Private The Threads of Fate

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

Location – Shiraya's Sanctuary, Training Course
Objectives – Connect with the members of Shiraya’s Order
Tags – Aiden Porte
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

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The morning dew clung to the grasses at Shiraya's Sanctuary, forcing its bountiful paths to be traversed with the utmost care. The sun had barely risen over the mountaineous region, casting only a hazy light upon the training course near the structure. The days she had spent here had been flooded with early morning training and deep contemplation to prod the lingering dark within her heart. Malora sought ways to balance her emotions, to not let the fear swell when her hand lay on her lightsaber. Her thoughts were interrupted as the training remote launched another blastershot at her without warning, in an instant the wide golden blade shot out of the emitter and she blocked it before it could graze her armour. The bolt darted off elsewhere before landing in a nearby cliff and dissipating. It was her cue to continue with her training and not stand around mindlessly pondering on what ifs and what nots. So, the first step was made across the scattered ridges, the Force humming in soft melodies, aiding her in where to step as the remote attempted to hit her with its various bolts. The blade swooshed around elegantly, guided in harmony with Soresu techniques to shield herself.

Her steps were akin to a coordinated dance, moving with grace over the various natural obstacles whilst keeping her mind on defending herself. With that as the sole objective, Malora evaded her fear of wielding such a threatening weapon. For even the slightest glimmer of darkness would force the Solari crystal reject her command and turn off. She must remain in tune with Ashla's chorus at all times. A task oft more demanding than one may tell it to be.

The high-pitched shriek of her deflecting blasterfire danced through the terrain, ricocheting off its stones and echoing beneath the calls of peko-peko's flying in flocks over the sanctuary. For a moment, the morning seemed serene... harmonious... too good to be true. Then that prediction unfolded as the remote shifted, spinning wildly out of control, its erratic movement (and firing) making it near impossible for the Pantoran to hold her defense. Her composure cracked as the fear started to tear it apart, and then her lightsaber sputtered, the emitter turning on and off before vanishing.

"Kriffing--!" Malora let slip as she thrust out her hand. The Force drawn to her call, its song dancing around her command akin to how a conductor may lead the orchestra. The droid froze, its metal components beginning to crack under the evergrowing pressure, and shattered soon after, erased without a second thought. Only when it dropped down the ridge did she realise the err of her way. "Oh why must I be afflicted by this madness..." Her hands found her face, dropping the lightsaber hilt, it fell right next to her foot, lingering just on the edge. The Shirayan Jedi Code echoed in her mind, a fragile mantra to still the lingering conflict within...

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[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
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From a distance, he caught sight of Malora’s blade, a golden arc flashing in rhythm with the remote’s bolts, each deflection ringing sharply against the quiet morning. Her form was strong, but he could see it: the tension in her shoulders, the way her movements carried a shadow of hesitation. The Solari crystal demanded purity of spirit; he could almost feel its strain as it flickered.

When the remote spun out of control and her saber sputtered, Aiden’s breath caught. The next moment, the Force itself surged from her outstretched hand, crushing the droid until it shattered against the ridge. The cry of metal carried long through the cliffs. Then silence.

He stepped closer, his boots brushing against wet grass, his gaze steady though gentle. Malora’s hands hid her face, her saber hilt lying discarded by her foot. Aiden reached down, picking the weapon up before the edge of the cliff claimed it, and held it carefully in both palms.

“Fear is a patient adversary,” he said quietly, standing before her. “It waits until we falter, until we think ourselves alone. But you are not alone here.”

He extended the hilt toward her, his expression neither judging nor indulgent, but calm. The Force swirled with the aftershocks of her outburst, yet he let it flow past him, anchoring himself in that steady center.

“Come,” he added, a faint trace of warmth beneath his words. “Walk with me. We’ll steady your breath together before you return to the course. Strength isn’t measured by never stumbling, Malora, it’s in how you rise after.”

The dawn pressed a soft gold over the mountains then, the rising light cutting through mist and shadow alike.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

Location – Shiraya's Sanctuary, Training Course
Objectives – ...
Tags – Aiden Porte
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

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The foreign code whispered in her mind, offering comfort though its words were veiled in oblivion. Life. Balance. Faith. Charming concepts in theory, yet they posed shallow, incapable of granting the guidance she sought. Discordant chords forged the only song of the Force she could hear. Ashla's harmonies were but a phantom, a former presence, whereas Bogan's chorus loudened, attempting to breach entry. Malora did not deem herself weak enough to yield to its call, yet the fear of giving in still gnawed at her thoughts. An unspoken presence ever lingering in the back of her mind.

Whilst she felt stranded and alone amid the tempest, a warm light cut through the obscurity. Against her will, the most grateful of smiles pressed through her composure, a vulnerability of the highest order. "Porte." The name slipped from her indigo lips, while her mind unfolded the hints of malice that had severed their first meeting. Her hands left her face as she hastily sought to feign composure, hesitantly drawing her weapon back to her hand and attaching it to the clip on her belt. A single, shaky, breath steadied her, as she straightened, drawing a feeble mask over the mark of shame.

"Fear is the mark of impurity, a plague that gnaws at us piece by piece." The words of her master lay heavy on her tongue. It was neither the most refined nor the most Jedi-like counsel, yet its severity had etched itself upon her mind since her rebellious youth. "Refuse to cut it out, and it will fester until you fall." The memory carried from her lips, while her golden eyes trailed over her peer, assessing his appearance and stance. Aiden still bore himself as a warrior rather than a consular, though Malora did not doubt the same afflictions (had) shadowed him as well.

A humorless, brittle chuckle blessed her lips, a frail attempt at levity and evasion. "Dare I say, it came close to making me fall." The remark carried the cadence of levity, as her hand gestured towards the cliffside. With grace, she turned from the edge, her chin lifting as she offered him a nod. "A walk would be preferable... indeed."

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