Private The Waltz between Life and Death

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

A cacophony, the discord within a musical composition, when the strings do not align with the bells. Unpleasant to its listener, a sign of ineptitude or better yet, disharmony. Whereas music is not all to this life, the Force does act as a similar conduit. The Light side and the Dark side both weaving an opus, when in tune, it is pleasant, when it is not, it is the cause of havoc. Odessen featured such a balance, Ashla and Bogan, light and dark, both in consonance. But not now, for the dreams of a certain Jedi Master lay exposed by the dissonance of the dark side, which leeched her strength and fed on her fear, until she woke up tainted, weaker than before. Her head loudly pounding in agony as she tried to recover and locate the source of this beacon of chaos. Malora slowly and carefully put on her layered robe, placing a pendant of her Moon Goddess around her neck to shield her further. A shaky hand seized the remainder of her equipment, before finding her holo-tablet and heading out.

As she scrolled the holo-device, she stumbled across the list of soldiers stationed at the base. Somewhere among them there must be one unoccupied with duty, and in turn someone who could accompany her on this 'escapade'. For alone, she was too weak to be exposed to possible harm from this anomaly, and with no Jedi at her command, this was the next best option. Her gaze lingered on a single name: Devin Virell, a pilot. The lad showed certain promise. It would have to suffice for now. Biting back her misgivings, the Pantoran set her path through the corridors until she reached the rowdiness of the Rebel hangar. A few mechanics busied themselves with routine checks, while others drifted by on their way to more important tasks. Amidst them, she picked him out easily, the tattoos at his neck gave him away. "Devin Virell, is it not?" she called, her voice carrying her rank. "I am Master Malora Varis, and…" She hesitated, the word burning on her tongue. "I am in need of a pilot to accompany me on patrol." A lie, yes, but a skilled one, spoken in the known style of Pantoran nobility.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

The climate on Odessen was mild; it wasn’t too warm, nor was it too cold. And compared to some other places he’d been assigned to recently, this was refreshing; almost enough to make him believe in peace, to forget about the never-ending war, even if for a moment.

He wasn’t in the usual orange one-piece.. and that felt strange. Almost like he’d left part of himself in a locker somewhere. Today he wore cargo pants and a flight jacket that had seen better years. The elbows were scuffed, and a single patch, a faded emblem of some forgotten place he’d seen on Corellia clung to the sleeve. It wasn’t a fancy squadron patch, the kind that some wore with pride, but it was still his.

Devin stood beside his X-wing, a brush in hand. Leaning back in, he began painting a white TIE silhouette on the hull. Others were lined up neatly beside it, each one carrying a memory. He remembered them all. This particular one was from a skirmish near Eshan two days prior. It gleamed under the hangar's lighting.

Just another victory added to the tally.

Eventually, he was going to run out of space, he mused.

Upon laying down the final touch, an unfamiliar voice spoke his name. Turning swiftly, he was expecting another pilot but instead found a figure in robes standing before him. The woman's voice cut through the clatter with an air of authority that suggested she was used to being obeyed.

And when she introduced herself.. he just blinked.

A Jedi.

Straightening out of instinct, but not quite formally, he replied, "Uh.. yeah," his hand automatically shot up to rub the back of his neck, leaving a streak of white paint there. “That’s me.”

There was something in her eyes. Fatigue maybe? He wasn't so sure. The pilot hadn't spent much time around their kind. They always seemed like they were carrying something invisible anyway.

“If you need a pilot, I can be ready in a few minutes.”

He shifted slightly, the muscles in one brow lifting in a cautious arch, while the edge of his mouth pulled into a guarded half smile; probably more skepticism than trust.

Patrol always sounded more like chaos these days.

Regardless of whatever doubts he felt, the words that followed next were gentle. "Happy to help. But I'd rather not walk in blind. Are we talking something quiet or something that bites back?"

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

Fear, anger, hatred. All desires as common as breath, yet explosive when pursued. The Jedi knew them all too well, for they were not strangers to such feelings. Still, to give in was to drift from what the Order strove to be. That was their burden: the endless struggle between life and death. Yet even the seasoned Masters gracing the spotlights within public appearances and battles, struggled with these thoughts and urges. They were perilous, but also understandable. One such nightmare, which had clawed into her mind, continued to fester, nigh on shattering the composure she held in the hangar. It took her a momentary pause before she found herself capable to answer his query: "Did my word elude you? I specifically stated this was a patrol. There may be nothing more than the wildlife, or we shall find ourselves in peril. Either way, we prepare for both and expect neither." It felt akin to mentoring a defiant youngling on the basis of their code, though she maintained a faint smile that could only barely dim the scolding.

The Jedi Master left the pilot to his preparations, her golden gaze drifting over the bustling hangar and its personnel. Her fingers intertwining behind her back, she closed her eyes and let out a heavy, deep breath. The currents of this planet pressed against her consciousness, turbulent, diverse, light and dark weaving through one another in infrequent tides. Yet there was one area… a type of 'nexus' (though not quite) in the Force, a place steeped only in shadow. A part of her prayed to the Moon Goddess, pleading for protection, clarity, and the strength to shield both herself and the pilot from what might stir within that dark. Malora's trance broke as Devin returned. His boots echoing against the durasteel plating as he made his approach. "There is a sector I would prefer to patrol," she said evenly. "Few have ventured there of late. I ask you only this: keep your mind clear. If you feel or sense anything, an ache, a twitch, a whisper. Say it at once." Her indigo lips forged the words as both warning and counsel, laden with promise. Whether the boy grasped their weight was another matter.

At last, she nodded her head toward the waiting starship, gesturing lightly with her right hand. "Are we ready?"

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

The edge in her tone wasn’t missed. While not sharp enough to cut him, it still carried a sting. Devin’s gaze caught hers as a flicker of surprise lit up his expression. He'd never been much good at hiding what was going on behind those brown eyes; surely whatever played across his face then would've been easy for her to read .. and for anyone else in the hangar who was watching, for that matter. It did remind him of a few instructors from the Naval Academy. But even deeper, it stirred something much older, from the lower levels of Coruscant; down there, everyone just decided you were already beneath them.

That memory, now just an ember, did not burn through his voice. He masked it with a weak smile and shifted his weight onto one heel. “Didn’t miss it, Master Varis,” he replied, tone easy.

