Private Steps in the Mist

[Xian Xiao]

The shuttle's engines died with a soft sigh as it touched down on the leveled stone of the cliffside courtyard. Salt-laden mist drifted across the slabs, curling around crates and sparse markers that indicated the landing zone. Xian stepped onto the cold surface, the scent of seaweed and ocean spray filling her lungs. The waves lapped rhythmically against the scattered islands below, a muted percussion that seemed to echo the ache in her chest.

Bastion was behind her, its ordered streets and familiar hums replaced by a horizon that stretched endlessly, broken only by cliffs and scattered foliage. Here, there were no crowds, no ceremonies, no expectations—only space to breathe, to remember, to grieve.

She let her travel pack fall from her shoulders, moving through the courtyard with the careful, fluid grace she had always cultivated. Yet the rhythm of her movements faltered under the weight of loss. Caelan… the king who had made her feel wanted, cherished, alive—gone. The thought pressed against her chest, relentless.


Xian closed her eyes, letting the wind tug at her hair and the salt air sting her skin. She had come here to find solitude, to allow herself the grief she had kept in check. And already, the planet seemed to offer it: vast, empty, and unjudging.

A gull cried somewhere in the distance. She drew a shaky breath, grounding herself in the present. Nothing could bring him back—only the slow passage of time and the rhythms of this new world.

The subtle shift in the air, a presence brushing past the edge of her senses, hinted at a lone traveler moving across the courtyard. She stayed still, letting them come to her.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

From the shadow of a wind-worn arch, Veyran watched her. The sea mist clung to the dark folds of his cloak, scattering light in thin veils that drifted between them. He didn't move closer there was no need. The sight of her alone was enough to pull the faintest curl of amusement across his lips.

Xian's stillness spoke volumes. Every motion every deliberate breath belonged to someone fighting to keep their composure. Veyran tilted his head slightly, studying the tremor of her shoulders as she inhaled the cold air. The ocean's rhythm behind her matched the pulse of something deeper grief, yes, but also defiance.

"Running from ghosts....aren't we all" he murmured under his breath, tone threaded with wry humor. The words weren't meant for her to hear, though the wind nearly carried them across the courtyard. He could help but smile, seeing someone in pain always brought a sort of smile this face. Veyran basked in despair though. Chaos and death....

He leaned against the crumbling stone, arms folding loosely as his eyes lingered on her silhouette against the gray horizon. There was something quietly captivating in her solitude something that almost stirred sympathy. Almost. But mostly, it amused him to see someone so controlled standing at the mercy of the storm, trying to command silence from a world that had already taken too much.

A gull wheeled overhead, its cry sharp against the crash of the surf. Veyran's smile deepened. He would wait. Let her feel alone a little longer. There was always a certain poetry in watching someone wrestle their pain before they realized they were not the only soul left on the cliff.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's eyes lingered on the gray horizon, the wind tugging at her cloak as if testing her resolve. Her shoulders trembled slightly, but she held herself upright, every movement measured, every breath deliberate. The grief for Caelan pressed against her chest, heavy and constant, yet she refused to let it show too plainly.

Her voice was quiet, carrying just above the crash of the waves. "Ghosts catch up… whether you run or stand," she murmured, tone steady but edged with sorrow. "Some linger longer than they should."

She didn't look back, but her awareness of the shadowed figure in the arch was keen. It didn't matter—she wasn't here to perform for anyone. "I've learned… even in loss, you keep moving. Even when the storm feels endless, you keep moving."

The gull cried overhead, sharp against the surf, and Xian drew in a measured breath, letting the sea's roar fill the spaces grief could not yet claim. She would stand alone, as she always had, allowing her pain to temper her strength rather than weaken it.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's faint smile widened, a curl of satisfaction cutting through the gray wind. So she had sensed him after all. He hadn't spoken a word, hadn't shifted from his post in the shadows but of course she would feel him.

