Private The Keeper and the Thief

[Paila Dalle]

The evenings on Aruza arrived without urgency. There were no crowded skylanes beyond the windows. No distant hum of city traffic. No endless stream of messages demanding attention. The world settled gradually into twilight, painting the rolling fields beyond the homestead in soft shades of gold and violet as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Paila preferred it that way.

The small house sat alone atop a gentle rise overlooking several kilometers of open countryside. Weathered stone formed its lower walls while wood and transparisteel completed the upper structure, built long ago by hands that had cared more for comfort than appearance. Time had left its marks in places, but the house remained sturdy. Familiar. Home.

The scent of stew still lingered warmly throughout the kitchen. A pot rested cooling atop the stove after hours of slow simmering, filling the room with the aroma of root vegetables, herbs, and broth gathered from local markets during her last trip into town.

Nearby, a small utility droid trundled past the doorway carrying a watering can nearly half its size. One of it's manipulators squeaked faintly as it carefully tipped water into a row of potted plants lining the windowsill.

Paila glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch the little machine overcompensating and dribbling water across the floor. "You missed."

The droid emitted an indignant whistle. A moment later it rotated it's dome in what could only be interpreted as stubborn disagreement before continuing its rounds.

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of Paila's mouth. Some things never changed. She turned back toward the sink. Warm water flowed over her hands as she began washing the evening dishes. One bowl. Two plates. A wooden spoon stained by hours of cooking. Nothing complicated. The rhythm was familiar. Comfortingly so.

Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the grasses surrounding the property. Somewhere beyond the house, nocturnal insects had begun their nightly chorus. Their distant songs drifted through an open window alongside the cool evening air.

For a time there was only the simple sound of running water and clinking dishes. The house had once felt larger. Not physically. Just fuller. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the empty chair beside the dining table. The chair remained exactly where it had always stood. She had never moved it. Not because she expected anyone to return and sit there. But because some absences became woven into a place so completely that removing their shape felt stranger than leaving it behind. The thought came and went without bitterness. Only memory. A quiet acknowledgment of a life once shared beneath this roof.

Outside, the last traces of sunlight faded from the fields. Inside, the little droid proudly finished watering the final plant before turning toward Paila and chirping what sounded suspiciously like a request for praise.

Paila dried her hands with a nearby towel and regarded the machine thoughtfully. "You spilled water on the floor."

The droid chirped again.

"Twice."

Another chirp. A longer one this time.

Paila sighed softly. "Fine. You did well."

The droid immediately straightened with unmistakable satisfaction.

For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, there was nowhere she needed to be. No mystery waiting to be unraveled. No philosophy to debate. Only a quiet home on a quiet world beneath the evening sky. And for now, that was enough.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Aurelian has never been the man to leave anything to subordinates, delegation was a sign of influence for some, for others a sign of laziness, of complacency. He was fighting, organizing, commanding, planning and communicating everything. He could, he still would of the tasks priority required it, but the Galaxy had changed. By now, he leaves a lot of the administrative and logistical to the more dedicated figures such as Augustus, to have a direct, even though smaller, impact on various affairs.

He flew the Vehemence himself, the dark hulled shuttle breaking through the dusk painted sky and rushing in controlled descent towards the surface of Aruza. He was a stern, austere individual and yet he appreciated the beauty, the solemn simplicity of the world he visited for the first time.

With his informants embedding themselves in all Imperial remnants and this world being sparsely populated, it was not too difficult to find where the Holocron had gone to. It did not require the expert hunter and investigator he was to trace and locate its whereabouts.

And so the clearly imperial designed shuttle rushed across the evening sky and above a gentle hill with a home atop, before turning into a landing maneuver that allowed it to set down a few hundred meters away from the peaceful cottage.

Aurelian exited the shuttle with long steps, not hesitating in his step as he marched towards the building. A figure clad in a black armor, it's plates polished and adorned with golden trim. A long tabard and cape flowed from his figure in deep red, a knightly, even kingly appearance. Atop his head sat a helmet with a golden Laurel wreath, red wings and the lenses emanating a gentle blue hue. From the belt hung a longsword, his hand resting on the pommel, relaxed as he climbed the incline.

