Private To Sink Or Swim [Ala Quin]

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

Balun hadn't expected her reaction—the softness in her voice, the flicker of emotion that crossed Ala Quin 's face. Where he had long since accepted the fractures in his own past, worn smooth over time like a stone in a river, she seemed to feel the rawness of it now, as if his story reached some tender place inside her.

It caught him off guard.

Instinctively, he eased back on the throttle, letting the Bongo drift in the quiet depths. The soft whir of the submersible faded to a hush as he leaned back in his seat, turning to study her with a mixture of curiosity and, admittedly, mild concern. Balun was hardly an expert in navigating moments like these—typical, perhaps, in his own way, often oblivious to how deeply people could feel when touched by another's pain. He was no stranger to offering empathy, but receiving it? That was something else entirely, something rare.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice low and steady, "it's all good. You don't need to worry." His gaze softened, the usual edge of his expression giving way to something open, something real. "I'm okay now. The Jedi—they treated me well. Became a second family, really. And the Dashiells… they're incredible. Sure, I'm the only Force user in the lot, but I wouldn't trade them for anything."

For a fleeting moment, he fought the small impulse to reach out, to place a hand on her shoulder as a quiet gesture of reassurance. But they were still strangers in many ways, and he wasn't about to step across unspoken boundaries. Instead, he let his words carry the weight of his intent, hoping she heard the truth in them.

When Ala suggested a new destination, the shift was a welcome one. Balun gave a brisk nod, grateful for the gentle pivot in their conversation. "Crystal Gardens, huh?" His brow lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling into a faint, amused smirk. "Are they submerged, or tucked away in some kind of underwater cave we can surface in? Never seen one before—obviously," he added dryly, his tone light, poking a bit of fun at his own earlier admission of Bongo inexperience.

With a subtle push of the throttle, Balun angled the submersible away from the looming trench wall, guiding it smoothly back toward the heart of the tunnel. The Bongo responded with a soft hum, gliding through the dark like a sleek, silver arrow.

"So… where exactly do we find these heat vents or mineral formations?" he asked, casting a glance toward Ala as the glow of their forward lights danced across the jagged rock and swirling sediment. "You think they're marked, or are we just going to follow the shimmer and hope for the best?"

There was something in his voice—half curiosity, half quiet excitement—as if the adventure was just starting to unfold.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala pressed her palm softly to the transparisteel dome, eyes following the lazy arc of a moonfish as it flitted just outside the Bongo’s shimmering glow. Its scales caught the light like starfire, and for a few long seconds, she forgot about everything except the flick of its fins and the lull of the water.

“I think we follow the shimmer,” she said at last, half-grinning over her shoulder at Balun. “That's always how it works in the stories, right? You don’t find wonder by chart—you chase it through caverns with a too-bright heart and no map at all.”

His voice, the steadiness in it when he reassured her, lingered with her longer than she let show. She didn’t glance back immediately—if she had, he might’ve seen the way her lashes fluttered or the way her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but didn’t trust it yet. It wasn’t romantic. It was just... that he’d been through all that and still smiled like that. Still laughed like that. Still cared about beauty and his son and finding places like this.

“You’re lucky, you know,” she murmured eventually, casting him a side glance that was more sincere than teasing. “To be found. That someone came looking. That you got to know where you came from.” She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t say that she'd never had that. That even now, centuries out of time, she still didn't know who had made her or why. That kind of vulnerability wasn’t for this moment.

So instead, she pointed toward a faint shimmer in the distance—where the trench floor rose into layered shelves of pale stone glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins.

“There. That’s the beginning of the Crystal Gardens. See those rippling flows?” She leaned forward, tapping lightly on the dome. “Thermal vents. If the water’s warm enough, the mineral growths bloom into these glassy structures—like coral, but sharper. More fragile.”

A pause. Her brow furrowed in thought.

“I read that the Gungans think it’s sacred. Something about the Force singing clearer in places where fire meets water. I don’t know if that’s true, but…” she trailed off, gaze softening as the glinting stones came slowly into view.

“...it feels true, doesn’t it?”

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

"I was extremely lucky," Balun agreed quietly, his voice stripped of any bravado or embellishment. There was no need to explain further. He left it there, simple and true.

What he didn't say—what sat unspoken in the space between his words—was the truth of those lost years between the time he fled the New Jedi Order and the moment he was found by his father, Judah Dashiell . Those years had been shaped by the cold alleys and flickering neon shadows of Coruscant's lower levels, by nights spent scraping for survival, by choices made in desperation. He'd fallen in with gangs, using his connection to the Force not as a noble gift, but as a tool—for quick credits, for rigged fights, for the kind of work no young man should have to consider. Anything to stay afloat, anything to stay unnoticed by the Order he'd run from, afraid they might drag him back.

But there was no point in telling Ala that. She didn't need to hear it. He was already hard enough on himself most days without adding more weight to how others saw him.

He was twenty-three now, nearly twenty-four. He had left the Order at fifteen, met Judah at seventeen, and everything in between had been survival and consequence. He'd tried to make peace with it by giving himself to something bigger—volunteering for the Tingel Arm Coalition, joining the Aquilian Rangers, fighting a war to protect those who had no voice under Imperial rule. But redemption bought in blood came at a price, and Balun had paid it in full, standing among the bodies of brothers and sisters lost to the chaos of battle.