"Patrolling, whether it be for wildlife or danger, makes no difference to me. I fly the same either way: fast and smart."

A small, half salute was offered, more habit than anything else, before turning away. “Just give me a couple minutes.”

Over in one of the far corners, he opened a locker. Inside his gear greeted him. First came the gloves, then the helmet. Most important, hanging from a small hook, was a trinket, a tiny durasteel starship charm on a chain, picked up from a street vendor once on Coruscant. Back when he wasn’t even old enough to fly, during simpler times, being just a boy with a dream. It’d been with him on every mission since. Clasping it around his neck, he let the cool metal settle against his collarbone.

A hand found that faded Corellian patch on his sleeve, brushing over the stitching. Adjusting it wasn’t really necessary, but it’d become a ritual before any flight and also pay homage to friends he had lost. From the lowest shelf, he retrieved his blaster pistol, securing it at his belt. And lastly, came the heavy blaster rifle. Devin doubted they would need it but knew it was always better to be prepared.

Once he returned, he offered the Jedi an affirming nod. “Yep. Mind clear, senses sharp.”

His tone easily carried above the cacophony of noise around them. “Don’t worry. If anything so much as whispers at me, you’ll hear about it before it finishes the sentence.”

Seeing she was ready, he strode out, leading the Pantoran toward the small transport shuttle. The helmet spun twice in his hand before he caught it without looking and tucked it smoothly under his arm. "I've got a proven track record of spotting trouble before it ever has a chance to spot me."

As they approached the ramp, a senseless question conjured in Devin's mind, slipping out before he ever had a chance to stop it.

“Ever been this far out from the Core before?”

He glanced sideways at her.

Of course she had. Probably farther.

Either way, it was an attempt to keep the air light.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

Melancholy filled her lungs as her connection to Odessen's force lay briefly at her fingertips. Akin to tides on empty beaches, it came and went, its power fluctuating as the waves drew forth and retreated in a distinct routine. Were it not for the nightmare that had befallen her prior, Malora would have been triumphant in her efforts to grasp it. For it lingered only briefly, and dissipated into the thin morning air of the forest planet after. Among its particles, a question lingered unanswered in their midst. "Well, if my appearance had not revealed it. I was born on Pantora, which lays in the Outer Rim. While my duties brought me all over the galaxy, it was frequently to more sophisticated planets. Not ones where mere mosquitoes are the largest group of inhabitants." Malora quipped harmlessly, before waving her hand dismissively and getting on the rebel shuttle.

The sounds of their boots on their durasteel plating echoed throughout the hull. Its hollow frame had been shaped by metal sheets, and covered by a bounty of colourful markings: the sigil of the Hidden Path, mocking imagery of Sith and Imperials. Before the Jedi could stop herself, her touch graced the paint, feeling its many layers beneath her fingertips. There was beauty in these awful depictions, a humanity that the Galactic Empire would not dare permit. "May I ask why you pilots adorn these ships with this... art?" There was genuine curiosity tinging her words, even if she would not dare confess such a vulnerability. A faint smile overcame her, a brief memory to her daughter and her little drawings of herself as a fancy Jedi, like her parents. Malora took a heavy breath, before settling in her seat and awaiting the tumultuous ride...

The minutes slipped by in a shallow exchange of words between the pair about likes, dislikes, and days on Odessen. To claim there was any curiosity beneath the surface would have been a lie of the gravest kind. Beyond them, the ship soared on, skimming the treetops and mountains of the lush world, its hull trembling softly in protest as the wind pressed against its metal. In time, it neared the distinct energy that had goaded her since the moment she woke. The vessel pressed forward, while Malora, while steadying herself, rose with difficulty and made her way to the cockpit, her golden eyes darting out of the tall window panes. Forestry painted the landscape, with the infrequent snow-capped mountains in the distance. Amidst the depictions of flourishing life, the corrupting essence of the dead beckoned them closer -- until its call reached its crescendo, allowing them to trace its source. Malora hastily placed her finger upon the radar. "The dead fester in this region... Could you seek a safe place to land?" Perhaps not the wisest reasoning to stop, but she hoped it was enough for Devin to comply.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

Devin blinked at her remark, the corner of his mouth desiring to twitch into another half-smile, but he pressed it into a thin line.

"Right. Pantora. Should've guessed," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in the same habitual gesture that he could never seem to shake. The streak of paint from earlier still clung to his skin, and he let the motion linger as if it might hide the fact he felt a little ignorant for asking.

Following her up the ramp, his attention was drawn to the sweep of her blue hand across the shuttle's hull; a myriad of colors and symbols adorned the surface, each one telling a story His fingers reached out, brushing against one of the layers without conscious thought.

The question pulled his eyes back to her before they returned to the markings on the ship's exterior in an attempt to find the right words. "It's a way of leaving a mark, a reminder of our existence in a galaxy that so easily forgets. Even if our names are lost, our legacy remains." The words slipped out softly. "And for the ship.. it gives it a soul, something that is uniquely ours, rather than just another piece of machinery."

Once they were strapped in, he eased the shuttle from its cradle of durasteel.

The hangar’s noise fell away as the repulsors lifted them into the open air. The stick felt right in his hands again, its familiar weight, and the thrum of the engines was a sound he’d missed more than he’d admit.

It was good to be flying again. Not just running drills.. but flying. The kind where the only thing that mattered was the horizon. For a few seconds, he let himself believe it was freedom.. or at least as close as Devin could get after watching the Imperials take everything that he once loved.

Her voice cut through the quiet, pointing him toward the presence on the radar. He glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly, but didn’t question it. “Safe place to land,” he echoed while searching the terrain. “Got it.”

He kept the shuttle low, sweeping for a break. The forests rolled out in endless green.

In truth, Odessen was pleasant on the eyes.. more than most worlds he’d flown over. Compared to the skies of countless war zones and rusty shipyards, this place almost looked untouched.

Almost..

A narrow clearing appeared off their side, half hidden by a ridge.

The shuttle’s angle was adjusted, throttling back just enough to let the ship settle into a slow descent.

Soon, the landing struts met the ground, engines winding down. Devin powered off the main systems, then removed his helmet.

One hand still resting on the controls, a look passed to the passenger. “Closest I could get without dropping us right into the middle of it,” he said calmly. “From here we can walk.”

