Light
"Not now…" he muttered under his breath, feeling the faint tremor in the controls as if the vessel were gasping for air. Mygeeto's frozen sphere loomed beneath him, shrouded in jagged storms of glittering ice that caught the light of its distant sun. He didn't need a readout to know how inhospitable the world was—its very presence in the Force was brittle and cold, full of echoes of ancient battles and buried greed.
He guided the failing ship down through the haze, angling toward a narrow stretch of broken terrain between the crystalline spires. The hull groaned as atmospheric drag took hold, sparks tracing along the viewport as the ship fought gravity's pull. Aiden reached into the Force, steadying his breath, feeling the ship as an extension of himself. Not resisting—just guiding, easing it down.
The landing was rough. The repulsorlifts coughed once, twice, and died entirely, leaving the freighter to crunch down onto a bed of frost and shattered crystal. Silence followed. Steam coiled from the vents, hissing softly in the cold.
For a long moment, Aiden sat still. The only sound was the faint ping of cooling metal. His reflection stared back from the frost-rimmed viewport, calm, but weary. Bastion had not been easy. Nor had what he'd seen there.
He unclipped his harness, rose, and reached for his cloak. The ramp opened to a wall of icy wind that bit through fabric and breath alike. Snow swept across a wasteland of fractured glass and pale blue mist. Yet even here, beneath the layers of cold and the distant hum of long-dead machinery, he could feel life. Faint. Hidden. Flickering at the edges.
He took a slow step forward, boots crunching on the frost. The Force stirred, an echo, a presence. Not darkness, not fully, but something. Watching.
Aiden exhaled, his breath a thin mist before him.
"Guess we won't be alone after all." he murmured, drawing his hood up as the wind howled around him.