Ala's voice pulled him back, a thread of sound weaving through the quiet of the Bongo's cockpit and anchoring him to the present. Blinking out of his thoughts, Balun refocused, catching sight of the shimmer she was pointing toward. A school of moonfish glimmered like scattered stars in the dark, their sleek forms flashing silver-blue as they darted ahead. He guided the Bongo into a smooth bank left, aligning with the dance of the fish as they led them deeper toward the faint glow on the ocean floor.

Ahead, the pale stone formations emerged through the haze, their rounded and jagged edges clustered around the rising shimmer of thermal vents. The water rippled with heat and movement, casting a faint mirage-like blur across the rocks—just as Ala had described.

"If this is a sacred place…" Balun murmured under his breath, his voice low but carrying easily to her ears, "…a place where the Force flows so strongly it gives the ocean a voice…"

He exhaled softly, a flicker of awe glinting in his eyes.

"…then this is going to be one hell of an experience."

His words hung between them, a mixture of disbelief, excitement, and the quiet longing of a man who, despite everything, still yearned to feel connected to something greater.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala didn’t answer right away. She just looked—looked at him, at the shimmer through the water, at the haunting shapes growing clearer through the misted blue. The thermal vents were rising now, soft jets of warmth visible only by the way the water distorted in gentle waves above them. The crystal garden was there, unfurling slowly as if in greeting.

“You’re right,” she said, voice hushed. “This is going to be something.”

There was a glint in her eyes again—not tears this time, but something wider, rounder. Wonder, maybe. Awe. And somewhere inside it, yes, still that tug of feeling. But she didn’t act on it. She just smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear and leaning forward to peer into the bloom of light ahead.

“Keep going slow. The formations are delicate. They’ll fracture if the current pushes too hard.”

She pointed gently toward a wide, fan-like cluster of crystals rising from the slope like frozen fire. The Bongo lights danced across their surfaces, revealing soft violet, opal, and pale gold tones inside. Heat shimmer made them look like they were breathing.

“There,” she whispered, grinning. “Let’s set her down over that shelf.”

She began unfastening her harness, already shifting in her seat. Her movements were careful, reverent—like someone preparing to step onto sacred ground.

“Most of these gardens are untouched. Even the Gungans only pass by. They say it’s rude to speak loudly near them. Some believe the crystals can store emotion—that they echo what you bring into the space.”

She blinked, then glanced over with a sheepish shrug.

“So maybe don’t think about taxes or heartbreak or the time you stubbed your toe in front of your hero. You know. Just in case.”

A soft hum escaped her lips as she eased closer to the viewport again. She didn’t open the hatch yet—just sat for a moment, head bowed slightly in the glow of the garden below.

“It feels quiet here,” she murmured. “The kind of quiet that doesn’t mean empty. The kind that means listen.”

And so she did.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

Balun shifted slightly in his seat, the subtle creak of the cockpit seat lost beneath the gentle hum of the Bongo's systems. His fingers loosened momentarily from the controls, flexing as if to shake out a flicker of tension before he took hold again, this time with a steadier, more deliberate grip. His gaze followed Ala Quin 's, tracking the faint glow ahead as it gradually intensified, spilling its shimmering light into the dark waters around them.

Carefully, he eased the Bongo forward, guiding it toward the slope where crystalline formations began to emerge—gleaming shards that caught the submersible's beams and scattered the light in a delicate dance across the rock face. The closer they drew, the more the slope revealed itself, a slope of pale stone that cradled the glimmering crystals like jewels embedded in the sea's crown.

A faint nod to himself, a small gesture of approval, escaped as Balun adjusted the controls and brought the Bongo into a gradual descent. He guided the craft with precision, bringing it down toward the lip of the shelf with a caution born of instinct. This was no place to rush.

Ala's lighthearted quip about avoiding thoughts of taxes or heartbreak pulled a low chuckle from him, the sound rumbling quietly in his throat as he throttled back the engines. With practised ease, he shifted the repulsorlift thrusters into idle, allowing the Bongo to settle into a gentle hover atop the shelf. The ship's automated tractor beam engaged with a soft pulse, anchoring them just enough to keep their position without disturbing the fragile coral formations clinging to the rock.

"Good thing we've got a couple of rebreathers in the compartment in front of you," Balun said with a grin, glancing sidelong at Ala. "Told the guy at the shop I wouldn't need 'em… yeah, turns out I was way off." He punctuated the remark with an exaggerated shrug, his expression slipping into the easy charm of someone willing to laugh at his own miscalculations.

But Balun's manner shifted as they prepared to step into what might well be a sacred site. Quiet respect softened his features as he reached down to unclip his Lightsaber and ease the holstered K-16 Bryar Pistol from his belt. Without a word, he set both carefully on the dashboard above the Bongo's control panel—deliberate, measured, mindful. If the Gungans revered this place, the last thing he wanted was to bring weapons into its heart.

Turning back to Ala, his lips curved into a faint, wry smile.

"All right then," he murmured, a flicker of excitement sparking in his voice. "Guess it's time to get wet."

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala crouched at the storage compartment Balun had mentioned, her fingers fumbling slightly as she pulled the rebreather suits free with a victorious noise. “Behold,” she whispered, eyes wide with mock reverence, “the glamorous life of Jedi fieldwork. Tactical, dignified, mildly clammy.”