Shortly after unbuckling, he adjusted the strap of his rifle and stepped down onto the soil. He scanned the treeline, then shifted back to the Panatoran.

“You said the dead fester here. What does that feel like to you? Because to me, it just feels.. heavy.” A silent breath escaped, the corners of his mouth twitching. But it wasn’t quite a smile. “Sometimes I think pilots and Jedi aren’t so different, you know? Both of us trust something unseen to keep us alive.”

Back and forth, his focus kept darting to the same place, searching for something that probably wasn't even there.

Images of previous ambushes he'd encountered surfaced in the mind's eye.

Grief weighed heavy as stone, loneliness wrapped around him like armor, and anger lingered, a single ember that wouldn’t fade.

Standing beside her, he felt alone. He knew Master Varis would understand.

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

A canvas full of greenery, the faint dew gracing the grasses as their boots touched the earthly soil once more. Living on one of the ever-growing number of city planets, meant a life devoid of this faint sense of liberty. No cold, yet fresh air to breathe, no flowers to watch bloom, except for the scarce pair in your home. Yet while such perfection blossomed before her golden eyes, it lay tainted in the dissonant echoes which hummed beneath the surface. Swirling around the trees, originating from a distant but ungraspable source... The curious query from her youthful companion allowed her to shift her attention back to him. "I share the sentiment, it is laden with... something. To me the Force, life and death, are all part of a, musical, composition. Each sensation of both the outside and what lay within, a chord within an elaborate melody." While difficult to precisely bring forth the right words to explain the phenomenon, she tried her best to shape it. "The light is harmonious, serene, it moves slowly and is pleasant. The dark is daunting, albeit in loudness or the absence of it, sometimes entirely unpleasant to listen to, other times, it provokes a... fear, a sense of unknowing?"

The Jedi Master gestured for them to head deeper, her white boots crunching against a scarce layer of fallen leaves. The faint chords of dissonance still asserting themselves over the dense landscape. Malora gazed towards Devin once more: "Perhaps... I... In your case, it could compare to the safety of your own ship, compared to piloting a craft you've never even heard of." For the first time in a while, an awkwardness shaped her expression. "Maybe not... I cannot dictate how others experience the Force." The realisation bore no comfort upon her hyperactive mind. What else bore no comfort, was the loudening of the noise... Her hand instinctively drew towards her lightsaber, but she dared not pull it off its clip. Golden eyes darting around the forestry, only to find hazy imagery of days gone. A blur of Alaric, of herself, all the while the memory of visiting the recovering warzone pounded in her head, the sight of corpses and burnt soil. "No, not again..." Her composure cracked, hands flying over her face, as a more fearful tone controlled her voice. "I swore to would never become like that," The area around her began to draw on the visuals in her mind, composing an elaborate illusion of a scorched warzone, as she, without command, began to stop mentally shielding Devin.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

Devin’s leather boots sank slightly into the damp soil as he slowed, eyes flicking from the trees to her. He hadn’t spent much time outside of the hangar since arriving on Odessen, but how the air felt oppressive struck him as odd. None of the other pilots had mentioned anything of the like to him.

“Music, huh?” His breath traced the words with curiosity. “I know rhythm. And I know fear, the unknown. Flying’s got both. Sometimes its smooth, sometimes things get a little chaotic, or even a dance between the two. You learn to trust it, even when it doesn’t make sense.”

With an adjustment to the rifle strap, the words about ships coaxed a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Flying something you’ve never even heard of?” His voice carried a rasp of amusement, not at her, but himself. “That’s been most of time since leaving the academy. You climb in, pray the controls aren’t lying, and hope the thing doesn’t fall..”

Tilting his head upward like a curious wolf, he studied the branches overhead, allowing his attention to drift. “But the X‑wing.. that one hums a different tune. Every switch, the stick.. I know it. That’s the only ship that feels like home.”

A breath later he caught the tang of smoke, like the aftermath of a dogfight. But it vanished as quickly as it arrived, leaving only the taste of ash. The ground ahead appeared scarred. Shapes lay scattered. Bodies, maybe. Though when he turned his head, they dissolved immediately.

"Whatever music's playing out here.. it's the wrong song."

Sharper than he meant them to be, his words cut through the air as he stole a glance at the Jedi, only to notice trembling hands veiling her face, and the dread in his chest tightened.

The vision’s grip seeped into him, veins coursing with its cruel fire. Coruscant’s ruins sprawled in his mind’s eye, fallen spires. and shattered streets, littered with the fallen.

Is this what the Force did? Make others relive the wreckage?

His own hand rose instinctively, fingers brushing the small trinket against his collarbone. At least the durasteel was cool, solid.. and real. Devin’s touch around it tightened, allowing it to anchor him.

He shifted closer, not intruding.. but offering a steady presence. “I don’t see it clear.. but I feel it. And I know what it’s like to be haunted. You’re not flying this one solo, Master Varis. Whatever it is, we’ll ride it out together.”

Amidst the shadows, gathering his scattered self, he cast a firm and gentle lifeline, voice digging into the dark. "Tell me what you're seeing. Don't shut me out of it."

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

The orchestra of life was, indeed, not following the musical notation, its melodies oppressive upon her distracted psyche. The paths it construed a merger of gloom and demise, opposed to the light's optimism and life. Each glance around the early morning forestry another depiction of wrath. On one side, the scorched soil in the aftermath of a bloody battle, whereas the other featured a depiction of several spaceships pursuing one another amidst the rain of blasterfire. Shattered buildings and broken hopes forging their atmosphere. Yet Malora found herself unable to tap into the memory or scene it sought to represent, with a shaky glance she looked upon the pilot. Mayhaps it was his fears or thoughts fusing with hers, though it was a fragile theory she dared not voice. "It is merely war... If you permit me a moment of respite, we can..." Another groan escaped her as the headache swelled elsewhere. "Continue." A shaky smile formed on her face, a pathetic attempt to reassure the lad. "May the Moon Goddess protect us," One more whisper as she tried to advance, each step made the headache slightly worse, Bogan's choir loudening in tune.