He pushed away from the arch's worn stone and stepped into the mist, boots sounding softly against the wet stone. "And yet." he called out, voice low and smooth, "You came to a place even ghosts would hesitate to tread."

His tone wasn't unkind only laced with that amused, knowing drawl that made his words half challenge, half observation. The sea wind caught the edges of his cloak as he approached, stopping short of her shoulder. "You talk of storms and endurance, but tell me..." He glanced toward the horizon where the clouds pressed low, "Do you ever let yourself stop moving? Or would stillness make the ache too real?"

 

[Xian Xiao]

Her eyes lifted from the gray horizon, letting them drift toward him for a brief moment, enough to acknowledge his presence without yielding an inch of her composure. The wind tugged at her cloak, tossing strands of hair across her face, but she remained upright, steady, her body tense with the weight of loss she carried like armor. The grief for Caelan pressed against her chest, familiar and relentless, yet she had learned long ago that the world would not wait, and neither would she. She had faced storms far harsher than this one, endured trials that left scars no one else could see, and survived almost entirely on her own.

"I'm not moving now," she said, voice quiet but firm, edged with the precision of someone who had relied solely on herself for far too long. "Stillness… it doesn't weaken me. It reminds me."

Her gaze met his briefly, sharp and measured, carrying the clarity of a person who had endured the void and learned to stand alone. I've survived by my own hand; this ache isn't going to bend me. I've carried every step, every burden, and I will carry this too.

She let the words hang in the misty air, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with the wind. "The ache is mine, and I endure it. Standing here, feeling it… is the only way I know to keep moving forward when everything else has fallen away."

Her eyes returned to the horizon, tracing the line where sea met sky, the gray waves crashing relentlessly against the stone. The solitude was familiar, almost comforting, a reminder that even in grief she was unbroken, and even in stillness she was moving forward.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's shadow lengthened as he moved from the archway, the gray mist curling around his form like smoke from a dying flame. The sea wind carried the scent of brine and storm, threading through the silence between them. His expression was unreadable something between understanding and a darker sort of curiosity as he came to stand just close enough for his voice to reach her without effort.

"Reminds you…" he echoed softly, almost tasting the word. "Yes. I suppose that's one way to survive it." His eyes flicked toward the horizon, where the waves broke endlessly against the stone. "Pain is an anchor, after all. It keeps you from drifting too far from what you've lost."

He took another step closer, his tone lowering, steady and quiet yet there was an edge beneath it, something sharp and deliberate. "But anchors drown people too. You hold it long enough, and eventually it drags you under. Perhaps that's what you want."

For a moment, his gaze softened not kind, but understanding in its own unsettling way. He knew that kind of grief. The kind that carved into you so deeply it almost felt like faith. "You tell yourself endurance makes you strong," He said, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his mouth, "But strength and surrender aren't so different when you've nothing left to fight for."

The wind shifted again, tugging at his cloak, revealing the faint glint of metal beneath. He tilted his head, studying her with quiet fascination. "You endure." he murmured. "But tell me how long before the ache becomes the only thing keeping you alive?"

He turned his eyes back to the sea, his smile thinning to something that wasn't quite amusement, nor pity. "The tide doesn't care what it takes. It only remembers who stands long enough to be claimed."

 

[Xian Xiao]

---

Xian drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the wind tore across the cliffside, carrying the sharp tang of sea spray and the relentless roar of waves hammering against jagged rocks below. Her black eyes tracked the horizon, dark and unreadable, reflecting the restless motion of the tides that mirrored the turmoil inside her.

When they shifted to him, she felt a pull she hadn't expected — a mixture of unease and… acknowledgment. His presence was steady, anchored in a way that contrasted sharply with the storm within her. There was danger in him, yes, but also an odd gravity that made her pulse settle, even as her thoughts remained guarded. She couldn't decide if it unnerved her or gave her some fleeting sense of calm.