She tossed one of the suits to Balun before shimmying into her own—arms and legs doing an awkward waltz as she fought with the pressure seal zipper. “I swear, these things are made for humans with extra elbows.”

Despite her quiet grumbling, there was a reverence to her movements beneath the playfulness. As the helmet sealed with a gentle hiss and the suit systems calibrated, her entire posture softened. Even the silly grin she gave Balun as she caught his eye was tempered with something gentler—like she knew, in her bones, that they were about to step into something ancient.

“Okay. Checklist.” She wiggled her gloved fingers. “Breathable air? Check. Oxygen flow? Check. Sense of spiritual purpose and mild terror? Also check.”

She stood by the airlock hatch now, fingers ghosting over the panel. Her voice dropped, quieter again, the grin fading into something more still.

“You ready?”

A beat. Then, with a soft hiss and click, the outer door slid open.

The ocean welcomed them.

The light from the Bongo cast long golden beams into the dark, illuminating swirling silt and the glow of the crystal garden below. The formations stretched in every direction—spires and curls and branches of translucent stone, blooming like frozen fire in slow-motion.

Ala took her first step out.

Bubbles trailed upward as she moved, her body weightless and graceful in the soft current. She turned slowly, hair billowing around her like a nebula trapped in a helmet, and reached out to touch nothing—just to exist in it.

“This place…” Her voice crackled softly over the comm link in her suit. “I think it’s singing.”

And with quiet kicks of her flippers, she drifted forward—toward the glowing bloom.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

"Well, chit, if this isn't awkward," Balun muttered under his breath, wrestling with the stubborn folds of his diving suit in the cramped confines of the Bongo. First day meeting Ala Quin , and here they were—crammed into a submersible with barely enough room to stretch, let alone change into diving gear. He knew he had to shed his jacket and undershirt, but he was determined not to make things any more uncomfortable than necessary.

Grimacing, he shoved his legs into the suit first, struggling to wedge the material over his pants, an effort that earned him a quiet grunt as he wrestled with the stubborn fabric. The Bongo rocked ever so slightly with each awkward motion, the dim interior filled with the soft hum of its systems and the occasional muffled rustle of clothing.

With a resigned sigh, Balun yanked his shirt over his head, the fabric bunching and twisting before finally coming free. For a moment, his torso was exposed to the soft light of the cabin—an unintentional reveal of the quiet testimony written across his skin.

Scars. Countless marks of survival.

A jagged slash carved from the back of his shoulder down to his hip—a souvenir from a saber strike that had nearly ended his life. The blow had caught him off-guard, searing deep through flesh and narrowly missing his vitals as he fell back, retreating under the cover fire of his squad. A pair of small, round scars pocked his side, reminders of blaster impacts that his light armour hadn't fully absorbed. Together, they told the silent history of his years on the battlefield, of the war against the Empire of the Lost, of the cost of defiance.

Balun hardly thought of them anymore; they had become part of him, familiar as breath. But as the quiet moment stretched between them, he became sharply aware of Ala's presence—and realised, belatedly, how jarring the sight of his body might be to someone unaccustomed to such marks. Without a word, he slipped the diving suit over his torso, the motion swift and practised, masking any flicker of self-consciousness. Zipping it up, he cast Ala a crooked grin and raised a thumb in the universal signal of ready.

Then, without hesitation, he followed her toward the airlock.

The shift from cabin to open water was like stepping from one world into another.

As they glided free of the Bongo, the ocean opened around them in an endless expanse of liquid sapphire. The search lamp on Balun's headgear flicked on with a quiet click, casting a pale beam through the dark water, catching flashes of darting fish and the subtle shimmer of the crystals ahead. The sensation was immediate and exhilarating—the cool embrace of the deep, the weightlessness, the way the Force stirred and pulsed here, wrapping around the Crystal Gardens in currents both seen and unseen.

For the first time in what felt like ages, time wasn't something he measured in strategy or survival. With the rebreather easing each breath and the freedom of movement around him, Balun let himself savour the moment.

Pushing gently against the water with his arms, he descended alongside Ala, letting the currents guide him, drawn forward by the glow of the crystals.

"I don't think I've ever heard the Force make a sound like this before—not one that wasn't carried through the mind, at least," Balun murmured, his voice soft, almost reverent as it crackled faintly through the comms. "It's extraordinary… like the Force is flowing with the tide itself. Or maybe," he paused, a faint smile tugging at his voice, "it's the tide that's following the Force."

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala hadn’t looked away when Balun changed.

She hadn’t stared, either. But she saw them.

The scars. Not just the obvious ones—the saber’s long burn, the clustered blaster wounds—but the way he moved around them. The way his body remembered pain, and worked with it, instead of against it. She said nothing. Her eyes flicked once over his form with the silent reverence of someone studying a battlefield after the smoke cleared.

There was a story in every mark, and Force help her, she wanted to ask about all of them. Wanted to reach out, not in pity, but with that warm ache that always bloomed in her chest when she saw someone who had been broken, and still chose to stand.

Instead, she offered him a quiet smile, sealed her helmet, and stepped out into wonder.

---

The world outside the Bongo shimmered with movement and meaning.

The crystal garden rose like a mirage from the seafloor, sprawling outward in slow-growing spirals, shapes refracting like distant stars. Ala’s breath hitched as her boots touched down softly on the shelf. The Force thrummed here—not loudly, but intimately, like a whisper meant for only her.

