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

​

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...

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

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

​

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."

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden studied her in silence at first, letting her words spill into the cool air between them. He could feel the storm beneath her composure, each phrase heavy with a memory not yet healed, each laugh brittle and sharp at the edges. The Force stirred uneasily around her, like wind rushing through a cracked door, tugging her in two directions at once.

Her smile, fleeting as it was, had not escaped him. Nor had the way her saber shook in her grasp before she clipped it back to her belt. The act of steadying herself was there, but so too was the tremor beneath it.

He fell into step beside her as she turned from the cliff, their boots pressing against damp grass that whispered with each movement. His hands folded loosely behind his back, his bearing calm, though a soldier's vigilance still marked his stride.

"You did not fall," he continued, glancing her way, his tone more certain this time. "You stumbled. The difference matters. A fall is surrender. A stumble…" his gaze softened, "…is an invitation to rise again, and with more strength than before."

The path wound downward into a shaded grove, dew dripping like tiny jewels from the leaves overhead. He let the quiet linger for a moment, broken only by the call of distant birds. Then he added, low and even, "You are not alone in this. Whatever shadows you carry, they do not diminish you, Malora. They are only part of the path you walk, and we will walk it with you, if you allow it."

His words did not strive to console with easy light, nor to bind her with doctrine, but to offer the steadying hand of presence. A promise, simple and unadorned, carried in the rhythm of his voice.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

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

​

The morning air was cold still, her breath leaving her in faint clouds of vapors as their boots pressed through the slippery paths of grass and dirt. Once the path altered and its cliffs were replaced by dewy forestry, her hands clasped together in front of her, ever moving even in the most unnoticeable of ways--She was deep in contemplation, about more than she'd confess to. For once, the mere idea that she had slipped, stumbled, it all tasted vilely upon her tongue. 'Twas at best slander, for how could a Jedi, how could a Varis not excel at what they do? So when her lips opened once more, she did not shy away from her displeasure, for now.

"I did not fall, I did not stumble. It was a slight mishap, as if one cannot deal with that alone anymore..." Whereas once fluent lies escaped her, only hesitant deflections were uttered now.

Unable to keep up with her unraveling mind, Malora halted, her white boots lightly sinking in the mud as another heavy breath left her--as if were laden with the burdens of a dozen individuals. Yet the mere façade that all was well, that all remained perfect, was indeed that challenging to her. After a moment, Aiden's other words registered in her mind as she straightened up, trying to appear well and composed. "Your words are kind, and that is not even something the Song of the Force may disprove, yet... I..." The words escaped her, the second gravest vulnerability one might encounter as a diplomat. A nervous chuckle left her in its stead.

Her gaze shifted awkwardly around the canvas, the trees, the gentle haze of light flickering between its leaves, the distant sound of water flowing through the narrow rivers. But finding something steady to cling onto was difficult, for even the soil seemed to slip deeper the longer she stood there. "I am certain a Jedi Knight, so... helpful, must have better duties to attend to. Mayhaps aiding younglings or padawans--So I can find a way to overcome this lapse myself." Her words did not emanate an air of reassurance, nor did she make an attempt.

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden slowed his pace when she stopped, the soft squelch of his boots marking the stillness that followed. The morning's quiet pressed close, the slow drip of dew from the leaves above, the far-off murmur of a stream winding through the forest, and the faint hum of the Force threading through it all.

For a time, he said nothing. He simply stood at her side, the mist curling faintly around them both, his gaze turned toward the treeline where the light broke in narrow, slanted shafts. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, low, steady, yet with a firmness that carried beneath the gentleness.

"I have seen Padawans train to no end." he began softly, "Knights who faced wars only to question their place when the fighting ended. Masters who doubted their every word. None of them fell because of the stumble that brought them to a knee, they fell when they decided they were too proud to stand again."

He turned his eyes to her then, steady and unyielding, though never harsh. "You call it a mishap. But even a single breath taken in anger or fear tells us more than perfection ever will. The Force doesn't demand flawlessness, Malora. Only truth. And sometimes truth begins with admitting that something shook us."

Aiden let the thought hang between them. The breeze stirred through the canopy above, scattering faint motes of light across her armor and the mud-streaked path.

When she tried to divert the conversation, when she sought to send him away, his lips curved in something close to a wry smile. "You think I have better duties," he said quietly, taking a few slow steps forward until they stood side by side again. "Perhaps you forget that this is my duty. We are meant to lift one another when the weight becomes too heavy."

He tilted his head slightly, the Nabooan lilt softening the edges of his tone. "If you wish solitude, I will grant it. But if you speak of being unworthy of help, of walking this path alone, then I must disagree." His gaze flickered briefly toward her hands, still trembling faintly, before returning to her face.

"The lapse you speak of..." Aiden continued, "it is not the end of anything. It's a mark that you care enough to try. That you see when the line wavers. That's where growth begins, not where it ends."

He shifted his footing slightly, the mud sucking faintly beneath his boots, and offered a quiet, almost teasing murmur to ease the tension: "Besides… if you were truly beyond help, the Force would have sent someone wiser and better than me."

There was a faint trace of humor in his eyes, but beneath it rested an unspoken truth, he had no intention of leaving her adrift in her own storm.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

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

​

Pride lingered in her every breath, a constant curse so many had warned her about. Yet how could one cast aside the very characteristic that defined her bloodline? Whilst the Jedi had taught her since her early youth, it was the family Varis that shaped her the first decade. A family of traders and diplomats, one side negotiating for the lowest price only to sell at the highest profit, while the other outmanoeuvred their rivals in games of verbal dejarik. They thrived, and their pride was the trophy for their triumphs. So when Malora rose as a Jedi Diplomat, mediating lesser conflicts and winning more often than not, that accursed taste of pride wove itself into her veins, until even the gentlest melody, the very aura that enveloped her, lay tainted with it.

To hear it spoken of as a path towards corruption was… confrontational. A quip teetered on the edge of her tongue, ready to dismiss the idea as preposterous or a mere folly. But this time around, she could not bring herself to voice it. Time and time again, her hypocrisy and arrogance had to be pointed out, even by those not relying on the Force's guidance for their verdicts--she was so stuck up in her own beliefs, her own victories, that she could not see the path she was trodding. "It is all that I was taught. We face failure alone, for only we can reckon with the war raging within." The admission was bare, stripped of flowery language and white lies. A confession of the teachings that had left her isolated and marked. Her lips twitched, uncertain whether to smile or let the mask drop.

"Yet if I cannot attain perfection, what sort of Jedi am I? Must we not strive toward it, or do we have to linger in safety, in imperfection, akin to an unsharpened blade?" Malora posed, her voice pushing the limits of her control--The song of the Force, in turn, shifting erratically and discordantly around her, mimicking the impurity it had echoed when she had destroyed the training remote Before it descended back into an adagio, in harmony with her emotional control strengthening. "You speak of this stumble as a beginning and not an end. But I cannot find myself contented with this state of imperfection, as if I must-- simply accept it as is-- Pardon me, I must think before I speak." The Pantoran let out another frustrated groan as she stepped from the mud to the grassy verge. Her pristine boots as soiled as her composure.

"You must think me a fool, do you not, Aiden?" She sighed, the word poisonous on her tongue. "A hypocrite for thinking I need to be perfect while it leads to imbalance." Malora knew it herself, but failed to set her mind to change. The sunlight proceeded to spill through the canopy above, yet she seemed caught in its shadow. The everlasting reminder of the lapses she could not yet remedy. Still, a faint glimmer graced her golden eyes as she turned them toward her fellow Jedi.

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden listened without interruption, letting each word find its shape before answering. He did not move to fill the silence, nor seek to soothe it away. The Force between them swelled and shifted with her turmoil, its cadence rising sharp, then settling again like a tide drawn back toward still waters. He felt her struggle clearly now; not just fear, but the weight of legacy pressing on her shoulders like iron.

"Pride," he said quietly, the word carrying both gravity and understanding, "is one of the finest blades forged by the living soul. It can cut through doubt, through hesitation, through weakness. But turn the edge the wrong way…" His gaze drifted toward the stream where light caught on its rippling surface, "and it cuts the hand that wields it."

He turned back to her, his tone soft but certain. "You were not wrong to strive for excellence. That instinct is part of who you are. But perfection—" he shook his head slightly, "—perfection is not a destination a Jedi reaches. It is a horizon that teaches us humility the closer we draw to it."

As she stepped from the mud, he followed her lead, his pace unhurried. "To face failure alone," he murmured, repeating her earlier admission, "is what you were taught. But that teaching was born of fear, not wisdom. The war within is not one we win by isolation, Malora. The Force flows through all of us, its balance found together, not apart."

When she questioned him when she asked if he thought her a fool, he stopped, the faintest furrow lining his brow. "No," he said, simply. "Not a fool."

He took a slow breath, eyes searching hers, the gold of her irises catching in the sun. "What I see is someone who has carried the weight of expectation for so long that she mistook it for her own heartbeat. You were told to conquer your emotions, to stand flawless in judgment. But the truth is—perfection denies growth. It demands stillness. And stillness… is death to the living Force."

He reached down, brushing some of the mud from his own boot absently, as if to illustrate the point. "Every stumble, every misstep—it's proof that you're still becoming. That the current still moves through you. If you were perfect, you would no longer need the Force. You would no longer feel it."

Aiden's gaze softened again, his voice lowering to something more personal. "You are not your lineage, Malora. You honor it, yes, but you are not bound to repeat it. You were shaped by pride, but now you have the chance to temper it—with compassion, with patience, with understanding."

He gestured faintly toward the forest path ahead, where the morning light spilled in streaks of gold across the moss and roots. "Do not think I see hypocrisy. I see a Knight wrestling with the truth of herself—and there is no shame in that. It's the work of every Jedi, in every age."

Then, after a pause, he added with a faint, knowing smile: "If you were contented, you would not be here. The Force doesn't bring contented souls to places of reflection. It brings those still willing to learn. Just like I am still willing to learn."

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

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

​

The preaching about humility had disgusted her before, and she could not reject the sour taste it left upon her tongue now. How her master had endlessly chattered about the morals a Jedi must hone, how they must be composed and humble--a beacon of stability and harmony. Yet what had purity wrought? The relentless cluster of nightmares and agony that had tormented her for the last one and a half year. Though mayhap Aiden had still been disillusioned, thinking that his 'virtue' may remedy all, including the blight within her soul. "You sound like my Master, gah~" A scoff escaped her lips. Her boots crunching through the dried mud as she continued down the path, putting distance between her and her peer. As she walked her purplish hair slowly drew from its confines, loosening up until the pins holding it in place clattered on the ground. "You presume me growing dormant." Malora's lip twitched, a motion beyond her control. Before she turned around, her hand balling into a fist, whilst her other pointed at the Human. "As if, tsk. You dare lecture me on stillness, on arrogance and imperfection. As though you are the epitome of purity. The righteous heart of the Jedi. Spare me the sanctimony." She spat her words, not wishing to extinguish the fire that poured through her veins.

Her features grew harsh, akin to the blizzards that would overcome Pantora during its winters--Cold and unforgiving...

The melody of the Force grew harsher, yet more powerful, as if luring her with the promise of it, the lure of perfection that worked wonders on her shattered mind. "I am a Varis, why would I wish to undo the very threads that have woven who I am. Though why would I presume you'd understand, a lowly human, a Jedi who likely never knew his parents. Pfft--" A bemused noise left her, followed by a grin that did not soften her visage. As she inched closer, her finger still prodding toward him, though not quite touching. "So? What more advice do you have stored, 'oh humble Jedi'?" She sneered, remaining close to him, trying her best to taunt him.

After a minute, a step was taken back, to prove a point. "Mayhap it was a mistake to come here." The Pantoran mused, looking towards the skies that were mostly veiled by the trees' leaves.

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden didn't move when the words struck him. He let them land, let their edges graze against him the way one lets a cold wind pass not without feeling, but without resistance. It wasn't the first time he'd stood before someone's storm. The Force around Malora trembled, rippling with the heat of her anger and the ache beneath it, like a string pulled too tight.

He breathed once, deep enough for the sound to reach her. Not as defiance, but as grounding.

"Humility was never meant to be a sermon." he said quietly, his tone level but not distant. "It isn't silence or surrender. It's knowing yourself what you can hold, and what must be released before it consumes you."