After a handful of paces, the forestry had begun to shift, its greenery set ablaze (in her view). Its flames reaching tall up its trees, yet when she blinked it vanished once more. Nothing made sense and that truth begun to crack at her sanity. "Devin... Is there nothing you sense here? No sound, no visual?" A desperate query begging for one answer: confirmation. Every time her golden eyes closed and opened again, the fire begun anew. A constant routine of extinguishing and ignition, without an end. The closer they got, the louder the song grew and the more noise blared through. The gunning of starfighters, the crackling of fire, the swooshing of lightsabers, over and over again without remorse. Her hands shot out to cover her ears, pleas of mercy falling from her lips. If Ashla was purity personified, how could she not cleanse the plague that had rid this region? Was there no light to cast the grand shadow over nature? Malora's fingers began trailing down from her ears to the pendant of the Pantoran Moon Goddess. If Ashla and Bogan refused to face one another, she could only pray that her foreign deity shall take her mistress' place.

"The longer we reside in the lion's den, the more it gnaws at my mind. If you catch any glimpse of a core, please guide me to it... and I shall hope it can be contained..." The Jedi Master's other hand held out to him--an offer, a request.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

Another step later, Devin froze, as though the soil pulled at his boots, wanting to freeze him in place. The forest blurred suddenly at the edges; not gone but shadowed by something much crueler. Then the shapes returned, jagged, skeletal, the spires of Coruscant’s skyline crumbling. Streets he once knew, streets he once walked as a boy, lay shattered beneath the fire. He blinked hard, but the vision clung to him. He’d seen these time and again, but not at this level.

Naturally, a hand shot up to the trinket around his neck, fingers curling around the durasteel. His chest rose and fell, quickly now, breaths becoming shallow. Glimpsing over at the Panatoran, the urge to explain the horrors clawed at his throat. Yet the words remained trapped.

Eventually, they arrived but were rough. “Coruscant..” He barely cracked the name before swallowing hard. “I see it.. ruins, fire, my home.”

His jaw clenched, shame rising up, causing his eyes to dart away from her like a wounded Nexu. The tremor in his tone was so unlike his usual confidence that it almost felt disgraceful, embarrassing even. And so, he began retreating into the darkness of his own mind.

He squared his shoulders, inhaling again, then trying again.. softer this time. “It’s not real.. I know it’s not. But it feels like I’m back there, watching it fall all over again.”

Unsaid was the truth, that this reopened scars that never healed.

Devin barely caught it, but he heard an invocation of some Moon Goddess, which summoned his amber gaze back to the Jedi Master. Confusion washed over his youthful features. Brows furrowed, lips parted to ask.. but he hesitated. Faith wasn’t something he carried; not anymore. The Empire cut that out of him along with everything else he lost.

But that didn’t mean he would mock it, he couldn’t.

After another deep exhale, he gave a faint, but uncertain, shake of his head. “I don’t know your goddess,” he confessed, almost apologetic.

“But if she’s listening… I hope she hears you.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Instantly, he regretted the honesty of them.

The trinket shifted beneath his grip; perhaps, that was a prayer of his own.

The relentless chorus of noised closed around him, until he looked up, catching the shriek of TIE fighters, their engines howling across the skies.

He didn’t see anyone, but he heard their desperate screams.. a harsh reminder that he was incapable of saving them.

His gaze locked onto her outstretched hand as words swirled in the empty space between them. There was hesitation, for he could feel a phantom weight upon his shoulders, as though the towers of Coruscant threatened to collapse on him. But he finally stepped forward, sliding his palm against hers, fingers curling with firmness; not crushing, just steady, as if trying to anchor not only himself, but her too. The warmth of her skin was startling; it cut through the chill of the forsaken visions. He wasn't sure how long the contact should last, but his grip promised that he would not let go.

Attempting to hold himself together, the sound of him dropped. “I see it too.. it’s like the galaxy wants to remind me of everything I lost. Feels like I’m flying through a storm.” His words faltered, shaking his head. “But I’m still here. And so are you. That’s what matters.”

He refused to drown in his ghosts before the Jedi. Adjusting the rifle on his shoulder one more time, he swept over the horizon.

Another vision burned, but he forced it down.

Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, he was no longer certain of where the transport shuttle had been parked.

There was one telling sign: the visions worsened as they pressed forward. More than once, he thought he saw smoke curling out from his own mouth. He shifted slightly ahead of her, not to drag, but to guide, as his touch remained steady.

Blasterfire, the crackle of flames, everything grew louder.

Slowly his pace, enough to glance back over a shoulder, he searched the golden glow of her light, searching for something real to hold onto. The tension in his jaw eased. “You called it music. To me, it feels like a song I don’t know the words to.. and I can’t get it out of my head.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, far from a smile. If there was a musical rhythm he could control in this world, then it was the single brush of a thumb over her knuckles that followed.

He nodded toward a dip in the ground ahead. The soil there was darker. “If there’s a core to this.. then that’s where the conductor is standing.”

What had been grit, fell into something close to a murmur. “I can’t hear like you, and I don’t understand the Force. But if you say you can contain it, then I’ll have to trust you.”

Shifting again, he would allow her to choose, to either step forward and lead, or let him continue guiding.

​

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen base
Objectives – Investigate the imbalance. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, outfit

​

Wrath, the common thread that slithered through every event involving the dark side. It was no mere outburst, no mere show of anger. It was pure. The purest, most volatile of emotions, a promise of ruin, of devastation. Time and time showed again that a sliver of it in the wrong hand could tear apart civilised societies. For it was destruction harnessed into one form, and it carried consequences that endured long after the fire had burned out. That was its sword, its promise... to manipulate its victims that wrath was strength, that hatred was clarity and that fear was truth. Every illusion she and Devin had yet encountered pressed toward that very goal, forging irritation, fear, and hatred. They were not random thoughts but a deliberate provocation, flowing akin to crimson from open wounds. This power demanded imbalance... Its claws tearing at the cracks of their composure for nourishment. And now that those claws had dug deep, the price of taking them out grew taller and taller.

The forestry around the pair was no longer stable. Flames leapt tall above them, the ash tainted her breath, though she still sought to tell herself it was but an illusion. Foreign spires lay fallen in her vision, though from where she did not know. Death sung with every step, as though the veiled dagger waiting to strike their frail bodies. War etched itself on her sclera, so persistent that even blinking could not make them disappear. Nevertheless, her earlier prayers to her Goddess went unanswered. Was She listening, or was this forest too consumed by shadow for any moonlight to shine through? Her voice was distraught as she glanced upon Devin. "Do not think of Coruscant." she nigh on shouted. "Think of anything else... The first time you flew, the thrill of it? Or... er- the moment you arrived here. Any memory that can drag you away from this." Her words carried a command and a plea, for she was not speaking to him alone--She was begging herself as much as him, clinging to the foolish hope that a diversion may loosen the darkness' shackles. Yet its call dominated her mind, louder than every memory she could conjure up. "It is a façade." she added again, softer this time... "Whatever it shows, whatever it promises... It shall not live up to it, and will only consume you once you submit."