She stepped forward, one hand drifting near a cluster of crystals that spiraled outward in sharp fractal geometry. Every edge caught the light differently, shimmering in hues no language could name. Her fingers hovered just shy of touching them—

And then the world fell away.

---

She stood again on that lonely cliff, wind tearing at her coat, saber blazing gold in the dark. The monsters below clawed and screamed, masses of horror churning at the base of the rise. Behind her: the shuttle. The evac. The last escape.

And the padawan—young, afraid, clutching a baby to her chest. Ala’s gaze locked onto the child, heart stuttering in her chest with the instinctive pull of something ancient. Familial.

Hers.

She knew it with clarity. With ache. With purpose. The child wasn’t just someone’s. The child was hers.

And Balun was there.

Not part of the vision—but watching. Like the Force had allowed him to bear witness, to know what she carried. He stood apart from it, in that strange veil between now and not-now, shadowed by the edges of memory, but present.

Ala turned once more toward the edge. The tide of monsters was rising fast, shrieking, clawing. Her death was seconds away. Still, she smiled toward the shuttle as it pulled away—eyes lingering on the child.

A final choice.

A last defense.

Ala’s body met the horde as light swallowed everything.

---

She gasped.

Weightless again in water. Her hand trembled near the crystal. The garden pulsed softly. The Force quieted.

She didn’t speak. Not yet. But when she finally turned toward Balun, her eyes were wide—not afraid, not broken.

Just full.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

Balun drifted closer to the Crystal Garden, the shimmering formation rising like a living flame from the pale stone shelf below. The crystals seemed to grow from the rock itself, born of heat, water, and the gentle current of the Force, their glassy emerald facets flickering with inner light. They pulsed with a beauty both wild and delicate, circling in quiet harmony with the flow of the ocean around them.

He felt it then—subtle but undeniable—a pull, as if something deep within the crystalline heart was reaching for him. A whisper of resonance stirred in his chest, almost magnetic, drawing him closer. Could one of these be attuned enough, stable enough, to serve as a lightsaber crystal? The thought flitted through his mind despite himself, even as he reminded himself that this was sacred ground, a site revered by the Gungans. Still, the closer he drifted, the harder it was to resist the gentle, aching allure.

But then—without warning—the world around him slipped away.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, the watery light of the crystal garden fading like a dying ember. Suddenly, Balun was somewhere else. A place not his own.

Before him, at the edge of a cliff, stood Ala.

She was holding a child, the small figure pressed tightly to her chest. Balun's pulse quickened as he strained to see more, his mind swimming with confusion. The sea floor was gone, replaced by jagged stone and a roaring wind that tore at Ala's robes. Below the cliff, something surged—he could feel it even if he couldn't see it. A mass of ravenous shapes, dark and countless, clawing their way upward, too many for her to face alone.

She stood firm, making her stand—not for herself, but to buy time for the ship behind her. A boarding ramp hung open in the distance, and at its height stood a young Padawan, their arms outstretched as Ala passed the child into their care. Balun didn't recognize the apprentice, but the urgency in Ala's eyes pierced through the haze of the vision.

Why? Why was she sacrificing herself here, now? What had gone so wrong?

As quickly as it had come, the vision shattered.

The world jolted back into focus, the weight of water pressing in around him, the emerald glow of the crystal garden reasserting itself in his eyes. His breath hitched, a startled gasp echoing through the comms in his headgear as he felt his body jolt forward. His outstretched hand brushed the nearest crystal—and with a faint snap, a slender branch of the formation broke away, cradled unexpectedly in his palm.

For a heartbeat, he just stared, his mind still reeling from what he'd seen.

"Chit—" his voice broke through the comms, raw and shaken. "Ala, I… I don't know what that was, but I just snapped off a piece of the crystal after seeing—that." He exhaled sharply, glancing down at the emerald shard resting against his glove. "What… what do I do with it?"

His voice carried a rare uncertainty, a flicker of both awe and dread—as if the Force itself had placed something in his hands, and now he stood on the edge of a choice that mattered far more than he understood.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

She turned before he even spoke.

Not because of the snap of the crystal or the shift in the current—but because she felt him feel it.

Her eyes locked with Balun's through the gentle drift of their shared space, heart already pounding, breath catching in her throat long before the comm crackled with his voice.

He saw it.

He saw her.

Ala didn't ask if he was all right. She didn't need to. The Force between them—quiet but unshakable—told her enough. Told her everything.

And still, when he held up the crystal, her breath caught again.

"You were meant to take it," she said softly, floating closer, her voice nearly swallowed by the water and awe alike. "I think… it gave itself to you."

She reached out—not to take, but to touch. Just her gloved fingertips brushing against his, steady and reverent. For a moment, her gaze drifted not to the shard, but to his face, reading it like she might read the grain of a tree, the fractures in a mountain, the quiet stories of someone who had just been shown too much, too fast.

"You saw it too," she said. Not a question. Not an accusation.

She turned, slowly, her flippers angling so that she drifted closer to the crystals again. The garden shimmered around them, full of gentle vibration, almost humming. Ala didn't speak for a long moment, just floated in the silence.

Then, she whispered—almost to herself—

"I think it was a memory... but not just a memory. A warning. A truth. A… goodbye I haven't said yet."

