needed something to occupy yourself.. and arguing with Alema was not entirely the best thing. The ship won because he didn't know the coordinates where they were going or direction until he got there.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain inclined her head at his bow, the gesture mirrored not through sight but through the intuitive pull of his presence. His respect was deliberate, but not performative; a Shadow's courtesy was always a measured thing, given only when earned. She accepted it with a quiet dip of her chin, her steps steady as the forest's hum filled the air between them like a low, ancient chant. Something was soothing in the cadence of his words — the way he moved from depth to practicality, philosophy to simple action, as if both were strands of the same weave. She found herself appreciating that balance more than she expected.

"It is good to know one's actions matter," she agreed softly, her voice low and even, carrying a warmth that never overstepped. "Not for praise. But for grounding." A gentle breath escaped her. "Too many Shadows were taught to discard the idea that their work should mean anything to themselves, as though service is only pure when it is hollow. But purpose is a living thing. It sustains us, even quietly."

He reached out into the Force without moving a single limb, and she felt the ripple of it — a clean, efficient sweep that only someone of his training would perform so casually. His awareness brushed across lives, scents, and reflections of fear and hope woven into the city's pulse. She sensed the same undercurrent as he described it: beings who did not need a blade to be set right. Troubles that required a steady hand or a calm voice more than the razor edge of a saber.

Jairdain let her lips soften into a smile. "You are right," she said. "A common sentinel would find more than enough to keep busy here." Her tone warmed, carrying the faintest thread of amusement. "A lost child. A frightened traveler. A thief who steals because he has no other way to live. Most wounds of the galaxy do not require force or strategy to mend. Only presence."

She walked a little closer, letting Sage trot between them like a quiet guide. His tiny paws left prints in the soft soil, his tail flicking each time the Force stirred with a new sound or subtle shift. Jairdain's hand hovered near him for a moment before returning to her side.

"And for Shadows," she continued, "those smaller acts are more vital than most realize. They remind us that we are still part of the world we protect — not separate from it. Not tools placed in storage until needed." Her voice lowered, carrying the truth of her own training, her own scars. "Too many of our kind forget the small kindnesses when the great burdens weigh too heavily."

Syn's mention of helping in small ways drew another quiet smile from her — gentle, genuine, a little wry.

"There is value in it," she said. "In listening to the ordinary. In repairing what is simple. Even in arguing with stubborn ship minds, from what I gather." The faintest thread of humor colored her tone, soft as a breeze through far leaves. "We all need ways to remain human — or whatever our species' closest equivalent may be."

She paused, tilting her head as the Force shifted, letting its current carry through her awareness. Something subtle stirred at the edges of her perception, a tremor beneath stone, beneath motion.

"You are right," she murmured, her voice softening into something more contemplative. "This world is full of moments where compassion, not combat, can set things right. But it is also full of currents that flow deeper than most can sense."

She turned her blind eyes toward him, lifted slightly as though searching his presence for confirmation.

"And I suspect you feel that as clearly as I do."

The path ahead whispered — not with danger yet, but with the promise of something stirring beneath the surface.

Syn

 

[Syn]

Jairdain Ismet-Thio

Syn listened without rushing her words, letting them settle into him the way dust does after a long walk. Jairdain spoke of presence and small kindnesses, of purpose as something living rather than ornamental, and he found no fault in it. If anything, the Force around her carried the same steady weight as her voice. Not declarative. Not seeking approval. Simply true. He inclined his head slightly, not quite a bow, more an acknowledgment of shared ground. "Purpose that cannot be felt will wither," he agreed quietly. "Even service needs roots." For a few steps more, he allowed the calm to hold. The city breathed. The distant pulse hummed beneath it. For a moment, it would have been easy to let the conversation continue in that gentle spiral, insight answering insight, neither of them needing to press.

Then the Force shifted. Not sharply. Not violently. It tugged, subtle as a thread caught on a sleeve. Syn slowed, his steps faltering by half a pace as his attention slid sideways, away from Jairdain and into the deeper current beneath the world's surface. What he touched there was not danger, not yet. It was imbalance. A knot of fear braided tightly with resolve, moving rather than rooted. His expression changed almost imperceptibly. "That," he said, softly, more to the space than to her, "Is not settling on its own." He turned slightly from the path, orienting toward the sensation as one might toward a distant sound. The presence he sensed was mundane at a glance, a single life pressed thin by circumstance, but the pressure around it was building. A decision forming. One that would tip cleanly into harm if left to run its course.

Syn reached into the Force again, not to interfere, only to trace. The thread led away from stillness, toward motion and narrowing choices. "This is one of those moments you spoke of," he continued, his tone even, grounded. "Where presence matters more than spectacle." A pause, brief but deliberate. "But it will not wait for us to finish agreeing." He took a step off the path, committing to a direction without hurry or drama. "I intend to interrupt it," he said. Not as a command. Not as an assumption. Simply a statement of intent. "Before it becomes something that requires more than a steady voice." He said it but he allowed the force to breath. He rarely had to release the limiters and this didn't seem like such an instance... this was jusst a time when the presence of two jedi could do wonders.

 

[Jairdain Ismet-Thio]

Jairdain felt the shift at nearly the exact moment he did—not as a spike or rupture, but as a subtle tightening in the weave of things. A hesitation where there should have been flow. A breath held too long. She slowed as Syn did, her steps easing to a near stop, attention turning inward and outward at once as the Force painted the contours of the imbalance he had named.

"Yes," she said softly, not in surprise, but in recognition. "It is not rooted. It is moving because it believes it must."

Fear carried motion with it—fear and resolve intertwined so tightly they could no longer tell which was driving. She felt the narrowing of choices he described, the way the future bent toward harm not through malice, but through momentum. These were the moments she trusted least to time and most to presence.

When Syn stepped off the path, she did not hesitate.

Her pace matched his, unhurried but certain, the kind of movement that neither chased nor retreated. She did not reach outward with forceful intent, did not probe or press. Instead, she allowed her awareness to broaden, softening the edges of the moment simply by being there, by letting the Force breathe around her rather than tighten further.

"You are right," she said as they moved. "This is not a moment for display. Nor for restraint that becomes absence."

She angled her head slightly toward the direction he had chosen, feeling the life there—not broken yet, not lost, but strained. Held at the edge of a choice that felt inevitable only because no one had yet stood close enough to change its shape.

"I will walk with you," she continued, her voice calm and certain. "Two steady presences can widen a narrowing path. Sometimes that is all it takes to remind someone they are not cornered."

There was no reaching for weapons, no preparation for violence in her posture. Only readiness. Only attention.

"And if words are enough," she added quietly, "we will use them. If silence is needed, we will give that instead."

Her steps remained light, grounded, deliberate—scholar-monk rather than guardian-at-arms. The Force around her settled into a quieter rhythm as she moved, not erasing the imbalance, but easing the pressure that fed it.

"Lead," she said, trusting his sense of direction. "I am here."

And together, without urgency or delay, they went to meet the moment before it could harden into something worse.

Syn