When his fingers found hers, the touch anchored her in the storm. She forced herself to concentrate on the present, to feel what was around them now. The steady sounds of a beating heart. The rougher, calloused palm of a boy of war, not words. That was the truth, not the provocations of hatred that flourished around them. Not the flames. Not the whispers. Not the shadows clawing at her heart. Yet the illusion shifted again... Coruscant unfolded before her, its cityscape broken, debris littering the streets. The destrcution a clear image before her, as if she had or was experiencing it right at this very moment. "It is not real." She declared, though unsure whether it was meant for herself or for Devin. Her fingers tightened around his hand, a half-attempt at reassurance. Step by step, they moved forward, her boots sinking into mud that formed under them. Her expensive white boots grew sullied by the disgusting terrain, almost akin to the corruption that possessed her mind.

All of it... It was more demanding on her psyche than she had pictured, perhaps Malora was not as strong as she had once believed. Not after Kyrah's death, for the wound had never mended, and the dark side exploited its laceration. The hazy memories of her half-Pantoran daughter pierced her mind with the force of a hundred knives. Her young face appearing blurred yet agonisingly familiar. A part of her heart begged to reach out, to console the ghost, to soothe the memory. But another part begged her to stay focused, to not fall for the trap. "Kyrah…" The name tore itself from her lips before she could stop it. She froze, her body unwilling to follow, but her eyes trailed toward the haze. "I am so sorry." Her voice cracked with a grief that the light within her could not dampen. It took her a lengthy moment and a brief reminder of her duties and code before she followed after Devin once more. The strange song he had brought up, lingered faintly in the air, a foreign melody(?) he could not comprehend. Perhaps one more attuned, more sensitive to the Force, could comprehend its meaning. Because, to her, it was a song, a thunderous and loud melody that reinforced the Bogan's presence. She shook her head sharply. "Distract yourself." She commanded, her voice firm. "Do not listen or try to understand the song. I do not know you well enough, lad, but in this moment, I trust you to hold yourself together. The stakes are too high for either of us to fall." She refused to use mind tricks to persuade the pilot. If Devin still had his wits about, he would see the truth.

Each step forth felt like a battle. The flames pressed closer, the darkness followed and the song loudened. But at last, the illusion allowed the flicker of something else to pass through... A temple in ruins, a broken altar glimmering faintly at its core. Or was it a spire, collapsed into rubble? She blinked, and it shifted, each look altering its shape until she no longer knew what lay before them. Malora halted, her breath shallow as she tried to decipher the truth of the matter. Het golden eyes met Devin's with an uncertainty she did not fancy. "You hold blind faith in me, whilst I do not know whether I am able to imprison this power. My eyes deceive me with every glance... If I cannot tell the nightmare apart from reality, how must I channel light and pierce through its barrier?" The admission tasted of shame and defeat. The Jedi Master was no stranger to it, but it felt... wrong to admit to such a weakness, a vulnerability. Yet here, at the source of their agony, the threat of corruption was too high to play pretend.... They had to find a way forward and had to do it before it is too late.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

A once lush forest had lost its beauty; the echoes of violence were the only thing ringing through the air now, a symphony of gloom. Unfortunately, an all too familiar note in life. He knew none of this was real, but that didn't prevent it from pressing against his chest with sickening weight, threatening to blur the lines.

Her voice pierced through confusion.

Do not think of Coruscant.

That struck him like a slap. He wanted to obey, to conjure something positive amidst the darkness that threatened to consume his essence, but his past was like heavy chains now, trying to drag him down. The towers were still crumbling, and he still heard the screams of the innocent echoing through the streets.

How he tried, Stars.. he struggled to shut out the memories of Coruscant, but they clung to him like leeches, draining him of any peace he may have found. Devin knew the Jedi's intentions were pure, woven with a plea that tugged at the frayed edges of his heart, trying to pull him towards something brighter, something that wasn't consumed by fire and ash. But the truth was, before the Empire ravaged his home, there had been nothing else for him, just a boy molded by the shadows of the lower levels. The academy may have drilled discipline into his very being, honing his hands for the cockpit and his mind to perform under pressure.

No instructor from back home could have prepared him for this mental onslaught.

There he saw his younger self, laughing in cantinas, a pack of reckless friends with him, believing themselves more than just mortal. Spilled liquor, shouts and banter over a sabacc table, the clatter of credits he never knew how to hold onto. Devin was skilled in that dangerous temptation of a game, savoring the victories like a fine vintage. But now it only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Each image would tighten his throat. Another appeared, himself in a familiar chair.. a tattoo needle buzzing along his neck, a sting that was painful.. but empowering too. The floral design was not something regretted, for it was a promise to himself, a reminder, that it was possible for even a garden to grow through the cracks of durasteel. Most visions were him chasing adrenaline, the only proof of him existing.. a desire to prove he was alive. Swoop races through the underbelly, engines screaming, credits exchanging hands with the unsavory type who would have gladly slit his throat without a second thought. He leaned into every cheap thrill.. every reckless gamble.

A boy without purpose.

Danger and delirium.

And shame crept in once more.. uninvited. If Master Varis could see what he thought, and he was beginning to believe she could, then she was seeing all of it. The cantinas, the gambling, the wasted credits, the swoop gangs. The boy he had been, not the man he was trying so hard to become. He registered the heat rising under his worn jacket, this time from the humiliation.

His grip slipped for the briefest instant, like a note dropped in the middle of a song, but then his fingers sought hers again. The interlacing was clumsy, almost shy, yet that knot balanced him more than any lesson the academy ever forced into his bones.

Branded with the title 'Sky Rat' amongst his squadron, he always wore that name with a grin. Never had it wounded him; it was a reminder, that even a boy from the gutters could have a place among the stars. From the mouths of those in his squadron.. this was camaraderie. From someone who lacked any real possessions, this was also pride.