Her throat tightened, but she blinked it back. Let it settle.

Turning to Balun once more, she gave a small, solemn nod toward the shard in his hand.

"You don't have to know what it's for yet. The Force doesn't always tell us the ending. Just where to start."

Then her voice lifted, soft but lighter, curling into a slightly crooked smile.

"But, uh… maybe don't lose it. I feel like that one's going to matter."

| Outfit: Pressurized dive suit | Tag: Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

Balun nodded slowly, his expression distant, shadowed by thought. He'd seen the vision—every detail of it—but finding the words to describe what it meant, or how he should respond, felt impossible. A part of him still didn't understand why he had seen it at all. It hadn't involved him. He wasn't there. The vision was hers, Ala Quin 's, and yet somehow, the Force had drawn him into it beside her.

There had to be a reason for that.

When Ala suggested it might have been a memory, he furrowed his brow, troubled by the idea. A warning made more sense. A memory… less so. If what they'd witnessed had already come to pass, it didn't line up. The vision had radiated finality—sacrifice, not survival. Ala had been prepared to die. To stand alone atop that cliff, shielding others at the cost of her own life.

Her words—"a goodbye I haven't said yet"—stuck with him, and he found himself speaking before fully thinking.

"That… makes more sense," he murmured, eyes flicking toward her through the glimmering water. "Something that hasn't come to pass... not yet." He paused, fingers tightening subtly around the crystal in his palm. "But if I saw it too—if the Force wanted me to see it—then maybe that means we can change it. Stop it from happening altogether."

There was a steel edge to his voice now, born of urgency, of growing certainty. The vision wasn't just a glimpse into Ala's fate. It was a thread being tied between them—one that he couldn't ignore.

"Any mission you take," Balun said firmly, his voice clear and unwavering through the comms, "any assignment you're given… I'm going with you." It wasn't a request. It was a decision. Apprentice or not, he wasn't about to stand by and let that vision play out without doing everything in his power to change its course.

The crystal in his hand pulsed softly with reflected light, momentarily forgotten. Whatever purpose it held, it could wait.

Despite only having met Ala earlier that day, the connection between them had shifted. She wasn't just a new companion or a Master guiding his training. She had become someone who mattered—and Balun had seen a future where he might lose her.

That wasn't something he could let pass unchallenged.

Their partnership had grown into something more. Something with meaning. Something the Force had clearly chosen to forge.

And Balun Dashiell had no intention of ignoring that call.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala didn’t answer right away. She floated a little closer to the crystal wall, letting her hand drift through a gentle stream of bubbles that curled around her wrist like curious spirits. Light shimmered off the fractured edges beside her, refracting into tiny arcs of gold across her visor. Her heartbeat had slowed, but her chest still ached from what she’d seen. From what they’d seen.

Balun's voice reached her through the comms—strong, sincere, full of quiet defiance. A vow. A choice.

She smiled, even as her heart pulled in two directions.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said gently, her voice weightless as the water around them. “Maybe what we saw doesn’t have to happen. Maybe things change, because someone is there to help change them.”

She didn’t say that she’d seen the vision five times before.

Didn’t say that the threats had changed—beasts, soldiers, flame, shadows. The terrain had shifted too. A mountain. A rooftop. A shattered landing pad. And always, always the same conclusion: her standing alone… until she didn’t.

Until now.

Now, someone else had seen it.

Her eyes softened as she looked back to Balun, who still held the glowing shard. She wouldn’t tell him what it meant to her—not all of it. Not yet. But she could give him something.

"There's always a child," she whispered. "Every time I see it—no matter the place, the threat, the end—she's there. And every time… I know she's mine." Her voice softened further, filled with quiet conviction. "I don't know how. I don't know when. But I know she lives."

She blinked hard, then exhaled through the rebreather, watching the trail of bubbles drift upward, scattering through the crystal glow.

That was the light she held onto. That was what made it bearable.

“So I’m not afraid of the ending anymore,” she said quietly, turning her gaze back to the crystal shelf. “Not if it leads to her.”

She reached out then, brushing her fingers lightly across a spiraling lattice of crystal that thrummed faintly beneath her touch. The resonance made her whole body shiver—not from cold, but from some strange, quiet alignment.

The Force was still whispering.

“We should keep going,” she said at last, glancing to Balun. “There’s more garden ahead. Maybe more answers, too.”

She kicked off gently, a few meters ahead, golden light dancing over her shoulders.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

"Forgive me for prying, but… you're not pregnant by any chance, are you?" Balun asked, his voice carried through the calm murmur of the comms as he swam alongside Ala Quin through the dim glow of the crystal-lit cavern.

The waters around them shimmered with an ethereal blend of green and gold, the natural crystal formations sprouting like luminous flora across the cavern floor. It was beautiful—otherworldly. And yet, for all its serenity, Balun remained vigilant. His eyes scanned the shifting veil of water around them, watching the edges of their visibility fade into murk and shadow. Anything could be waiting beyond the gloom.

Under any other circumstance, his question would have been wildly inappropriate—downright rude, especially given that they'd only met earlier that day. But this wasn't a normal situation. The vision had changed everything. It wasn't about assumptions. It was about information, a timeline, and clarity.