"How should I know how long my mourning will take?" she murmured, voice low, almost swallowed by the wind, yet deliberate enough to carry. "Grief isn't something you measure. Sometimes it swells, sometimes it crashes over you before you're ready. Anchors don't always hold; sometimes they slip, break… leave you exposed to currents you cannot fight."

Her fingers flexed against the coarse fabric of her cloak, grounding herself in the moment. The Force whispered around her, faint and steady, like a quiet pulse beneath her skin — a reminder that she was never truly alone, even in the darkest depths of loss.

She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, black eyes sharp and assessing, noting the ease with which he occupied space, the subtle command in his stance. It stirred something she wasn't ready to name: respect, wariness, curiosity. Acknowledgment that he existed in a way that the storm around them couldn't touch.


"This grief…" she said softly, letting the words hang between them, "it's for someone who loved me… someone I started loving in return. They're gone, and the absence still weighs." She didn't name the person; the detail wasn't his to know. "If strength and surrender meet when there's nothing left… I suppose I'm still learning where I belong in that. I endure because I must, not because I've decided which is which. This storm, this grief… it shapes me, but it doesn't define me."

Her eyes swept the horizon again, then back to him, a flicker of quiet resolve in the depths of her gaze. She wasn't moving from the storm. She wasn't running from the pain. She would face it — anchored in herself, in the Force, and on her own terms.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's expression was carved from shadow and salt. The sea wind lashed his cloak about his frame, but his stance remained unwavering, predatory in its stillness. When he looked at her, there was no pity only a kind of grim understanding shaped by too much familiarity with pain. His voice came low, measured, almost gentle, yet beneath that quiet cadence ran a darker current, something that hummed with danger and truth.

"Grief doesn't measure." he agreed, eyes glinting faintly as lightning far off split the clouds. "But it molds. It decides what remains once it's done hollowing you out." He stepped closer, the distance between them closing until the mist blurred at their feet. "You say you endure because you must. That's what I told myself once. Until I realized endurance can be a slow form of surrender—one that fools you into thinking you're still alive."

His gaze searched her face, not unkind, but cutting in its precision. "You've already made your choice. You just don't see it yet. You let it shape you." He tilted his head slightly. "There's power in that. Pain sharpens. Grief purifies. It strips away the pretense until all that's left is what you truly are."

The wind howled across the cliffside, tearing at the silence that followed. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a murmur that carried just above the surf. "But be careful what you build in the hollow it leaves behind. Love taken from you leaves a wound that never fully heals… only changes shape. The danger isn't in breaking it's in what you become after you stop pretending you haven't."

He straightened, stepping back toward the edge of the courtyard where mist swallowed the line between earth and sea. "If this storm is yours." he said, his tone darkly calm, "Then claim it. Let it tear you apart if it must but make certain that when it passes, you're the one left standing. Not the ghost."

 

[Xian Xiao]

The air was thick with salt and sorrow. Xian stood still against the pull of the wind, her dark hair whipping about her face, her cloak snapping against her legs. She didn't flinch from the cold or the spray that stung her cheeks; she welcomed it. Every drop was proof that she was still here—that life persisted, even as the ache inside her felt endless.


"I don't know how long this mourning will last," she said at last, voice low, carried across the stones more by the Force than by sound. "How can anyone know? It isn't a choice…it just is." Her gaze turned toward the roiling horizon where thunder cracked and lightning clawed at the clouds. "Grief bothers me. That's why I'm here, to face it. To deal with it. Not to run from it."

The wind surged, bending to her presence in faint, instinctive ripples of the Force. The air grew heavy, charged, as though the storm itself was listening. Her fingers flexed at her sides, brushing through a swirl of mist that rose like living smoke. Lightning flared again, close enough that its flash painted her in pale, electric light—her eyes two dark, steady pools in its wake. Yet she didn't shape the storm; she let it mirror her, wild and restless, her grief made manifest.