That name cut differently, knowing that she was catching glimpses of who he used to be. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t affection; it was truth, and that truth hurt.

A sharp exhale tore from him, as though the words had to be dragged out of his lungs. What left him came quiet, born of fear that others nearby might hear. “I’m more than just some street rat.” The syllables stretched with defiance. “I’m more than the name I was born into..”

This war is the only time I’ve had something real to fight for.

The Panatoran's words cut once more, sharp, and he caught a foreign name. Kyrah. He didn't know who it was, but that anguish in her tone.. it made his own stomach twist, because Devin understood that kind of loss, the kind that never healed.

Endless was the song pressing against his skull. He tried to obey her command, tried to wrench his thoughts away from Coruscant still, but the harder he fought, the more the melody would tighten.

So he pushed deeper, further back, past the academy, past the war..

There it was. A small home that smelled of rust, walls thin. He had nothing of worth, not really.. except for one toy. A cheap little X‑wing model, paint chipped, one wing bent. But to him it was everything. He would run through the corridors with it in one hand, making the sounds of engines, firing invisible little shots at enemies only he could see. His imagination knew no bounds back then, for he was already among the stars, already a pilot, already free.

The stars were his birthright, made for him, and he for them.

Luckily, that memory wrapped around like a shield, but if he wasn’t careful, the song would strip it away too.

Finally, strength gathered, enough for his focus to find her. “You say I hold blind faith in you. Maybe I do. But I’ve flown blind before. I’ve been in the cockpit when everything began falling apart, when the only thing I had was instinct and the belief that if I kept my hands steady, I’d somehow find a way through the chaos.. that’s what this feels like. I don’t see what you see, I don’t hear the music the way you do. But I know what it means to trust something bigger than myself, even if I can't explain it.”

They had wandered into the forest’s heart. “I understand hope.. I understand holding onto belief when it’s all you’ve got left. That’s how I survived the underlevels. That’s how I survived this war so far. And that’s how we’re going to survive this.”

His gaze flicked toward the shifting ruin ahead. The scene looked half normal again. Enough to ease the tremor. “You don’t have to see clearly. Sometimes you fly through the storm anyway.. because you know there’s something on the other side. That’s what I believe. If you can’t believe that right now, then believe in me. Because I’ll believe enough for both of us.”

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen forests
Objectives – Put an end to the ritual. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

​

The prelude to a rejoinder was woven of the same thread as this unspoken anticipation. The haze wherein memories lingered unprovoked and the tension was sharpened enough to wield as a dagger. Odessen's forestry remained tainted by the warping illusions, flicking between the crumbling towers of Coruscant to the emptiness which lay within her former Jedi Enclave. A lesson to both or a cautionary tale of what may be their fate--should they follow this trail? One may wonder where this would end, in victory or demise? The source of this imbalance had not yet represented itself even if the chorus of Bogan loudened with each step, each breath, pounding heavily against her mind as if begging for entry. Malora's soft touch grazed past the cold curved hilt of her lightsaber, a frail attempt to stabilise herself amidst the tempest of stimuli. Her thumb gently traced the lunar engravings on its metal, following the bountiful lines shaping stars and moons, all in silent pursuit of divine intervention...

His words spoke truth, one sometimes had to place their faith blindly into something one may not even sense... Just not him. "It is not you who I require belief from, nor need it be. Yet do not fool yourself, you are by no means the only being that walks this forest..."

Her kin had, many a time, taught her that when no cry was heeded by friend or foe, the Moon would yet keep its vigil, to answer the prayers of Her devout. Furthermore, a younger Malora had spent half her childhood kneeled in the temple of the Moon Goddess, polishing her prayers from dusk till dawn. The Priestesses nigh on adopting her into their sisterhood, much to the disapproval of her noble family--for she remained an heiress (among her numerous cousins. Whilst the lunar blessings posed scarce in the last handful of months, it did not falter her faith or resolve. So even amidst the eternal darkness of the forest, the Moons of Odessen still lingered beyond that, and through their silver gaze her Goddess might yet heed her call. That mere sliver of comfort, of hope, was enough for the illusion to gradually faint until the ruins before them took shape.

Its older architecture, the handful of cracked pillars that were still up (whilst others had fallen). The altar in its centre, accursed by thunderous disharmonious chords louder than a dozen orchestras may be. In their midst a crystal-like formation, the heart of this foul power, yet as she extended her hand toward it, she failed to overcome the heavy currents of the Force, unable to draw the artefact or object to her hand. It shifted lightly before drawing back akin to a magnet. "I can see its heart, it calls to me. Do you not hear it beat?" Her words were soft, moving below the crescendoing currents of the symphony. Malora used his hand as an anchor and pressed on into the agonising aura. Fears, not only limited to hers, crowded her head in a relentless rhythm, as if it had brought more people into its network of victims.

A wide golden blade snapped out of the emitter as she neared the altar, the world around them altering in various discordant depictions, as it blended dark caverns with flaming battlegrounds and even the hangar of the Odessen outpost into one chaotic canvas. The vision disagreeing on what it must depict, its energy scattering across a multitude of mirages. Still, Bogan's presence pressed heavily upon her heart. Not yet defining her actions like a puppeteer, but it did cause her Solari crystal to sputter--questioning whether her heart still held the purity it must hold. Blasted crystal... "The crystal conducts this discordant symphony... It is weakening my will before I can act," Her eyes trailed towards her younger companion, as if pondering what else they could use to break this object.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

Devin's chest seemed to constrict, as if caught in the icy grip of not so surprising disappointment; a tone he had grown all too accustomed to in his days at the Academy, when the instructors looked upon him as an unworthy gutter rat. And even among fellow pilots, he could hear the mocking whispers of seasoned veterans, questioning the worth of a kid from the lower levels of Coruscant in the cockpit.

But he’d grown accustomed to the lack of faith, it had always been reserved for others, never for him.

Just like anywhere else, he wasn’t there to be believed in, even if his words had fallen short. He was a pilot, capable of flying through any storm.

So the forest pressed in, illusions clawing,

The visions never stopped; in fact, they increased with intensity.

He knew they weren’t real.. but the weight of them sure was.

The cool durasteel of the trinket at his collarbone was real. The strap digging into his shoulder was real. The warmth of her hand was real.

Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, it was no different than being in the cockpit when alarms blared and the starfighter was rattling like it might fall apart.

Words spilled softly, rooted like the trees of Odessen. “I figured.” His head shifted, coaxing his gaze to meet hers amidst the turmoil that besieged them. ”Don’t worry about whether you believe in me. That’s not the point. The point is, I believe in you. And I’m not letting go.”

Then the blade snapped to life beside him, its light spilling across the ruins. It almost steadied him.. until he saw it sputter, flicker, like a dying speeder coughing smoke.

His gut clenched. He'd seen ships catch fire mid-flight, engines choke out. But never a Jedi’s weapon..

It was like watching the sun flicker.

Returning to the Pantoran, he witnessed the strain on her face and heard the crack in her voice.

The crystal conducts this discordant symphony… It is weakening my will before I can act.

Brows burrowed. “I don’t need purity. I don’t need perfection..”

His attention briefly shifted to the crystal.

“Listen.. back in the squadron, I flew with pilots who thought they were untouchable. Aces. Veterans. And I watched some of them crack as soon as the alarms screamed. You know who made it through? The ones who admitted they were scared, who leaned on their wingmates instead of pretending they could carry everything. That’s what I need you to do right now.”

With one arm, though not ideal, a barrel then leveled at the crystal.

The safety flicked off with a click.. a satisfying note.

“You said it’s conducting this symphony. Fine. Then we cut the wires. I don’t care if it’s with your blade, my rifle.. or both. But we won't let it keep playing.”

Another breath, and the rifle's sight aligned, but something shifted just at the edge of his vision. And for the first time since the visions began, Devin saw something that didn’t belong to Coruscant’s burning skyline or the twisted memories clawing at his mind. Cloaked in black, hood low, moving with unnatural speed. Too fast to be another hallucination.

It didn't seem to be coming for them. At least, not yet.

​

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen forests
Objectives – Put an end to the ritual. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

​

Amid Odessen's early morning, the sun was little more than a distant rumor, its light trembling beneath the ache of the night's lingering claws--deeply entrenched into its muddy soil. The landscape was devoid of life, be it friend or foe, save for the unlikely duo traversing its corrupted terrain. With the lingering whispers (or rather thunderous clamor), Malora's focus balanced narrowly on a frail thread, every step a warning that one slip might mean certain death or at least agony. Still, 'twas not as if they had much choice left, though her heart did briefly yearn for the comfort of her apartment on Pantora, and the delights of a good glass of vintage. Nevertheless, it was swiftly replaced by the gentle caress of her religion, as it posed a weak barrier against the unknown. And whilst faith held her hand, the pilot seemed to endlessly daddle on about his companions and their 'fears'. As though she had any desire to hear his life story.

The notion of confessing to ones fears was as pathetic as a jester's attempts to produce even a bemused snort or giggle. A desperate affair, yet, given the ever flourishing darkness around them, it did not fall entirely out of tune. Her hand gradually rose toward the ruin once more, trying to conduct the harmonies of the artefacts in ways coalescing with her own melody. Yet the opposing loudness repetitively picked at her composure, forging cracks in what little of it remained. Its discord drowned out the faint hum twisting around her fingers, until once more she succumbed to her weakness. The light within refused to withstand the endless waves of dark emitted by this corrupting ritual. However, they could not endlessly stand by as their strength was drained through distorted illusions and unpleasant noise, so when the click of a rifle sounded, Malora sought to keep it steady with what little of the Force she could still weave. "Well, do not stand there gaping at your own shadow. Fire." Another snarl aimed itself at Devin as she noticed his eyes flickering about.

While indeed, the presence of another living being prowling around did not go unnoticed, it was hastily dismissed as a trivial detail. Yet, the lad's willingness to separate his attention over a 'phantom' in the corner of his eye, was mere stupidity. Their presence was far from a staple in the musical sheet and therefore not prominent enough to pose an immediate danger... Or so she prayed to her Goddess. "Are you going to keep caressing that trigger, or will you finally pull it? Unless, of course, you'd rather regale your pilot friends with how you triumphed here with confessions of weakness and personal tales." Her voice was swamped with mockery, though not entirely puppeteered by malice. For it was meant only to coax him toward destroying the artifact. The sooner he did, the sooner her nightmares could be cured.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

The Jedi’s snarl hit a little harder than the illusions had. Not because it cut deep, as he’d been called worse by instructors and even squadmates, but because it was familiar. Her tone, the sharp edge that basically said you’re less, you’re not enough. Devin’s brows furrowed at last, being the first real note of frustration, he’d felt all day. It wasn’t sensitive to wound him per se, but it didn’t sit right either. He’d never been one to believe in swallowing disrespect.

His jaw flexed, teeth pressing together, as he began to steady the rifle. The strap dug further into his shoulder, but it had a way of grounding him. And that cool durasteel charm at his collarbone, another anchor. The forest pressed in with its illusions, and somehow, the Pantoran’s voice was cutting sharper than all of it.

A slow exhale left his nostrils, the amber fire within his irises briefly flickering before returning to a narrowed state. His expression a was mask of neutrality, certainly devoid of venom. He was not one to speak ill of others, save for the occasional quip or nonsensical remark that escaped his lips

“Careful, Master Varis. I’ve had a lifetime of people talking down to me. I don’t break easy, but I don’t exactly bend that way either..”

Another breath.. steadier this time. He shifted his grip, thumb brushing the safety of the weapon. “Don’t mistake me for one of your younglings. I’m only here because I choose to be.”

At last, his fingers unfurled from hers, like a gentle farewell, born not of rejection, but of duty. With both hands then wrapping around the rifle, he pressed the stock against his shoulder, stance rooted in the ground as if he were one of the trees. He lined up the target in the cockpit of his mind. The sight aligned with the crystal at the heart of the altar.

Devin’s breath slowed.. chest rising and falling in a smooth rhythm. Just like flying.. just like holding a yoke steady when alarms screamed and the hull rattled like it was being ripped apart during a dogfight.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Cut the wires..”

The trigger squeezed.

The rifle barked with a fury, the recoil slamming into his shoulder. In the forest, the sound echoed and cracked like a whip..sharp and jarring. The bolt flew true, a streak of light that slammed into the crystal with a force that shattered reality.