"It's not something I'd normally ask," he added quickly, his tone apologetic yet still earnest. "But your vision—it was pretty clear. The kid… You were holding them. They had to be, what, four, maybe five?" He kicked gently through the water, careful not to disturb the crystal sand that glowed beneath them. "If that was your child, and we saw them at that age, then… that gives us a window. From birth to the moment it happens. At least, if the vision's real."

Balun's thoughts were running ahead of his words, tangled and fast. This kind of thing might have been familiar territory for Ala, but for him, it was uncharted space—intimate, urgent, and laced with dread. He had only just met her, only just found someone to help him reconnect with the Force, and already the future hinted at losing her.

He shook his head subtly, bubbles trailing past his visor as he steadied his breathing.

"I know I'm talking a lot," he admitted with a huff of nervous energy. "But I think it's important to remember that this could just be a warning." His voice trailed off for a moment, swallowed slightly by the hush of the ocean around them. He hadn't realised just how much the vision had shaken him until now.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala actually stopped mid-kick, her body freezing midwater as Balun’s question crackled through the comm.

“I—what?!” Her voice bounced back, full of alarm, echoing softly in the suit’s channel. “No! Stars no. Definitely not. That’s… wow. Okay. I am not pregnant.”

She let out a breath and resumed swimming, muttering a little under it. “Force preserve me, first he breaks off pieces of sacred crystal, then he asks if I’m carrying a child. What a day.”

But her tone had softened by the end, more bemused than offended. He meant well. He was trying. That counted for a lot.

She kept her eyes ahead as they moved through the crystal garden, trails of soft light sweeping past them like ribbons caught in the current. The silence filled in around them again until Balun brought up the child in the vision—how old they appeared. Her expression shifted with it, thoughtful now.

“That’s… strange,” she said gently. “I saw a baby. Swaddled. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old.”

She glanced over at him through the wavering blue. “But you saw a child. That means either the vision’s fluid... or someone wanted us to see it differently.” She brightened slightly. “That could be important. A clue. Or a lesson. Or just... the Force being the Force.”

Then she spoke more softly. “Either way, we should be careful not to sum it all out like it’s a tactical op.” Her eyes met his through the glow of the water. “The Force doesn’t give us timelines. It gives us threads. Paths. And sometimes... a story with a missing page.”

She turned again, letting her fingertips drag along the edge of a tall crystal that vibrated ever so slightly at her touch. The resonance reminded her of breath. Of lullabies.

“I’m at peace with it,” she said simply. “If that vision is my ending, then that’s all right. Because it means she lives. And she’s safe.”

Then, as if the weight of it all caught up to her at once, she gave a small, exaggerated sigh and rolled onto her back, drifting like seaweed in a current.

“Okay, I think I’ve met my existential quota for the day,” she said. “We should head back before the crystals show us what we’re eating for lunch five years from now.”

She paddled into a gentle turn, kicking toward the Bongo with a soft, thoughtful hum trailing through the comms.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

Balun mentally winced at Ala Quin 's reaction, the shift in her tone making him immediately regret the question. "Yeah—too personal, I know…" he said quickly, the words edged with embarrassment as they filtered through the soft distortion of their underwater comms. His voice was apologetic, but there was a quiet determination beneath it too, an urgency that refused to be entirely silenced.

Still, he felt the need to explain himself.

"It's just…" he continued, glancing over at her as they swam through the softly glowing corridor of crystal-lit reef, "if it gave us even a hint of when that vision might come to pass, I figured it was worth the risk of sounding like an arsehole."

A beat of silence passed between them, the quiet amplified by the hush of the deep, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of their breath through rebreathers and the soft sway of water.

Then, more softly, Balun added, "You can think whatever you like about me—so long as you're still around to think it."

There was no bite in the words. Just raw honesty. He didn't want her to think less of him, but he'd take that over the idea of losing her. It was absurd, he knew. They'd only just met. But the vision had left a mark, and whether it was the Force's doing or something else, he couldn't ignore what he'd felt.

'You're being weird. You hardly know her.'

The thought came unbidden, and Balun frowned to himself, not liking where his own mind was dragging him. Yes, they'd only met today. But she had already offered him something few others ever had—a chance to grow, to complete his path, to be better. And every instinct in him said she was genuine. She was kind. Uplifting. And she hadn't given him a single reason to be suspicious.

'You only knew Nouqai your whole life, and look how that worked out.'

That thought hit harder.

Three years had passed since their last confrontation—since the duel where he'd come within seconds of ending her life. Instead, he'd let her go. That choice still haunted him. What had once been joyful memories—of laughter, of companionship, of first love—had rotted beneath the weight of betrayal. Nouqai had chosen the Sith. Chosen bloodshed. And Balun had been left to carry the wreckage of what they'd once shared.

He didn't speak the thoughts aloud, but they clung to him now like cold, wet fabric.

“We should head back before the crystals show us what we’re eating for lunch five years from now.”

"Hm?"

Ala's voice snapped him back to the present. He blinked, startled by how deep he'd slipped into himself, and turned to see her already beginning the swim back toward the Bongo.

"Oh… right. Yeah, sure," he muttered, forcing a crooked smirk onto his face. The kind you wear when you don't want someone to know just how far away your mind has wandered.

Turning, he fell into pace beside her, but where his movements had been light earlier—relaxed, even playful—there was a quiet intensity to him now. He swam forward in silence, his gaze fixed ahead, the vivid emerald glow of the crystals behind them slowly fading into shadow.