"You say endurance can be surrender," she murmured, words nearly swallowed by the surf. "But I've endured every day since he was gone. And still, I'm here. Still standing. That's not surrender." She drew in a breath that trembled only slightly, grounding herself in it. "Maybe it's strength. Maybe it's just stubbornness. But it's mine."

She looked to him then, her expression neither defiant nor soft—simply open in its honesty. The sight of him standing against the storm, cloak whipping about him, stirred something she hadn't expected. There was power in him, yes—but something else, too. Familiarity. A reflection of the same ache she carried, shaped into steel instead of silence. She didn't mean to reach out in the Force, but it brushed against him nonetheless: a whisper of warmth through the cold, an echo of pain and resilience that was unmistakably her.

"I won't pretend I haven't been hurt," she said quietly. "And I won't pretend I'm not afraid of what I might become. But I am here. I am still me. And if this storm is mine…" Her hand lifted slightly, palm open toward the sea as thunder rolled across the cliffs. "…then I'll claim it. Not as a ghost, not hollow—but as myself. Even with all of it inside me, I'll stand."

When Veyran stepped back toward the edge of the courtyard, the storm seemed to shift around them both. The mist thickened, swirling in slow spirals that closed the distance she refused to let widen. Xian moved forward, each step unhurried but certain, her presence brushing his like a steady current beneath the chaos. The lightning flashed again, illuminating the faint line of tension between them—grief recognizing grief, power drawn toward power, a pull neither of them had sought.

For a moment, the wind stilled just enough to carry the sound of her breath between them, soft but sure. The storm hadn't broken her yet—and he could feel it.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

"Still you stand." he said, voice low, threaded with the growl of distant thunder. "And yet… the ones who stand too long in storms forget what stillness feels like." He tilted his head, eyes reflecting the lightning's pale fire. "They become the tempest instead."

The air between them vibrated with the Force hers raw, steady, born of pain and purpose; his coiled and sinuous, restrained power humming beneath the surface like a predator's breath. He felt her reach out, unintentional, honest, for a heartbeat, before he closed that connection.

"You've made your grief your weapon. You've bled into the storm until it knows your name." His tone softened, though the words carried a dark weight. "But beware. Power born of loss always demands payment. One day, the storm you command will ask what you're willing to give to keep it."

Lightning burst across the horizon again, painting his features in stark relief—sharp, intent, almost reverent. "You think you're still yourself." he went on quietly, "But the sea… it changes all who speak to it long enough. You'll either learn to master its hunger…" His eyes flicked toward hers, "…or you'll feed it. Just like I do..."

For a breath, his expression fractured an echo of empathy, almost human. "I've seen what it does." he said, voice lower still, as though confessing something meant for no one else. "How it twists pain into purpose until you forget why you ever fought to feel whole again. But you…" He exhaled, a faint smile curling. "You wear it well. You let it serve you. That's rare."

He turned his gaze toward the sea, the storm's reflection shimmering faintly in his eyes. "So claim it, then." he said, his voice resonant, carrying through the mist like a vow. "Make the storm your witness. Let the sea know your name."

The wind surged again, catching his cloak as he stepped back toward the edge of the cliff. His presence lingered in the Force—a ripple of shadow and intent. "But remember." he added, almost in a whisper, "The ones who stare too long into the tempest rarely come back unchanged."

Then, as lightning cracked overhead, his form blurred against the mist neither retreating nor vanishing entirely, only merging with the storm that had always seemed to answer him.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's black eyes stayed fixed on him, tracing the sharp angles of his face in the brief flashes of lightning. The wind tugged at her brown cloak, the muted earth tones of her tunic and leggings visible where the fabric shifted, the spray stinging her cheeks, but she didn't flinch. She let it remind her she was alive—that the storm wasn't just outside, it was inside her too, a reflection of the ache she carried.

