Private What Lingers After the Storm

[Xian Xiao]

The sound of fists striking leather echoed sharply through the dimly lit training hall, each thud reverberating against the reinforced walls. Sweat glistened on Veyran's forehead, his breathing heavy and measured, controlled—but every punch carried an unmistakable edge of anger, raw and unfiltered. The bag swung violently, resisting, yet enduring, as he unleashed what he could not speak aloud.

Xian stepped carefully across the floor, water bucket in hand. The weight of it was grounding, though her thoughts spun faster than her feet. Part of her urged mischief—the water sloshing slightly against the sides of the bucket. A sudden splash could startle him, maybe even make him laugh… or provoke a sharper response than she was prepared for. Another part of her whispered caution: ignore him, give him space, let him burn off the anger alone.

And yet another part—the one that had been growing stronger with every swing of his fist—felt drawn. Drawn to the tension, to the storm of emotion he couldn't hide, to the man behind the anger. She wanted to understand it, to be present in it, maybe even offer something that the leather bag never could.

She moved closer. Her steps were light, nearly soundless, but the faint shift of the floor gave her away. Veyran didn't look at her—not yet—but she could feel the awareness in him, sharp as the air itself. She stopped just beyond the reach of his shadow, her fingers tightening around the wooden handle of the bucket.

The scent of sweat and ozone lingered, the rhythm of his strikes slowing until it stopped entirely. The silence that followed was heavier than the sound before it.

Xian's lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came. Her heart hammered once—twice—and then, in a voice soft and uneven, as if the question carried more weight than she meant it to, she whispered,

"Why are you here?"

The words trembled through the air, not an accusation, not a challenge—just a quiet ache, threaded with fear, curiosity, and something she couldn't yet name.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's breath slowed, though the rise and fall of his chest still carried the echo of the storm that had been in him moments ago. His knuckles were raw, streaked with the dull sheen of sweat and the faintest trace of blood. The punching bag swayed once more before coming to rest, its soft creak the only sound that dared to move between them.

He didn't answer at first. The silence felt deliberate measured, almost as though he were testing how long it would take her to step closer, or leave. When he finally turned, the dim light caught the edge of his face: a sharp line of jaw, the faint bruise forming beneath one eye, the exhaustion that lived in the set of his shoulders.

"You shouldn't be here." he said at last, low and frayed. Not cold, but not welcoming either. His voice carried the weight of someone who had built walls high enough to mistake them for shelter.

"I came because it's easier to fight something I can hit." Veyran said quietly. The words landed like a confession more than a statement. "Because if I stop, I have to think about everything. That overwhelms me...."

He looked away again, toward the suspended bag as if it were the only thing keeping him steady. "That's why I'm here."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Her jaw tightened, the water bucket trembling slightly in her hands. She took a careful step forward, setting it down on the stone floor so she wouldn't drop it, the faint clink of metal against tile echoing softly. Her shoulders squared, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a hint of unease she couldn't entirely mask.

Her voice was low, measured, but carried a sharp edge of defiance.

"What do you mean, I don't belong here?"

She gestured faintly toward the storm-streaked skyline visible through the window, toward the jagged streets of Bastion.

"This is where I live," she said firmly, holding his gaze. "I may not understand everything you're carrying…But I am not leaving. Not because you want me to, not because you think I don't belong. This—this is mine too."

Even as the words left her lips, a quieter, more vulnerable thread surfaced, almost a whisper beneath her defiance.

"Or… at least, it's the only place that hasn't tried to take that away from me."

Her eyes lingered on him, steady yet open, a mixture of resolve and a fragile hope that he might see it—see her standing there, small but unyielding.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran's jaw flexed an instinctive reaction, as if bracing against a blow that hadn't come. The faint hum of the lights overhead filled the silence between them, mingling with the soft drip of water from the bucket she'd set down. His hands, still trembling from the rhythm of his training, hung loosely at his sides now, the tension slowly bleeding from his shoulders.

For a long moment, he just looked at her. Not through her, not past her but at her. At the steadiness in her stance despite the tremor, the defiance in her voice shadowed by something rawer.

"This galaxy." he said quietly, almost to himself. "Doesn't give people things. It takes. Over and over until you start believing that's the way it's supposed to be."

He took a slow step forward not threatening, but deliberate, the kind of movement that carried history with it. "You still believe in something. That's dangerous, Xian." His voice softened at her name, like he hadn't meant to let it sound that way. "Belief gets people hurt. Or worse."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian didn't move at first. The words hung in the air between them—belief gets people hurt—and something inside her flinched at the truth in it. She'd seen what belief had cost. What loyalty, what love, what hope could carve out of a person and leave behind?

