Private Voices Strong

[Mishel]

Jedi Temple of Monastery​

Snow blanketed the quiet slopes of Monastery, soft and undisturbed save for the seated figure at its heart. Mishel sat in stillness, the world around her hushed beneath winter's breath. She was cloaked in serenity, a soft blanket draped across her lap as she meditated in the lotus position. Her gloved hands rested gently atop one another, centered in calm.

The Force flowed through her like the rhythm of a tide, steady, deep, and grounding. Around her, the cold air whispered with the wind's mournful song, carrying secrets across the highland. That hush had become familiar, a companion in her solitude. So immersed was she in the current of the Force, so attuned to its pulse, that she nearly missed the crunch of approaching footsteps.

"Master," came a voice, youthful, respectful. A padawan stood just a few meters away, their breath visible in the cold. "A visitor has arrived for you. They say they've come from the High Republic."

Mishel's hazel-green eyes opened, her breath steady as she blinked once, grounding herself back in the physical world. "I'll be there shortly," she replied gently, her voice low and warm. "Please see that our guest is made comfortable."

"Of course, Master," the padawan said with a quick bow before retreating down the slope, their friend at their side. They disappeared toward the shuttle port, one of the few structures nestled on this remote world.

With a faint sigh, Mishel rose from her seated position, snow clinging briefly to the folds of her trousers before she brushed it away. She straightened her coat and stepped forward, the crunch beneath her boots the only sound that broke the air.

This was... unexpected.

To her memory, no official from the High Republic had ever come to Monastery. Not in any formal capacity. A Jedi, perhaps, but even that was a rare occurrence in this part of the galaxy. Mishel had long lived apart from politics, whether New Jedi Order or The Jedi Order, and walked a path more independent, more free, like her master before her.

Still, there was something about this visit that stirred a quiet curiosity. What message crossed stars to reach her here? What had brought an emissary of the High Republic to her doorstep, now?

Snowflakes danced around her as she pressed forward, the quiet of the mountain broken only by the wind, and the questions gathering on its edge.

Aiden Porte ​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Mishel​

Aiden Porte waited with the patience the Force had taught him, hands loosely folded around a warming cup as he stood near the wide viewport of the monastery's receiving hall. Beyond the transparisteel, snow drifted in slow, unhurried spirals, settling over stone and silence alike. It was a place that breathed restraint and reflection, no banners, no formality, only quiet intention. He found that he liked it.

He had declined anything elaborate when the padawan offered it. A simple seat, warmth, and time were more than enough. Travel as an emissary of the High Republic often came with ceremony, expectations, and the subtle weight of politics pressing at every exchange. Here, there was none of that. Just stone, snow, and the low hum of life carried gently through the Force.

Aiden let his awareness stretch, not intrusively, never that, but openly. The presence of the monastery was calm, ancient in feeling despite its isolation. And deeper still, threading through the quiet like a steady ember, was Mishel.

She was centered. Grounded. He could feel the echo of her meditation even now, the afterimage of stillness lingering as clearly as footprints in fresh snow. It brought an unexpected softness to his expression. Few Force-users carried themselves with that kind of balance anymore, fewer still chose such deliberate distance from the wider currents of galactic power.

Good, he thought. This conversation would be better for it.

He turned slightly as footsteps approached down the hall, unhurried and sure. Aiden straightened, not stiffly, but with the quiet respect he reserved for those who walked their own path with intention. The title of emissary rested lightly on his shoulders; he wore it today because it was necessary, not because it defined him.

His presence in the Force remained open and calm, an invitation rather than a demand.

When she arrived, he would greet her not as a representative of policy or politics, but as one Jedi to another, meeting at the edge of shared understanding beneath falling snow.

 

[Mishel]

"Welcome," Mishel said, her voice carrying easily through the crisp mountain air as she approached the figure. A warm, easy smile curved her lips despite the cold. The snow beneath her boots gave a soft crunch with each step.

She came to a gentle stop before him, her yellow robes shifting lightly with the wind, the faint scent of cedarwood and incense clinging to their fabric, a signature of Monastery's temples. Her gaze met his steady, observant, but not unkind.

"Mishel Kryze," she introduced herself with a nod, her presence calm but open. "Monastery is a simple place. We've not had much contact with the High Republic here at least, not formally. Not since I've been its keeper."

There was a short pause, just long enough for the wind to whisper again across the slope.

"I hope your travels have fared well," she added, her tone sincere as she turned slightly and gestured down a narrow path flanked by prayer flags and old, carved stone markers. "Please, walk with me."