A flash of lightning framed her silhouette, wind tugging at her hair and the edges of her cloak, sending it billowing like a living shadow against the waves. She extended her hands subtly toward the sky, and the storm seemed to respond—the rain veering in twisting arcs, the mist curling like fingers, swirling around her form without touching, bending to the edges of her will. Slowly, carefully, she wove a strand of energy into the mist that clung to him, teasing it aside, pulling it back just enough to reveal his form.

As his figure emerged from the shifting gray, she took a deliberate step closer, each motion measured, deliberate, her cloak whipping around her legs in loose, flowing arcs that echoed the tempest itself. Lightning caught in her hair and eyes, highlighting the sharp edge of challenge she carried in her gaze. Her voice, low but cutting through the roar of wind, carried the weight of her resolve—and the subtle dare woven beneath it.

"I'll claim it," she whispered, letting the storm's motion accentuate her words, "and let the storm know my name… Xian." The syllable hung in the air like a spark, both declaration and invitation, daring him to meet her strength.

Almost instantly, the storm responded to the invisible clash of wills between them. Rain whipped sideways in jagged sheets, gusts bending sharply against their bodies. Mist curled into spirals that twisted toward him, only to ripple back when he subtly pushed against it with his own presence. Lightning arced unpredictably across the sky, each strike seeming to mark the tug-of-war between her elemental command and the dark thread of his Force.

For a heartbeat, she felt it—the subtle, coiling pull of his presence in the Force, dark and compelling, threading through the storm like shadowed lightning. It pressed against her own natural rhythm, probing, teasing, a temptation she resisted with careful focus. Then, almost imperceptibly, the storm flared—waves of wind and rain bending sharply outward as if the sky itself recognized the contest. The mist around him shivered, parting to reveal his outline, only to curl back toward her when she strengthened her hold.

Yet, just enough of the storm receded, a subtle yielding in the spray and wind, leaving a small, visible path between them. It was a hint, a silent invitation for him to step closer, to respond to her challenge without her fully closing the space. The storm still obeyed her, but for the briefest of moments, she allowed a crack of vulnerability, letting the wind soften slightly around him while keeping her presence dominant.

Xian tightened her concentration, letting her grief and defiance anchor her. The storm bent sharply back to her will, the wind responding with brighter, sharper arcs, the mist spiraling in obedience to her intent. Their presences collided visibly in the environment now—a silent duel of wills made manifest in the storm's fury, the air thick with charged tension, the sea below churning in resonance.

Her gaze softened fractionally as she studied him, fascination and wariness intertwined, the storm echoing the tension that bridged them. Despite herself, she felt drawn to the quiet power he exuded, the weight of the tempest reflecting his presence in a way that tugged at her very being.

With another step, she drew nearer, stance steady, breathing measured against the fury of wind and sea. "Tell me… what is your name?" she asked, her tone calm but edged with challenge, carrying both curiosity and the quiet gravity of someone who had endured much, yet still demanded to meet strength with strength. The storm responded, bending and curling around her hands and cloak, lightning snapping in the distance as if punctuating her words, the invisible clash of their wills leaving the very air between them thick and alive—but now with a small, deliberate space for him to step into, a test as much as an invitation.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran did not move when the storm bent to her will. The wind howled and the rain lashed against the cliffs, but he stood at its heart as though the fury itself bowed to him. The faintest curve of his lips emerged, dark amusement flickering in the cold gray light that danced across his features.

When she spoke her name, the sound hung in the air like a challenge, sharp and luminous. Xian. It rolled from her tongue like a vow, and for a moment, even the thunder seemed to hush. Veyran's eyes gleamed beneath his hood, the faint silver of lightning reflecting in their depths. "So the storm has a name" he murmured, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "I wondered when it would speak for itself."


He stepped forward, each motion deliberate, unhurried, and predatory. The mist shivered as he passed through it, curling along the edges of his cloak like smoke drawn to flame. "You call it yours. You wield it as if it bends to your will. But storms are never tamed, Xian. They simply find vessels strong enough to carry their rage."