Outside, pale sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the training hall, slanting across the floor in soft, broken stripes. The air smelled faintly of rain, clean and new—the storm had passed, leaving the world still glistening. Somewhere beyond the walls, the distant hum of city life stirred, quiet but alive, a reminder that not everything was ruin.

Her eyes flicked to his hands, the faint tremor there, the blood still drying along his knuckles. The weight behind his words wasn't a threat; it was recognition, a mirror she didn't want to look into.

"I know," she said finally, voice low but steady, the whisper of sunlight through clouds. "It still feels better than nothing."

She glanced down at the bucket by her feet, watching the way the light shimmered across the water's surface, small ripples catching gold in their motion. "You think it's dangerous because it makes people weak. But…maybe it's the only thing that keeps them from breaking completely."

Her fingers curled against her palm, nails pressing lightly into her skin as she stepped closer—not quite within reach, but near enough that her voice dropped to something barely above breath.

"Then why are you still fighting, Veyran? What are you still fighting for?" she asked, searching his face. "If everything's already been taken, what's left for you to hold on to?"

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

"For a long time." he began, his voice quieter than before, "I thought I was fighting to stay alive." A hollow laugh small, rough escaped him. "But that's not living. That's just... refusing to die."

He took a slow step toward her, then another, until the scent of rain and metal and breath filled the narrow space between them. The fight that had lived in his posture moments ago seemed to drain away, leaving something unarmored in its place.

"I told myself I was fighting for myself." he said. "For what I believed in. For what I lost. But truth is—" He stopped, jaw tightening again, a pulse working at his temple. "Truth is, I'm just too afraid of what happens if I stop."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's breath caught faintly at his words. Refusing to die. That, she understood too well.

There had been nights on Coruscant when survival had been the only prayer she could afford. When every scrap of food, every hidden corner, every heartbeat meant one more day she could keep the little ones alive. Not her children, not by blood, but hers all the same. The ones she'd sworn she'd never have, never love, because loving meant losing—and losing meant breaking.

Her hand brushed the rim of the bucket absently, the water trembling faintly at her touch. Step by step, he closed the distance between them until the faint scent of rain, metal, and his breath mingled with hers in the tight space of the training hall. Every step made her senses sharper—the subtle shift of his weight, the tremor in his hands, the dry scrape of his knuckles against the bag. Her own heartbeat thumped a little faster, not in fear, but in the awareness of how fragile the moment felt.

"I used to think like that," she said quietly, eyes still fixed on him. "That fighting was the only thing that meant I was still here. That if I stopped moving, stopped struggling…that I'd disappear, and so would everyone who depended on me."

She took another small step closer, voice soft but edged with resolve, so near that every inhalation of his mirrored her own. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the quiet pulse of the room, focus sharpened, every muscle alert. Curiosity threaded through her attention, a quiet pull to understand him—the reason he fought, the weight he carried, the hidden truths he kept.

"But what happens when you do stop, Veyran?" she asked, searching his face, the flicker of exhaustion and something more behind his eyes. "When the fight's all that's left and there's nothing left to fight for?"

The question lingered, heavy and intimate, hanging between them with the quiet rhythm of shared breaths, the subtle tension of two people standing on the edge of their own truths, her mind probing the corners of him she didn't yet understand.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran didn't answer right away. The question hit somewhere deep lower than breath, where words rarely reached. The air between them felt taut, almost audible in its stillness, and for a heartbeat it seemed as though the world outside the hall had gone quiet just to hear what he'd say.

He drew in a slow breath, the faintest tremor running through his shoulders before he exhaled. "Then you start mistaking the noise for purpose," he said finally, his voice low and raw, each word carrying the weight of something lived, not learned. "You wake up every day thinking if you just keep hitting, keep moving you won't have to hear how empty it's gotten inside."

"Truth is, I don't know how to stop."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's fingers twitched at her sides, the urge to reach out stirring but held back by a mix of caution and the weight of her own sorrow. She looked at his hands first—the ones that had just struck so violently, now trembling faintly, knuckles raw, streaked with sweat and blood. A pang ran through her chest, sharp and strange, and she wondered if she was reading more into it than she should.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, almost lost in the hum of the hall. "Veyran…" She stopped herself before finishing, letting the unspoken words hang. Let me help… I can be here… you don't have to bear it alone.