It was as if the whole forest inhaled, with illusions stuttering and shattering, flames freezing, and screams cutting off in a final, desperate gasp.
Then the crystal screamed.. not with sound, but with a violent tremor, blurring his vision. The pulse of it searing through his veins like an iron.

Something he'd never felt before.

He staggered back.. half a step, boots grinding in the ground. But he refused to lower the rifle, his sight still trained on the enemy. The crystal. Sweat began dripping down his forehead. "Stars damn it," he spat, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I don't care what song it's playing. I need your help. We end it now."

 

[Malora Varis]

THE WALTZ BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH​

Location – Odessen forests
Objectives – Put an end to the ritual. . .
Tags – Devin Virell
Paraphernalia – Lightsaber, Bodysuit, Outfit

​

The illusion of choice had dulled the lad's mind. For even if he bore the desire to scurry off into nothingness, the hold the artefact had over them would not yield to his will. It was a truth they had battled countlessly in the labyrinth of illusions they had scarcely escaped sane. Though it would be inhuman to not confess that Malora harboured the same ideas-- none would long to remain in the tempest, or dare they say the eye of the storm? Nevertheless, the crystal persisted its loud ache as it dug its claws into her conscious. Ringing and pounding as if still attempting to breach her defences when they had nearly crumbled before. Though their advances were hastily intercepted by the sheer focus she held upon her companion's gun, the metal not yielding to any twitch or shake from Devin's hand. It was akin to a powerful melody directed by a conductor in the shadow of its surrender. It strings sharp, the sound almost cutting through the noises that sought to overwhelm her mind.

Yet upon the flash of red and white, the control slipped from her fingers as a wave of relief ran over her. The relentless assault halting for but a temporary ceasefire, yet a breath out of victory escaped her. Too soon? Mayhap. For in a matter of seconds, the energy emanating from the shattered crystal ran over them in countless waves. She heard the faint calls for aid coming from her ally beside her, as her golden eyes tried to find Devin's. Yet something continued to pour from the damaged artefact, its scars reopening with the energy of a star (least, that is what it felt like). "Hold on, Devin" No spat, no attempt to talk him into the ground for not remaining in place. No, it was a simple promise, a sign that proved she would relieve him of this blindness, of this torment. Malora's hand shot out toward the crystal once more, her fingers trembling as she attempted to weave the Force into a barrier, a bubble of protection against all harm... Only for it to dissipate as soon as it stood.

Her wrist twitched lightly as she tried to conduct the Force's chorus once more, separating it from the march that grew both in vigour and size. She would not hold against it, she could not do this--why had she pretended to be able to mend a wound in the Force, while her own continued to fester? For a second her lips twitched and her brow furrowed, this was not the time nor place to be pondering on these queries, not while the darkness threatened to consume her ally... her friend? No, ally. Yet the irritation blossomed something else, a power, a vulnerability. For some of the energy, cascading down on them in illusions and madness, began to vanish as if her being attempted to consume it. But to say she held the reins was a falsehood, still the power began to crackle within her grasp before unleashing itself from its shackles, right upon the artifact.

Malora could not see its impact, only felt the power and life leave her as the light vanished for a moment -- or maybe forever, but who knew if it would relight itself again. . . "Are you unharmed? We need to leave at once," She mumbled, slumping toward the pilot.

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Malora Varis

​

The rifle exceeded all expectations, the recoil slamming a burn into his shoulder and the strap dug deeper into flesh, though pain was hardly a concern amidst the chaos that swirled around them. A symphony of red and white hues flared across the chamber, blurring lines between life and death.

It felt as though all of Odessen held its breath, for even without a conductor, the orchestra of what he registered as violence, would continue playing a deadly tune.

Then came the reckoning, a force not of flesh, but of the air around them, slamming into his chest like a hammer of bass notes. There was a rattling of his ribs and buzzing his teeth, painful to say the least. His vision swam, like a cockpit canopy icing over, and he staggered, boots grinding into the stone beneath him. But the rifle would remain up, a barrier between him and whatever this unseen force was wishing to break him.

The crystal's scream was a string section gone feral.. high.. shrill, sawing through his skull. Another curse rolled under his breath, a breath that was dragging ragged.

Through it all, he fixed on the Pantoran. Arms out, fingers trembling, like she was trying to play a note that her body wouldn’t allow. Then came the barrier flare, and the collapse was static. A crease in the brow spoke of doubt, and then he heard the woman's voice.

This time, it bore no venom, no command, cutting through the noise like a mournful violin line. Devin forced his eyes to hers, the golden hue threatening to burn out, rimmed with strain, a sun on the verge of exploding.

“I’ve got my grip. Don’t waste yourself trying to carry me through it.”

He’d flown through firestorms, alarms blaring, hulls threatening to peel away.. and always, there’d been a stick to pull, a throttle to accelerate. But here, he was stripped of all that, forced to just watch someone unravel. There was no way for him to chart a course through her suffering. Just a pilot, far from his natural element.

That helplessness was heavier than any G-force.

Another wave crashed down, with a ferocity that shook his very bones, a drumbeat pounding against his chest, threatening to suffocate the breath from his lungs. He too struggled, against the dizzying vertigo. "You don't have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders alone," he declared.

Her light was sputtering, as he saw it, the way her body was prepared to fold, the way strength bled out like a song fading mid‑note.

And still she asked if he was unharmed.

Maybe it was a Jedi thing..

So, the rifle would slowly bow, releasing a heavy toll. A hand shot forward, gentle but urgent, catching her shoulder before the earth could dissolve beneath her. Drawing closer, he lifted her from the void, feet wide like ancient oaks of the forest themselves, and bracing them both against the unseen weight that sought to pull them under.

Adrenaline seeped from his body, leaving behind a hollowness that made muscles ache. The buzzing aftershock coursing through his nerves was like wildfire. With a grunt, he shifted the rifle to his back, and his arm slid under hers, pulling her fragile body against his own. The weight of her felt like an anchor, grounding him in the reality of the horrors around them, as he tried to keep her safe in a world that had turned dark.

"My engines are shot, and I'm running on fumes," the words sounded just like another status report, but the tone woven into them was every bit human. "Let's get you back to the base, Master Varis."

He dragged them both forward, step by step, through the storm’s final echoes.

Devin was capable of trading banter over comms for days. But now, nothing came. In place, there was a quiet wish that he'd been capable of more, enough to prevent what just happened.