What or who awaited him here he did not know. His mind was commonly set to be ready for combat and despite the almost idyllic environment, Aurelian saw his presence as duty.

As he closed in the house, the Zakuulan wondered if his approach had been noticed or if he was chasing a ghost. The armoured figure did not make an attempt to use the door and simply started circling the house . . . .

 

[Paila Dalle]

The little utility droid was halfway through mopping up it's earlier watering accident when it abruptly froze. It's dome rotated toward the window. A confused chirp followed. Then another.

Paila looked up from the dish she was drying. The droid rarely concerned itself with anything beyond plants, spilled water, and opportunities for praise. Whatever had captured it's attention was unusual enough to warrant investigation. She set the towel aside and crossed toward the nearest window.

The evening light had faded considerably now, painting the countryside in muted shades of blue and gold. Beyond the glass, the fields rolled peacefully toward the horizon. And sitting several hundred meters away upon the hillside was a shuttle.

Paila stared at it for a moment. "Well..."

The droid emitted a nervous whistle.

"Yes," she agreed. "That is somewhat larger than your usual problems."

Outside, a dark-armored figure was making a slow circuit around the house. Not approaching the door. Not calling out. But observing.

The behavior drew a faint crease to her brow. Most visitors knocked. Hunters hid. This man appeared to be doing neither. Interesting. She moved toward the front door, pausing only long enough to slip on a weathered jacket hanging beside the entrance. Her staff remained where it rested near the hearth. For now.

The door opened with a quiet hiss. Cool evening air swept inside carrying the scent of grass and distant soil. Paila stepped onto the porch. She did not raise her voice. The world was quiet enough that she didn't need to. "If you're planning to continue circling the house," she called conversationally toward the armored stranger, "you should know that the view improves considerably from the front." A silent beat passed. Then, with the same calm tone one might use when addressing a neighbor who had wandered onto the property: "Most people also introduce themselves before conducting inspections."

Behind her, the little droid rolled into the doorway and emitted what sounded suspiciously like a supportive chirp.

Paila ignored it. Mostly. Her attention remained fixed upon the stranger. Waiting to discover whether he had come as a guest. Or something else.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Neither his eyes nor his scanners picked something up, neither shields nor traps or any form of defensive measures. This was all things considered a simple, mere homestead. Very curious. And telling. It was either ignorance or confidence that prompted such careless preparation. For a brief moment he also considered the alternative of serenity, a Jedi's foolery, but it was interrupted by the opening of the door.

Aurelian turned the helmet gaze towards the emerging woman. There was no change in his composure, he remained the majestic statue given life, just now his gaze locked on the other organic, like a targeting laser.

A heartbeat passed.

Now the Zakuulan turned fully towards the woman in the doorway, his mind automatically switched to evaluating and measuring the figure he had in front of himself. How large of a threat was she? Her words once more interrupted him in his usual behavior.

"My name is Aurelian and I have come for the Holocron. Hand it over and shall avoid a confrontation."

The voice echoed like a royal proclamation, final, absolute but his voice lacked pomp or obvious arrogance. It was calm, measured and yet supremely confident.

He blinked away the analysis of the droid as he awaited her reaction. Was his care to check the perimeter a precaution or did something hold his more direct approach back?

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him without interruption. Not to the words alone, but to the certainty behind them. It was a familiar shape. Not the request itself, but the way it was delivered; clean, structured, and already decided. A conclusion presented as though the conversation had already happened elsewhere and she had simply been invited to comply with it.

The wind moved lightly across the porch, carrying the scent of grass and cooling earth from the fields beyond. Somewhere behind her, the little droid emitted a quiet, uncertain whistle and then wisely stopped as if reconsidering its participation in events.