The lightness he'd carried earlier had dulled, replaced by the weight of memory… and the unsettling feeling that fate had just started to tighten its grip.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala swam quietly beside him at first, the motion of her body smooth, her arms tucked close as she matched his pace. The light from the crystal gardens faded behind them in hazy, shimmering ribbons—but the weight that clung to Balun didn’t.

She could feel it. Not the Force exactly—though it hummed too—but in the way he held himself. The stiffness. The way his posture had shifted from curious companion to... something heavier.

“Hey,” she murmured over the comms, her voice soft but unmistakably teasing. “If you get lost in that big dramatic mind of yours, I’m going to have to start using sonar pings to get your attention.”

She grinned, even though he couldn’t see it. He’d feel it anyway.

“I’m not trying to pry,” she added after a moment, her tone quieter now, “but if you ever want to talk about… whatever it was that just tried to eat you from the inside out back there—well, I’m here. No pressure. Just a friend. We all have our ‘stuff.’”

She smiled, though she was looking ahead and it was unlikely to be seen.

“We could even trade stories sometime.” She tilted slightly in the water, curling around a rising swirl of bubbles. “You tell one, I tell one. Something low stakes at first. Embarrassing speeder accident? Childhood pet with too much personality? The time I mistook a Sith Inquisitor for a museum docent?”

The Bongo was in sight now, the familiar silhouette hovering peacefully in the glow of the shallows. Ala drifted ahead just enough to tap her fingers against the hatch panel, triggering the sequence to reopen the airlock.

“Anyway,” she said cheerfully, glancing back over her shoulder, “you’re doing great. Very brave. Very broody. Ten out of ten would trust to pilot a submersible again.”

She slipped inside with the barest flip of her flippers, her curls floating around her like dark kelp. Whatever came next—above the surface, on land, in the days ahead—she'd be there for him.

Here, for now, she was just Ala. And he was just someone worth swimming beside.

Balun Dashiell
​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

Ala Quin had a gift—or at least, it seemed that way. She had a knack for coaxing a smile from people who weren't in the mood to wear one. Her timing, her tone, even the playful cadence of her voice—it all seemed carefully uncalculated, just natural enough to disarm even the most guarded. Balun found himself smirking despite himself, the corner of his mouth betraying what he thought was a well-maintained façade.

Clearly not.

He must have been about as subtle as a speeder crash. Ala had picked up on his shift in mood with ease, and though he liked to think he wore his armour well, her attention painted a clear contrast to the denial he clung to. She saw through it. He knew it. But he still tried to shrug it off.

"Sorry, it's, uh…" Balun began, glancing her way before trailing off. He gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand, as though it might brush the thought away. "Nothing, really. Just… an unwelcome thought."

He left it at that. Not because he didn't trust her—strangely, he did. Despite only knowing Ala for a few hours, there was an ease to her that made confiding seem natural. But diving into the wreckage of his past didn't feel fair to her, not on day one. Not when she hadn't asked for the weight of his history.

They swam on in silence for a few moments, the gentle pulse of light from the submersible now visible in the near distance. Then, without fully meaning to, Balun broke the silence again—his voice more reflective now than heavy.

"You know, considering how today's gone… there's something different about you." He looked over at her through the haze of filtered light, the water around them still humming with the faint song of the crystal formations they'd left behind. "Not a bad different," he added quickly, lips tugging into a lopsided smile. "I mean… one minute I'm outside a shop, and the next, you and I are exploring an underwater cavern together. You're easy to talk to. And you offered me something I've wanted for years—an apprenticeship I wasn't sure I'd ever get."

His words drifted with the current, unfiltered and honest.

"We stumble into this vision—whatever it was—and somehow, even after all of that, it doesn't feel forced. It's weird how comfortable this all feels. Like we've known each other longer than just… what? A handful of hours?"

He glanced at her again, more searching this time.

"Hells, you made that offer and barely knew anything about me," he said, the thought striking him more fully now. "And I know just as little about you. But I'm not worried. You've got this energy about you—calm, open. Trustworthy."

The submersible loomed closer now, like a quiet sentry awaiting their return. But even as they neared it, Balun's thoughts lingered on the day's strange beginning—and how it already felt like something far more significant than chance.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

If Balun could see her face inside the helmet, he would have witnessed the exact moment his words landed.

Ala turned slightly, her breath catching, lips parting in surprise. That wasn't what she'd expected. Not from someone she'd only met that morning. Not after all the heaviness they’d waded through. But there it was—sincere, simple, generous.

And it cracked her heart open in a way she hadn’t quite braced for.

“That’s…” Her voice was quiet, soft through the comm. “…really kind of you to say.”

She didn’t gush. But she glowed.

Swimming beside him, her gaze flicked away to the soft glint of the crystals still barely visible behind them, lingering like distant stars. She drifted a moment longer before adding:

“You know, all Jedi should be like that. Open. Easy to talk to. Ready to connect. I think we’d all feel a little less lost if we remembered how to just… be with each other.”

A moment later, she reached the Bongo’s airlock and gently tapped the panel, watching the chamber cycle open with a low hiss. She gave Balun a nudge with her elbow, then spun her finger in the water in a tiny, twirling circle.

“Okay, spin around,” she said lightly. “Not everyone’s modest but—well—I am.”