She started forward at an easy pace, trusting him to follow.

"What brings you all the way out here, Knight Porte?" she asked, casting a sidelong glance his way, her tone more curious now. "Not many venture this far unless they have reason."

Aiden Porte ​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Mishel​

Aiden inclined his head as she approached, returning her smile with one of his own, subtle, genuine. The cold didn't seem to trouble him; if anything, the clean mountain air felt clarifying. When she spoke her name, he let it settle, acknowledging it with the quiet gravity it deserved.

"Mishel," he repeated softly, more recognition than formality. "Thank you for receiving me."

He fell into step beside her without hesitation, matching her easy pace as the path narrowed and prayer flags stirred overhead. The Force here moved differently than at the Temple worlds, less crowded, less insistent. It reminded him of Naboo's plains after snowfall: open, honest, unadorned. He kept his presence unguarded, respectful, allowing her to feel exactly where he stood.

"My travels were kind," he said, glancing briefly at the markers as they passed, each one worn smooth by time. "Long, but not unkind. This place has a way of making the journey feel…worth it."

At her question, he was quiet for a breath or two, choosing honesty over polish. Emissary or not, he had never been good at hiding behind titles.

"I've come on my own accord." he said at last, voice calm, even. "Not with demands. Not with orders." His gaze lifted to the snow-dusted peaks ahead. "With concern, and respect."

He looked back to her then, meeting her sidelong glance openly.

"You've kept Monastery independent for a long time. That hasn't gone unnoticed. There are… currents shifting in the galaxy. Some subtle. Some less so." A faint crease touched his brow, not worry exactly, but attentiveness. "When places like this remain steady, the Force tends to draw attention. Both the kind we welcome, and the kind we must be cautious of."

He let that rest between them, the wind carrying it onward.

"I'm here to listen and to inquire" Aiden continued. "Would Monastery wishes to remain isolated, or whether you might want a line of communication kept open. Mutually beneficial for both of us."

His expression softened, something earnest and personal breaking through the diplomatic restraint.

"And speaking only for myself," he added, "I wanted to meet the woman who chose solitude not out of exile, but conviction. Those choices matter. To the Force. And to me."

He gave a small, respectful nod as they walked on, snow whispering beneath their steps.

 

[Mishel]

Mishel offered a small nod in response to Aiden's expression of gratitude, acknowledging his courtesy without interrupting the quiet that blanketed Monastery's highlands. When he fell into step beside her, matching her pace with practiced ease, she gave a soft smile at his remark that the journey, though long, had proven worth it upon his arrival.

A single brow rose at his admission that he had come alone. Unusual, though not unheard of among the Jedi Orders. Even those acting alone were rarely without hierarchy. Someone, somewhere, would be waiting for his report, a master, a council, or at least an intelligence office eager to indulge stories of far-flung travels and distant outposts.

When Aiden spoke of concern and respect, Mishel said nothing at first. She led him through the pale snow, their boots crunching rhythmically along the path toward the Horizon Steps, a wide, open-air terrace carved into the mountainside. The trail system that wound through it was ancient and deliberately sparse, built for silent reflection, and, at times, the rigorous training of Sentinels who would walk the line between light and shadow.

As they walked, the young Knight shared what the High Republic had observed. Monastery, long independent, had remained something of an enigma and that independence was no accident. Mishel had maintained it deliberately, shielding the world from politics, bureaucracy, and the slow-consuming rot she had witnessed in larger galactic powers.

She believed firmly, perhaps stubbornly, that Jedi were not meant to govern. That their strength was found not in dominion, but in service. The truest path was to guide, to aid, and to invite all who wished to walk in the light, not to bind them to laws or titles.

Aiden's approach was direct. He asked if Monastery would remain closed, or if it might consider opening a line of communication. Likely with the Jedi Order of the High Republic. A gesture, he said, of mutual benefit. He spoke of the Force and how its presence, concentrated in places like this, inevitably drew attention. Some of it benign. Some, far more dangerous.

The older woman was aware of this, of course. She had heard the stories of the Black Sun's incursion into Monastery before her arrival, and though she had seen no sign of them since, she knew better than to assume peace was permanent, not on a world as large and isolated as this one.

Aiden spoke not just as an envoy but as a man, one Jedi to another. His tone was steady, respectful. He had sought her out, not under orders, but out of a desire to meet the woman who had chosen solitude not out of exile, but out of conviction.