Paila did not look back. Her attention remained on the armored figure. Aurelian. The name settled into her mind without recognition, but also without surprise. There were always names attached to objects like this. Always people who believed possession could be resolved through clarity of intent alone. She adjusted her stance slightly in the doorway. Not defensive. Nor relaxed either. Simply present.

“You speak as though the holocron is already in your hand,” she said at last, her tone even, almost conversational. A faint pause followed as her gaze moved briefly over his armor; not admiring, nor intimidated. Assessing in the way one might assess weather before deciding whether to travel. “That is usually the point where people explain why they believe they are entitled to it,” she added gently.

The words hand it over lingered in the air between them, uncomplicated and absolute. Paila considered it for a moment, as though testing its weight. Then she gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I am afraid it is not something that can be handed over on request.” Her voice remained calm, but something subtle had shifted beneath it. It was not hostility, nor defiance, but a quiet settling; like a door that had already decided where it would and would not open.

Behind her, the house remained still. Warm light spilling faintly through the doorway. The smell of stew lingering in the air like an anchor to ordinary life.

Paila glanced briefly toward the distant shuttle on the hillside, then back to him. “If you have come all this way for certainty,” she continued, “you may leave disappointed. And if you have come expecting obedience, you will leave without it.”

She did not reach for her staff. She did not step back inside. Instead, she simply waited, as if the next part of the conversation depended entirely on whether he understood the difference between asking and assuming.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Resistance. He had expected as much, even though her exterior did not speak of hostility, he was acutely aware of the potential for a fight. One he did not desire at this time, but also he had no interest to waste time to explain his motives to a stranger with little prospects of either understanding or even agreeing with him.

Not on request. What else did this woman desire? Plea? Demand? Exchange? What was her motivation to keep it? Study? Protection? Personal? He could not see it nor would he sense it. The Force was as untrustworthy as ganger on Nar Shaddaa.

Instead Aurelian made slow paces towards her, he stride calm. Every step accompanied by the clanking of his splendid plate armour. There was no shift in his exterior, no tensing and no attempt to actively intimidate other than with his approaching presence. The Zakuulan chose his next words deliberately, not caring for her previous denial and judgement.

"The only enemy I intend to make here, is with the ones who wish to use the holocron, who believe it has a reason to exist, who value its knowledge. Unless you are one of such kind, I now ask you to hand it over, so it can be annihilated."

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him without interruption, though her attention subtly shifted in a way that suggested she was weighing not just his words, but the shape of his certainty. It was not the first time someone had arrived with a conclusion already formed. That part was almost expected. What stood out more was the consistency of it; the way he framed destruction not as preference, but as a necessity. As if the question had already been resolved somewhere beyond this moment; and she had simply been informed of the outcome.

The evening breeze moved through the porch again, carrying the last warmth of the day from the fields beyond. Paila exhaled slowly, then finally spoke. “You are very certain,” she said, not as an agreement or disagreement, but merely as observation. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the distant hillside where the shuttle rested, then returned to him. “And I suspect that if I handed it over to you, you would believe that you were correct in what followed. That is usually the point where people stop listening.”

Her posture eased slightly, not into surrender, but into something more deliberate. A decision made; just not the one he was pressing for. “I cannot hand it over,” she said plainly. “Not because I refuse you. But because it is not here to be handed over.” Her words were calm, steady. “And because I do not believe destruction is as simple as intention.”

For a moment, she studied him as one might study a problem that has arrived at the wrong door. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped back and opened the door a little wider. Warm light spilled across the threshold, along with the scent of stew still simmering inside. The droid behind her emitted a cautious, uncertain chirp, as if unsure whether hospitality applied to armored strangers with demands for annihilation. “You can come in,” Paila said after a beat. “There is stew. And I would like to understand why you think something must be destroyed so absolutely that you would cross the galaxy to do it.” There was no trap in her tone. No bait. Only curiosity that was both quiet and persistent. As if the holocron itself was not the only thing worth examining here.

Behind her, the house remained still and ordinary. A small pocket of life untouched by the scale of his intent. And Paila waited, as though inviting him inside was simply another form of listening.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund