Private The Trials

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

The hum of the transport engines thrummed beneath the deck, low and constant, a sound Cassian found strangely comforting after months of tension and concrete walls. The vessel cut through the blue expanse of Naboo's lake country, its hull gliding over mirrored water that stretched endlessly toward rolling green hills. Afternoon light poured through the viewing ports, gold on the surface, soft on the edges of Shade's profile as she stood near the rail, watching the wake unfurl behind them.

Cassian leaned back against the bulkhead, arms loosely crossed, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his features. For once, there were no mission briefs, no encrypted comms, no shadows lurking at the edges of a ballroom or a battlefield. Just air that smelled faintly of salt and wild grass, and her, silent, composed, yet visibly softer beneath the sunlight.

"Strange, isn't it?" he said, voice low, carried easily over the hum of the engines. "Being on a ship without someone trying to shoot us out of the sky."

The breeze coming off the lake tugged at the edges of her dark hair, and he watched her turn back to the view. The landscape ahead shimmered with silver-blue reflections, dotted with island estates and spires rising like ivory from the water. The place looked untouched by everything they'd seen, peaceful, disarmingly so.

Cassian pushed off the bulkhead, stepping closer until he stood beside her at the rail. "Hard to believe this is the same world we fight for." he murmured. "Feels like it belongs to someone else." He gave her a gentle nudge and showed a small smile. "It's okay to relax, this is the hardest part of this." He placed his hand over hers for a brief moment, giving it a gentle squeeze before withdrawing it, as he didn't want to overcrowd her.

He let the silence stretch between them, the kind that didn't demand words. For the first time in too long, Cassian let himself exhale fully. The mission was done. The reports were filed. And here, in the quiet rhythm of waves against the hull, there was room for something human, something that felt like a beginning.

As the vessel curved toward the outer islands, sunlight caught on the water ahead, scattering gold across the bow. Cassian glanced sideways at her again, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Did you pack any weapons?" he said, half teasing, half being serious. He knew this was a big step for her, but he would take it with her. One step at a time.

 

[Shade]

Shade's fingers tightened slightly around the polished edge of the railing as the hum of the transport steadied into rhythm. The view beyond was beautiful in a way that made her uneasy—too open, too bright, too still. Naboo's skies did not hide things easily. Every reflection in the water reminded her of glass, of fragility, of the danger that came with believing in peace.

Cassian's words drew her back, and for a moment she almost smiled. Relax. The concept felt like a foreign language she could read but not speak. Her posture eased only slightly, enough to suggest she was trying. However, her gaze still traced the lake's edges and the distant shoreline—instinctively marking distance, vantage, and the angles of escape even when she told herself not to.

"It would be foolish to assume we are beyond reach," she said quietly, her tone even, almost gentle in its logic. A soft glance at him, brief but honest. "But yes. I brought them."

The admission wasn't defensive—it was matter-of-fact, the same way someone else might admit they'd packed extra clothes. Her mind supplied reasons she didn't voice: unpredictability, control, the memory of what happened when she hadn't been prepared.

She turned back to the horizon, the light warming the planes of her face. There was something unreadable there—part wonder, part tension. The world felt too safe, and that safety was what terrified her most.

"You…meant what you said," she murmured, not looking at him. "About relaxing." The words caught, soft and uneven around the edges. "I am trying."

Her breath hitched, a small, almost imperceptible break in her control. The sound of the lake, the weight of sunlight, his closeness—all of it pressed against a wall she'd built over years of discipline and necessity. And for the first time, that wall didn't feel invincible.

When Cassian's hand settled over hers, Shade didn't pull away. The instinct—to retreat, to reclaim space and control—was there, sharp and familiar. But the touch wasn't demanding. It was steady, grounding, the same calm she'd come to rely on in him, even when she didn't want to admit it.

Her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, then back to the water. For a long moment, she said nothing. The hum of the engines filled the quiet between them, and she let herself feel it—his warmth, the simplicity of contact without expectation. It was strange. Disarming.

"You keep doing that," she murmured at last, the faintest wry edge touching her voice. "Making this feel…normal."

Her thumb brushed his hand before he withdrew, a small, unspoken acknowledgment that she hadn't minded. When the distance returned, she exhaled, slow and measured, and turned to meet his eyes. For once, there was no armor—just calculation softened by something she hadn't let herself feel in years.

"We still don't know what this is," she said evenly, her voice quieter than before. Then, softer still, "But maybe…we don't have to, not yet."

Her gaze drifted back to the horizon, sunlight catching the edge of her hair. The words weren't surrender—they were trust, tentative but real.

"For now," she added, almost under her breath, "we just see where it takes us."

Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Shade ​

Cassian watched her speak, the measured cadence of her voice a rhythm he'd come to recognize the logic tempered by control, control shaped by the ghosts of old battles. When she admitted she'd brought weapons, he didn't question it. Of course she had. It wasn't paranoia; it was preparation. It was her.

He leaned his elbows against the railing beside her, eyes following the endless stretch of the lake. "I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't." he said lightly, but there was warmth behind the words, not mockery. "You're thorough. I'd expect nothing less."

The breeze rolled off the water, stirring the collar of his jacket and carrying the faint scent of wet grass and open air. It was a strange kind of quiet, the kind that didn't demand readiness, the kind he didn't quite know how to exist in.

When she spoke again, her voice gentled, and something in him stilled. She was trying. That meant more than she realized.

The vessel slowed as it approached the lakeside dock, the hum of its engines softening into a gentle vibration beneath their feet. Cassian stood near the ramp, hands in his pockets, watching as the pale stone terraces of the villa came into view, elegant, serene, framed by vines and the endless shimmer of the lake beyond. The air carried the scent of water and wildflowers, a far cry from the recycled sterility of a command post.

Cassian had seen her under gunfire, beneath the cold lights of interrogation bays, surrounded by the chaos of war. But here, with the light breaking over her face and the sound of the water against the hull, she looked almost, peaceful.

The deckhand gave the all-clear, and Cassian moved first, boots thudding softly against the wooden planks of the dock. He turned back, offering her his hand as she followed.

The lake stretched out before them, vast and blue, the distant curve of Naboo's green hills like a promise. For the first time in a long while, Cassian felt something close to calm take root in his chest.

"Not bad for a change of scenery." he said quietly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to tease but not enough to break the moment.

Their bags arrived on a small hover-cart, and Cassian shouldered his own with the practiced ease of a man who couldn't quite let go of habit. He glanced toward the villa, the cream-colored stone walls and arched windows, the faint sound of water lapping against the steps below. "Come on." he said softly. "Let's see if this place is all its made out to be."

 

[Shade]

Shade hesitated at the ramp's edge, the water glinting like shards of glass beneath the late sun. The hum of the ship faded behind her, replaced by the quiet rhythm of the lake against the dock—too still, too open. Her instincts told her to catalog every shadow, every reflection, to mark the distance between the villa and the tree line. But then Cassian turned back and held out his hand.

It wasn't an order—just an offer.

For a heartbeat, she didn't move. The air between them stretched, heavy with things unspoken. Then she set her palm in his—deliberate, precise—and stepped down beside him. Her grip was steady, but her breath caught all the same. The warmth of his hand was disarming in a way blasterfire never had been.

When she spoke, her voice was low, even, but there was something fragile threaded through it—the kind of vulnerability she still wasn't sure she had a right to.
"For once," she murmured, the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth, "I do not mind the view."

Her gaze drifted to the horizon—to the shimmer of water, to the faint echo of laughter somewhere down the terraces. It felt unreal, this place. Like a dream she'd stepped into by accident.

She adjusted the strap of her bag, eyes scanning the villa ahead. "You think it will hold?" she asked after a moment, in a thoughtful, not skeptical, tone. "Places like this…peace like this…it never lasts long."

But she didn't move away. If anything, she lingered closer, her hand brushing his arm as they started forward. Not an accident—not entirely.

"Still," she added, quieter this time, almost to herself, "perhaps we make it last as long as we can."

Cassian Abrantes