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.