The mud cracked faintly beneath his boots as he stepped forward, just enough for the light filtering through the canopy to catch on his face. His eyes were steady, though the faintest sadness lingered in them. "I am far from pure, I have made many mistakes. The Order doesn't make saints, and the robe doesn't wash the soul clean." His gaze flicked briefly to her fallen hairpins scattered across the path. "You think I lecture you. But I only speak because I've been where you stand chasing perfection until it burns everything else away."

He drew in another breath, the weight of memory threading through his voice. "You are a Varis. And that name carries strength. Pride. But it is not a prison, unless you let it be."

The Force thrummed softly around them, calmer now where it brushed against her turmoil not to suppress it, but to let it breathe.

"I don't wish to undo you, Malora." Aiden continued, more softly now. "Only to remind you that the Force doesn't demand perfection. It asks only that you listen. Even to the parts of yourself you've buried."


He paused, the quiet between them deepening. "If you truly wish to leave." he said at last, "Then go. But understand I won't chase you to bind you. Only to be sure the dark that follows you doesn't swallow you whole."

He didn't reach for her, didn't attempt to stop her. He simply stood, calm amid the cold, like a hearth that refused to be extinguished.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

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

​

Yes... The Sith donned shades of black and red to conceal the blood that stained their souls crimson, while the Jedi did the opposite. Chosing to dress themselves in white to embody hope and their purity, or honour. Yet it was akin to a plain canvas, where the lightest drop of red would be most visible, mayhaps that was the price of pretending to be or being righteous. Though it was not a truth she could hide behind mockery or ridicule... it was simply truth, and truth was a sharp blade. How often had she spilled blood, albeit her own or that of others? And yet how desperately she wished to wash that away, Malora could not. The weight of her daughter as she tried to cradle her cold form, the manner in which no one should ever be that cold, and the memory alone crushed her composure. Cold tears streaked her powdered face before she could put a stop to them. Not even endless preaching of weakness may dissipate their presence.

"I buried them for a reason, Aiden! Now I am weak because I'm reminded of it, these bloody tears…" She tried to wipe them away, but her golden eyes stayed glossy with sorrow. The memories and imagery etching themselves on her conscience. The Pantoran let out a trembling breath, shaking her head as her hair followed the motion... disheveled, just like her. A lapse that could have been prevented had she not made that fatal mistake years ago, mayhap then she might have been a proud Jedi Master by now--someone to do her family proud, to be the one to inspire hope... Instead, she was a broken statue, a shadow of her former self, pitied by strangers and forgotten by those she once called family.

She looked upon him, golden eyes meeting his brown ones, not drawing closer nor retreating. "If I wanted to dig them up, I would have done it already. But the agony it brings me only drives me further from the light I still grasp for. Why live in that pain when I can keep it at bay? Yes, it means suppressing it, but what must be done, must be done." Malora's voice carried no pride, no arrogance, only pain she could no longer hide behind her jeweled mask. As if a poorly patched up laceration would bleed once more... It was a raw confession that left her hollow, lifeless, akin to a husk. If this was life, what was she truly living for? To pretend all is well? To disguise this anguish as weakness?

An exasperated and lengthy sigh escaped her, while her shoulders slumped. "I do not wish to be a pitied Jedi, nor do I wish to be known as a failure. So why must I stay and endure that treatment, Porte?"

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden watched her silently for a long moment. The weight of her confession filled the air between them not the quiet of peace, but the dense stillness that comes before the first breath after mourning. He didn't move to interrupt her; didn't try to offer comfort that would sound hollow or condescending. Instead, his eyes softened with something far more difficult understanding.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, even, but edged with quiet conviction.

"Suppression isn't strength, Malora. It's survival. And survival-" he said, taking a single step closer... "Isn't weakness. It's the first act of hope."

"You buried what hurt you because it was the only way to keep breathing. We are taught to let go… but they rarely tell us how to live with what remains once we do." His tone softened further, like the tide rolling back from stone. "You are not pitied. You are grieving, and the galaxy has never been kind to those who grieve too long. Trust me, I know..."

