Lanternlight shifted gently along the drive as another pair approached the estate, their arrival marked not by spectacle or formal announcement, but by a subtle, almost imperceptible change in the emotional current of the gathering. An easing of tension, a softening of the atmosphere, a quiet warmth that spread outward as though recognizing them before they even reached the pavilion.
Jairdain walked slowly at Jax's side, her pace unhurried and intentionally measured, her hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm as they followed the softly illuminated path toward the pavilion. There was no urgency pressing at their heels tonight, no alarms echoing in the distance, no battles waiting to erupt, no crisis demanding immediate response. For the first time in what felt like far too long, the galaxy had granted them an evening that belonged to peace rather than survival.
She wore a gown chosen with careful thought and quiet practicality, designed to offer both comfort and understated grace. The fabric, a soft and flowing shade of pale sapphire, caught the lantern glow with gentle luminosity, reflecting the light in a way that made the color seem to shift subtly with each step she took. It draped elegantly over her frame, gathered just beneath her chest before falling in long, fluid lines that accommodated her very visible pregnancy without sacrificing the dignity or poise she carried so naturally.
The material moved easily with her, never clinging or restricting, offering her both freedom of motion and a sense of reassurance that settled warmly around her. Long sleeves of sheer, delicately embroidered mesh covered her arms, adding a layer of warmth against the evening air while introducing a quiet intricacy to the otherwise simple design. A narrow silver sash rested loosely at her waist, more symbolic than structural. Its subtle shimmer echoing the soft light that surrounded them.
She wore no elaborate jewelry, no ornate pieces meant to draw attention or signal status. Only a small, familiar pendant at her throat and a thin band at her wrist accompanied her tonight. The objects chosen not for appearance, but for meaning, for memory, for the quiet comfort they offered.
Her black hair had been brushed and braided loosely at the sides, gathered back into a soft half‑twist that kept it from her face while allowing the rest to fall freely down her back in long, dark waves. It was not a formal style in the traditional sense, but it suited her perfectly—natural, unforced, and reflective of the woman she had always been, far more than any ceremonial arrangement ever could.
Though her eyes did not perceive the lanterns, the flowers, or the distant shimmer of the pavilion, none of that diminished her presence. Through the Force, she felt the evening in its entirety, sensing every detail with a clarity that transcended sight.
The warmth of gathered hearts. The gentle anticipation woven through the air. The layered emotions of reunion, celebration, and quiet remembrance. The subtle hum of safety settled over the grounds like a blessing.
It wrapped around her like a familiar blanket, easing the tension she carried more deeply than she ever admitted aloud.
She took a slow, steady breath as they passed through the gates, her shoulders easing just slightly, as though she were setting aside the accumulated weight of countless other days and allowing herself, for once, to simply arrive.
"This place feels… kind," she murmured softly to Jax, her voice low and sincere, shaped by the quiet awe of someone who had not expected to find such gentleness tonight. "Iandre chose well."
Her thumb brushed lightly against his sleeve, a small, grounding gesture born of habit, affection, and the unspoken bond that had carried them through so much.
"I think she wanted it to feel like home," she added after a moment, her tone thoughtful and warm. "Not like a ceremony. Like… belonging."
As they moved farther into the gathering, her awareness brushed against familiar presences: Kallous and Seren seated together, Judah nearby, the Sentinel keeping watch with quiet vigilance, and Ra and Vulpesen ahead, already settled with their characteristic steadiness.
When she sensed Ra's calm, composed presence, a faint smile curved her lips, subtle but unmistakably genuine.
"There," she said quietly, inclining her head toward the familiar signature in the Force. "Ra and Vulpesen are close. That should be a good place."
They made their way toward the seats near them, weaving gently through the gathered guests. Several people offered smiles, nods, or quiet greetings as they passed, and Jairdain returned each with warmth, her presence open and welcoming despite the fatigue that lingered beneath her composure like a soft shadow.
When they reached the row, she paused briefly, allowing Jax to guide her into place with the practiced care of someone who knew her rhythms intimately. She settled slowly, one hand instinctively resting against her abdomen as she adjusted her posture, ensuring both comfort and balance for herself and the life she carried.
Once seated, she released a small, contented breath. Less a sign of tiredness and more a quiet exhale of relief, of arrival, of finally being able to rest without vigilance.
She turned her face slightly toward Jax, her expression softening in a way reserved only for him.
"Thank you," she said quietly, the words carrying far more meaning than their simplicity suggested. "For bringing me. For… everything."
Then, sensing Ra beside them, she inclined her head in greeting, her voice warm and sincere.
"Good evening," Jairdain offered gently. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Around them, the music drifted through the air in soft, melodic currents, the fire crackled in the distance with comforting warmth, and voices blended into a gentle murmur of shared anticipation and quiet joy.
For this one night, beneath unfamiliar stars and gentle light, she was not a guardian, not a defender, not a survivor of endless storms.
She was a wife. An expectant mother. A friend. And a guest gathered to witness love begin another chapter.
Jax Thio