She chuckled, already reaching for the seals at her shoulder.

The water was colder now that she noticed it—but she didn’t mind. There was something warm enough in what he’d said to carry her through the chill.

| Balun Dashiell |​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

THREAD TITLE: TO SINK OR SWIM
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol
TAGS: Ala Quin

​

"Well, it wasn't just a random compliment," Balun said with a soft chuckle, his voice lightly distorted through the comms in his diving mask as they drifted closer to the submersible. "I'm just calling it like I see it."

The water shimmered around them in hues of muted green and gold, their silhouettes gliding effortlessly through the depths. The Bongo hovered not far ahead, a familiar shape amidst the alien beauty of the cavern.

"I mean, really—how often do you meet someone and go through all of this within a few hours?" he continued, his tone laced with disbelief and a touch of amusement. "Is this a normal day for you?"

He cast a glance her way, genuinely curious. For Balun, trust wasn't something easily handed over—it usually took time, shared history, careful calibration of words and actions. Yet here they were: strangers by definition, but not in practice. And it all felt… strangely right.

When they finally reached the submersible and Ala requested he turn around while she changed, Balun blinked, surprised more by his obliviousness than by her ask. Of course, she'd want privacy. It hadn't even crossed his mind. Despite the cramped interior of the Bongo and the intimate nature of diving prep, he'd done his best to maintain an invisible boundary, to stay respectful. That kind of consideration was second nature to him.

"S—sorry. Yeah, of course," he replied quickly, already turning his back. He held his position firmly, arms drifting slightly out at his sides to brace himself against the subtle tug of the water. The dim glow of the cavern stretched out before him like an endless dreamscape.

"But you know," he continued after a beat, voice quieter, more thoughtful now, "this is kind of my point."

He let the words hang for a moment before explaining himself, unsure if he was making sense but needing to try.

"Being in a position like this, with someone you barely know—it takes trust. A lot of it. And you gave it to me without hesitation. I don't take that lightly." His gaze remained fixed on the darkness ahead, the crystal formations a faint memory behind them.

"Not that I'm complaining—or trying to paint myself in a bad light," he added with a short exhale of breath. "But I could've been anyone. You jumped into a submersible with a stranger you met outside a shop. You knew so little about me. Still do, really."

He hesitated, then offered a more serious perspective—one that had quietly haunted him during their dive.

"For all you knew, I could've been a Sith. Skilled enough to mask my presence. Hide what I am. If someone wanted to… they could've used that trust against you."

There was no accusation in his tone. Only an honest curiosity, laced with wonder. He still couldn't quite believe how quickly they'd fallen into rhythm with each other. How natural it felt.

"And yet… here we are," he murmured. "How does something like that just happen? How does it feel this easy?"

Behind his words was an unspoken thought: that perhaps the Force had something to do with it. That maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a coincidence at all.

"Maybe it's you," Balun said after a pause, his voice low but sincere as he floated in the quiet water, still facing away. "Your energy. That bright, easy presence of yours—it's just… different."

He let the thought trail for a moment, giving it space to settle before continuing.

"I think I'm just not used to it," he admitted, his tone softening into something a little more self-aware. "You're... open. Warm. Like it's natural for you to just be that way. And maybe I've spent too much time around people who weren't. Or maybe I've just never been built like that myself."

A breathy chuckle escaped him, tinged with a touch of self-deprecation.

"I'm probably just the gruff, brooding type who overthinks everything," he added, shaking his head slightly as if laughing at his own cliché. "So when someone like you comes along—it kinda throws me off."

There was no bitterness in his words. Just quiet gratitude wrapped in humour. A rare moment of vulnerability, shared not out of obligation, but because the silence between them felt safe enough to hold it.

And somehow, in that small, unguarded space between breath and weightlessness, Balun felt the current of something rare—connection, however unexpected, beginning to take shape.

"Speech".
'Thought'.​

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala couldn’t help the little smile tugging at her lips as Balun spoke. His voice—so thoughtful, so honest—carried something more than gratitude. It was wonder. A quiet, fragile thread of connection he didn’t quite know what to do with.

“You give me too much credit,” she said gently, sealing the airlock behind them with a hiss of decompression. “It’s not me, Balun. You’re just… easy to trust. You’ve got that face.”

She shot him a playful glance, raising one brow. “You know the type. Quiet eyes, kind voice. Looks like he’d help an old lady carry her groceries but also maybe fought in, like, six wars.”

Water dripped steadily from their suits as she pulled back her helmet and started wrangling her curls free from the collar. She tugged at the fastenings of her wetsuit, fingers fumbling for the release. She got halfway down before something tugged sharply.

“Oh no. No no no—really?”

She spun around, tugging at her shoulder. Her hair had tangled in one of the inner seals.

“Okay, well... this is undignified,” she muttered, then lifted her chin toward Balun with a resigned sigh. “Mind giving me a hand? It’s caught on the inside loop and I really like this hair.”

She stood still while he moved in, and the space between them suddenly shrank. It wasn’t anything but stillness and closeness and the sound of the Bongo humming softly beneath them. Ala held her breath.

She didn’t look at him. She looked forward. Smiled softly.

“Thank you,” she said, as he freed the strand. “For this. For today.”

Her voice was soft. Honest. Uncomplicated.

| Balun Dashiell |​