The wind, sharp and bitter, clawed at Mishel's jacket as they ascended the stone-cut steps. She did not shiver. Her hands remained calmly clasped behind her back as she listened. Weighing his words. Sorting through what had been said, and what had not.

She did not rush to answer. Jedi teachings had taught her the value of silence, of measured thought.

And as they walked, with the snow beginning to fall again in soft, lazy flakes, she began to consider how she might respond.

The Jedi Master paused as they reached the edge of the terrace, where the stone gave way to a panoramic view of Monastery's highlands sweeping valleys etched in white, rivers frozen into glistening ribbons, mountains in the far distance swathed in fog. She let the silence settle between them for a moment longer, letting Aiden's words breathe.

Then she spoke, her voice low and steady, quiet, but with the unmistakable timbre of someone who had fought through fire and shadow to find her peace.

"Monastery is not a secret," she began, eyes still fixed on the horizon. "But neither is it a banner to be flown."

She turned slightly, just enough to regard him with that deliberate calm Jedi Masters were known for, though there was something sharper in her gaze. Something forged from the crucible of war, loss, and choices that never came easy.

"When I came here, I didn't do so to hide. I did it because the noise out there…" she gestured vaguely toward the stars, "the politics, the titles, the Orders, the wars dressed up as diplomacy, none of it ever brought peace. Not real peace. Only more motion. More momentum. Like the galaxy doesn't know how to stop spinning, even when it's tearing itself apart."

She turned away again, looking out across the ridge.

"I have no quarrel with your Order. And I have no illusions that we can keep Monastery untouched forever. The Force draws all manner of things to places like this, as you said. But independence… it's not about pride, or stubbornness. It's about integrity. The young ones who come here, they come to learn what it means to walk the light. Not just what it means to be Jedi."

The Jedi Master folded her arms, tucking her hands beneath her sleeves as the wind picked up.

"I'll open a line of communication," she said at last, her voice softer now. "But don't mistake that for allegiance. I won't have Monastery turned into a satellite temple or some outpost on your maps. I won't have the Rave Merrill Academy dictated to by committees."

Her gaze met his fully now. Clear. Unflinching.

"Understand that this is rooted in respect, not requisition. If your Jedi Order wishes to engage in dialogue. I am open to it." She said softly, Mishel paused a moment studying the Jedi Knight for a beat. "If this is agreeable, then you may inform your superiors. Should they be so inclined."

There was no heat to her tone, only a sense of resolve. The kind that came from surviving everything the galaxy had tried to take from her. Yet, still choosing to build something in the quiet. Something that could last.

"I am also quite terrible at council meetings." She added for levity.

Aiden Porte ​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Mishel
​

Aiden listened without interrupting, the way he always did when someone spoke from a place that had cost them something to reach. He stood near the terrace's edge, cloak stirring in the wind, eyes moving not restlessly but attentively, taking in the sweep of the highlands, the frozen rivers, the fog-softened peaks. He let her words land fully before answering, letting the Force settle around them rather than rushing to fill the space.

When she finished, a quiet breath left him. Not relief exactly, recognition.

"That," he said at last, voice low and even, "is more than agreeable."

He turned to face her properly now, not as an emissary delivering a response, but as a Jedi acknowledging another's line in the sand. There was no offense taken, no tightening of posture. If anything, his shoulders eased.

"You've articulated something many in the Republic struggle to say aloud," Aiden continued. "That peace isn't created by accumulation. Not of authority, not of institutions, not even of good intentions layered too thickly on top of one another." His mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. "Motion can look a lot like progress if no one stops to ask where it's actually headed."

At the mention of independence, his gaze remained steady. He did not challenge it. He understood it.

"I won't ask Monastery to be something it isn't," he said simply. "And I won't misrepresent your stance to those above me. A line of communication, quiet, mutual, respectful, is exactly what I'll report. Nothing more."

There was a subtle emphasis there. A promise.

"Places like this matter because they remind us who we are when no one is watching."

When she added her final remark about council meetings, something warmer finally broke through his composure. Aiden let out a soft huff of a laugh, genuine and unguarded.

"That," he said dryly, "may be the most reassuring thing you've said all day."

Then, more seriously, but no less sincerely, he inclined his head to her again.

"Thank you, Master Kryze. Not just for your answer, but for your clarity. I'll carry it with care." A pause, then, gently. "And if the day comes when Monastery needs more than words carried across the stars…you won't need to go through committees to reach me."

The snow continued to fall around them, light and unhurried, as if the mountain itself approved of the terms just set, not in ink or decree, but in understanding.