Her gaze flicked upward to his face, searching the exhaustion, the rawness, the storm barely contained behind his eyes. The question she didn't dare ask aloud twisted in her mind: Why do you carry this alone? You don't have to.

She let her thoughts drift, unspoken, tentatively threading toward him, a quiet offering of steadiness and care. I can be here. You don't need to fight it by yourself. You don't have to…

She stepped a fraction closer, careful, measured, not enough to breach his space, but enough to let the thought of connection hover between them. She didn't reach, not yet. She couldn't. And yet, the silence spoke as loudly as any touch might, her unspoken intentions brushing against him, carrying warmth, curiosity, and the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—he could accept the presence she offered.

And for a fleeting heartbeat, Veyran's jaw flexed, his shoulders easing slightly, as if some small part of her quiet, steadfast thought had reached him, threading through the fog of his storm without a word spoken.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran saw it in her eyes the quiet plea she didn't voice, the fragile steadiness she tried to offer him like a hand extended through smoke. For a heartbeat, he almost reached back. Almost.

But the moment caught in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He couldn't move. Couldn't step into the space she was leaving open for him. The silence pressed around him like armor familiar, suffocating, safe.

He wanted to tell her that he saw it. That he felt it—the warmth threading through the edges of her presence, the way it brushed against the hollow places in him that had forgotten what gentleness felt like. But that same warmth terrified him. Because if he reached for it, if he let it in, then he'd have to admit how much of him was built on the very thing that was destroying him.

"I don't know how to stop." he said finally, voice raw, quiet. His gaze drifted past her, toward the dim light catching along the floor. "If I let go of this, of the fight, what's left?"

He looked down at his hands, blood drying in dark streaks along his knuckles. They shook faintly, not from anger now, but from the absence of it. "It's all I have." he whispered, as if saying it aloud might make it sound less hollow.

His jaw clenched, the fear flickering through his eyes too quickly to be hidden. "And if I stop needing it—if I stop being it—then I don't know what's left of me."

He turned his face slightly away, not in rejection, but in shame—because she was offering something real, something he didn't think he deserved. "You shouldn't waste that on someone who doesn't know how to come back."

The words hung there, soft and jagged, and though he didn't step back, he didn't step forward either. He stayed suspended in that fragile middle ground close enough to feel her presence, but he could not reach for it.

He couldn't let her rob him of his hate, its all he had.

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian remained still, the air between them thick with the unspoken. Her heart hammered—not from fear, but from the ache of recognition. She understood too well the refuge one could find in anger, in fighting to avoid feeling. Yet even as she felt it in him, she wanted to step closer, to offer steadiness where he had only known chaos.

Her hands twitched at her sides, the impulse to reach out nearly overpowering her caution. She could feel the tremor in his fingers, the hollow weight in his words, and part of her longed to bridge the space, to let him know he didn't have to bear it alone. He's afraid, she thought. But I can hold that. I can be here. The thought hovered unspoken, threading gently through the cracks in his armor. She didn't voice it—couldn't, not yet—but she let it linger in her gaze, steady and quiet, a hand extended without touching.

Her breath mingled with his in the small space between them, shallow and careful, as if measured by the same fragile pulse of trust. "Then…what are you still fighting for?" she asked softly, a haunted whisper meant only for him, carrying curiosity, concern, and the faintest thread of hope.

For a heartbeat, the weight of the world seemed to press in from all sides. Slowly, she stepped just a fraction closer—closer enough that the offer in her presence was undeniable, even if he could not yet take it.

Her gaze fell to his hands, the dark streaks of blood still clinging stubbornly to his knuckles. She hesitated only for a heartbeat before speaking, her voice soft, careful, almost like a whisper carried by the still air between them.

"Here…" she said quietly, stepping slightly closer. "Let me…wash that for you."

It wasn't a demand, nor an intrusion, just an offer. Her hands hovered briefly, fingers twitching as if she could already feel the tension coiled inside him, ready to recoil. "You don't have to… talk, or say anything. Just… let me help."

Her presence was steady, gentle, a quiet promise threaded through the vulnerability in her own expression. The sunlight catching the small droplets of water on the floor reflected faintly in her eyes, and the faint hum of the city outside seemed to pause, leaving only the two of them in that fragile, suspended moment.

Even if he didn't respond, even if he refused, just offering the touch, the care, the acknowledgment of his exhaustion and pain, was a small bridge across the hollow spaces he'd been clinging to.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

He felt it her presence, quiet but unwavering, the soft pull of something human pressing against the cage he'd built around himself. It reached him in a way words never could, threading through the static in his mind, brushing the edges of his exhaustion.