Lightning flared behind him, casting his face into stark relief sharp lines, eyes like cold fire, the faint shadow of a smile that carried no warmth. "You think this grief defines you? No." he said quietly. "It feeds you. It hollowed you out so something greater could take its place. Look at you—breathing in thunder, bleeding defiance. Tell me that isn't what you were always meant to become."

The Force pulsed faintly between them, a low, thrumming current that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of the sea. His presence pressed against hers dark, commanding, impossible to ignore. "You reach for the sky as though it listens. But it's not the sky that stirs for you. It's the abyss. It recognizes you."

Rain struck the stone at their feet, turning to steam where the tension of their power collided. The storm seemed alive now caught between them, torn by two opposing wills, neither yielding. Veyran's voice slipped through the chaos like a whisper that didn't need to rise above it. "You think you claim the storm, but look closer, Xian… the storm claims you."


He circled her slowly, his gaze tracing the shimmer of power that rippled through her presence the way her grief had become a weapon, how her pain pulsed through the currents of the Force like a song only he could hear. "That's what fascinates me," he said, tone lowering to something almost reverent. "You endure, you suffer, and still you stand. But you don't see it yet—the line between defiance and surrender. Between survival and transformation. Between Jedi…" He paused, lips curling slightly. "…and something else entirely."


He stopped beside her, close enough that the heat of her presence brushed his like static. His hand lifted slightly, fingertips grazing the edge of the mist that still swirled between them. "You ask my name." he murmured. "Names are power. Dangerous things to share, especially with someone who commands the sea to listen."

The wind surged again, whipping around them in a spiral of mist and rain. He leaned closer, his voice low, almost intimate against the roar of the storm. "But since you've given yours, I'll give you mine." A small, dangerous smile cut through the shadow of his hood. "Veyran. The name whispered in the dark when storms break things they were never meant to touch."


The air between them trembled as if the storm itself shuddered at the sound. "Now tell me, Xian," he said, gaze locking with hers, sharp and unflinching. "When the world falls quiet again—when the waves stop, and the wind dies—what will you be when the storm no longer needs you?"

Lightning struck the sea beyond them, the flash illuminating the curve of his smirk, the dark promise in his voice. "Because I promise you this… storms always return for what belongs to them."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's black eyes bore into him, unflinching against the fury of the storm. She could feel it. His presence was a coiling shadow pressing through the Force like a living thing. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous. She reminded herself with every fiber of her being: she was no Jedi.

"I am Xian," she declared, voice cutting through the wind, steady and unyielding. "I am no Jedi. I follow no Orders. I answer only to myself."


The name he offered hung in the air like a challenge: Veyran. She repeated it quietly, tasting it, measuring it, but she did not falter. The darkness clung to him, suffocating, compelling, and yet she did not retreat. Still, his words lingered, brushing against truths she had never spoken aloud. The storm, the abyss, the suggestion that power could be born from grief and defiance—they resonated in a way that made her pulse quicken. Uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. And yet…not entirely untrue.

Her hands hovered in the mist, acknowledging the storm without claiming it. "I ride the wind. I heed its voice. But I bend to no storm, no shadow, no one."

She closed her eyes, the rain pelting her face, letting the Force hum faintly beneath her skin. Awareness, not obedience. Not submission. A thread tugged at her, teasing the possibility that her strength could be more than instinct, more than survival.

When she opened them again, black as the storm-choked sky, she spoke with deliberate certainty: "When the storm falls quiet, I will still stand. Not for it. Not for you, Veyran. For myself."

The wind surged and the lightning flared, and for a moment, the storm itself seemed to acknowledge two wills: one bending, one unclaimed. And a dangerous truth whispered at the edges of her mind—perhaps the darkness he spoke of was not entirely false.

Veyran Solis