Aiden exhaled, a quiet sound that almost resembled weariness, though not of her. "If you walk away, you'll still carry this weight. The Order's judgment, their eyes or whatever it is, they may never see beyond what you've endured. But the light you're reaching for… it isn't theirs to grant or to take. It's yours."

He let the silence stretch again before adding, quieter still.

"I can't tell you to stay for them. But stay for yourself. Because even if you feel hollow now, that pain those tears they're proof there's still life inside you, still something left that refuses to die."

His eyes lingered on her disheveled form, then softened to something almost brotherly.

"You've buried enough, Malora. Don't bury yourself next."

 

[Malora Varis]

THE THREADS OF FATE​

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

​

The desire to flee was not uncommon among her kind, in her time she had encounter a handful of individuals that had grown disillusioned with being a Jedi. Having to don a mask whenevr they were around their kind, for they were not cut from the same cloth. For Malora it had been grief which etched the scars into her skin she had attempted to hide, or dismiss as naught, yet most--like Aiden--were not blind to the mediocre deception. He spoke truth, she could disappear, but it would not bring the sun to the dark clouds on the horizon. The sorrow would persist. Her hand shot up to her lips, as she anxiously bit her nail, before the realisation struck her and she dropped it all the same.

Like crystal gems, her tears shone in the narrow stream of light pouring through the leaves. The words felt empty upon her lips, and all she could bring herself to do was stare emptily at the fellow Jedi, as if her gaze slipped right through him. The silence felt akin to loneliness in a busy crowd, there was so much life around them, the nature, the Force, the Jedi, and yet it was death which lingered within her mind. Having taken hold of her train of thought without the intention of surrender. "You are correct..." The words felt sour upon her lips, and their twitch spoke volumes. "And it pains me to confess it, Porte." Another heavy sigh left her without control, as she looked around the alcove, gazing back down the path they had just trod. The demolished droid lay still somewhere out there, proof of the grief which had shackled her for too long.

She shook her head lightly, her orchid waves following loosely. "And yet I cannot escape the query of what may have happened, had I been there? For the poison within my mind is not her death, it is the recklessness--... The misjudgement I made when I lapsed as a Jedi, and when I prioritised the wrong thing yet again years later." Her breath was shaky, but she could not elude her ghosts for more years. Mayhap the madness would have then consumed her and driven her to become another vessel for Bogan's corruption. And it was not the fear of agony, or facing her deeds which should control her. It should be hope that one day she may be able to breathe without feeling a heavy burden weigh down on her.

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Malora Varis
​

Aiden listened in stillness not the kind born of restraint, but reverence. The Force whispered in the space between her words, a quiet echo of her turmoil that rippled through the air like a wound reopened. Even the leaves above seemed to hush as she spoke, sunlight filtering through them in uneven streaks, gilding her tears in pale gold.

He could see it the war between what she had been and what she had become. Every Jedi carried their ghosts, but hers did not linger at the periphery; they lived in her marrow, etched into the tremor of her voice and the way her gaze seemed to reach beyond him into the void. When she finished, Aiden stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his tone gentler than the breeze that brushed through the alcove.

"Regret." he said, "Is the shadow that follows every Jedi who has ever cared enough to lose something."

He let the words rest, heavy but tender. "You wonder what might have been, had you been there had you chosen differently. But the truth, Malora, is that no one can stand in every place the Force would ask them to. Even Masters fail to see all the threads until they're already frayed."

His gaze flicked briefly toward the path behind them where the broken droid lay, the symbol of her anguish now motionless and silent. "You call it recklessness." he continued softly, "But what I see is compassion that never learned how to forgive itself. You made choices from a place of love. That love cost you, yes but it also means the light you think you've lost is still there. You only need to stop bleeding yourself dry to prove it."

Aiden's hand hovered for a moment not a touch, but the offer of one. "The weight you carry won't vanish, and neither will the pain. But they can become the foundation of something truer than purity: understanding. That is where the light lives, even in those who have fallen."

He drew in a quiet breath, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You can't unmake the past." he said, voice steady, "But you can choose what kind of Jedi rises from it. Not the perfect one they wanted. The real one the galaxy needs."

The forest answered with silence again not empty this time, but still, as if the world itself was listening. He didn't need to say it, but she would have his assistance every step of the way.