For a heartbeat, Veyran wanted to take it. To let it in. To believe that whatever she was offering might be enough to still the endless rhythm that had driven him for so long. But the thought struck something deep and cold inside him a truth that refused to loosen its hold.

His gaze dropped to his hands again. They were trembling still, stained and unsteady, the remnants of everything he was trying to fight and everything that kept him moving. He flexed his fingers once, as though reminding himself what pain felt like, what purpose cost.

"You shouldn't…" His voice caught, the words fraying before he forced them out. "You shouldn't offer that to me."

The look in her eyes made it harder so full of quiet conviction, of care that didn't demand anything in return. He almost turned away, but instead he stood there, caught between the gravity of her nearness and the weight of what he couldn't let go of.

"This thing in me." he said, his tone roughened to something almost breaking, "It's all I have left that still makes sense. The fight, the anger—it gives shape to everything that would swallow me whole if I stopped. If I let go of it…" His throat tightened. "Then there's nothing left."


He met her gaze then, raw and unguarded. "You think it's strength," he said quietly, "But it's just fear wearing armor."

The admission came like a wound reopened. He swallowed, jaw tightening again as if the act of speaking had taken something from him. "And I don't know how to live without it."

For a long moment, he didn't move. The air between them hung heavy with everything unspoken the fear, the yearning, the faint shimmer of something that might one day be hope.

But Veyran stayed still, bound to the only thing he understood: the fight. And though part of him wanted to reach back, to meet her halfway, his hands remained open and empty at his sides, trembling like they didn't know how to do anything else.

"I can't reach out, if I do, the feeling nearly overwhelms me."

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian remained still, the memory of Caelan's absence pressing against her chest, raw and unyielding. The grief had followed her like a shadow, shaping the rhythm of her steps, the quiet pull in her thoughts. Yet now, here, in the narrow space of the training hall, she felt a different current: the weight of someone else's struggle, one she could touch, one she could offer steadiness to.

He couldn't reach out, wouldn't reach out, but she could.

Kneeling slightly, she dipped her fingers into the water she had set at her side, letting it flow over the dark streaks of blood still clinging stubbornly to his knuckles. No words passed her lips. No demand, no question. Only the simple act of care, her hands steady, her breath slow and even, letting him exist without interference, without judgment.

Her mind touched him anyway, threading silently through the tension, the fear, the shadow of anger he carried. Not to intrude, but to offer—healing without asking, presence without expectation. She could feel a fragment of what had trapped him, the constant fight that had given shape to his life, and in the same instant, she felt something shift in herself: that grief, though still there, could be borne alongside someone else's struggle without erasing her own strength.

Outside, sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting soft gold stripes across the floor. Each droplet she let fall from her fingers caught it, sparkling briefly before settling. In that quiet, the silence between them was not emptiness. It was a pulse, tentative and fragile, carrying the faint promise that neither of them had to bear their burdens alone.

She finished washing his knuckles and lifted her gaze, steady, calm. The moment held them suspended together: him bound to the fight he could not let go of, her still mourning yet beginning to step beyond it, and between them, a shared understanding that maybe—just maybe—they could help each other navigate what came next.

Veyran Solis

 

[Veyran Solis]

Xian Xiao​

Veyran watched her in silence. The instinct to recoil to retreat behind the walls he'd lived behind for years flared for a heartbeat, then faltered beneath the gentleness of her touch. The water was cool against his skin, tracing through the cuts and grime, washing away what the fight had left behind.

He didn't know what to do with that kind of care. It unnerved him more than pain ever could. No one touched him without wanting something obedience, strength, control. But she wasn't asking. She wasn't even speaking. She was just there.

His breath came slow, unsteady, the sound of it nearly lost under the faint dripping of water from her fingers. He wanted to tell her to stop, to keep her distance before she saw too much but the words wouldn't form. They died somewhere between his chest and his throat, replaced by something quieter.

Veyran's hand twitched beneath hers, but he didn't pull away. He let her finish, every movement of her fingers washing away something heavier than blood. For a moment, he wasn't the fighter, wasn't the weapon. Just a man, standing still enough to feel what it meant to be seen.

When she finally drew her hand back, the silence that followed didn't feel fragile anymore it felt alive. The pulse of it ran through the space between them, quiet and real. Then his hands retreated quickly, seeking comfort in their own embrace.

Veyran's eyes met hers again. The storm hadn't left him not yet but for the first time in years, there was a break in the clouds. Just enough for maybe something to get through.