D a u g h t e r o f A s h y r a
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The terrace outside the Lightspire Station offered quiet in contrast to the echoes of the hall behind them. The low murmur of the ceremony — the laughter of younglings, the soft clatter of footsteps, the distant ringing of ceremonial bells — filtered through the open space, but here the wind carried it away, leaving room for presence and thought. Anneliese stood a short distance from the edge, her posture relaxed yet poised, fiery curls brushing against her shoulders, emerald eyes reflecting the light of the setting twin suns.
She gestured toward the expanse before them. "The station can be overwhelming at first," she said softly, letting the breeze shift slightly, tugging at her cloak. "Here, at least, you can hear yourself think… and listen to the Force without distraction."
Her gaze lifted to meet his, calm, steady. There was no urgency, only the quiet gravity of attention. "Padawan Larsen, tell me — when you reach for the Force, what are you seeking? Guidance? Strength? Understanding?"
She inclined her head slightly, curious but measured, letting the question settle in the space between them. "What do you see for yourself? Where do you hope this path leads you? And… what do you think the Force wants from you?"
Her hands folded loosely in front of her, and she shifted her weight, ever so slightly, as though mirroring the subtle ebb and flow of the Force itself. "There is no judgment here, no right or wrong answer," she added quietly. "I want to understand you — your intentions, your perspective, your readiness to step into the responsibilities you will face."
She let a small pause linger, letting the hum of the distant ceremony underscore the weight of the questions, then tilted her head, emerald eyes softening. "And tell me, Padawan Larsen… what does it mean to serve the Order, in your view? Not as a lesson you've been told, but as one you feel, deep in your own connection to the Force?"
Her voice was steady, patient, gentle, yet it carried an unspoken expectation — not to test him, but to see if he could meet presence with presence, insight with reflection.
The terrace seemed to breathe around them, the cityscape stretching beyond the station, the fading light of the twin suns casting long, golden streaks across the ground. Here, in the quiet between ceremony and wind, a potential path was opening — and she was watching carefully, not to push him, but to see if he would step forward willingly.