Countess of Corellia
Xander Blackmoore
OUTFIT: --
WEAPONS: 1 Lightsaber on the nightstand
To die in dirt is an insult.
To die surrounded by puddles of dirty water and what was likely the rotting reek of stale bacta slurry is an absurdity.
Velda had felt the cold creeping in on Thyferra. She had felt the darkness narrowing down to a needlepoint, and in that suffocating dark, her mind had done what trapped minds do: it processed. It weighed, it cataloged.
She had given him a rule on Eliad, forged in absolute will: You do not get to kill me. It was not a boast. It was not performative arrogance. And as far as Velda was concerned, it was a structural fact of the universe.
It was simply not going to happen. Because she would not give Brandyn the satisfaction.
Not on Thyferra.
Then the dark shattered.
Her eyes opened, followed immediately by air. Real air. Cool, dry, filtered, carrying the faint aroma of fresh ocean salt.
This was not Thyferra. And it was not her yacht.
Roon..
The scene of her new estate greeted her gaze.
In the primary suite, no construction echoes carried over from the unfinished wings down the hall; the room was entirely, flawlessly quiet.
And immediately after awakening the Force returned.
It did not trickle back; it slammed into her nervous system like a high-voltage current. Every nerve ending lit up. The room expanded around her—the smoothness of the marble, the micro-vibrations of the foundation, the pulse of everything living nearby.
And the ever-familiar, undeniable presence of someone dearly important. The man who knew all too well how she felt; she did not need to speak it for him to know.
Xander. . .
She turned her head slowly, her neck muscles stiff. Her robes and the armor underneath had been taken off, and she was wearing her typical black tunic underneath and pants. He stood beside the bed, watchful, patient.
She glanced at the nightstand.
Only one lightsaber rested there, just one. The twin was gone.
A slow, cold breath filled her lungs. It must have been Brandyn’s work. Xander was too precise, too meticulous to leave her weapon behind.
Velda swung her legs over the edge of the bedframe.
Slowly, she stood up, letting her weight settle into her heels, while letting the Force coil back into her until she was entirely her own again.
She stared at Xander. Her gaze presented itself softly, yet quietly intense, and a little smoldering as she watched him.
She closed the step between them.
And she sank into his embrace and hugged him tight.
She spoke, her voice soft, yet entirely alive.
“You came for me....”