Private What Remains After

[Xian Xiao]

The streets of Bastion were quiet, the festival's lights dimmed, and decorations were swept away. Laughter and music lingered only as a faint memory, leaving the city to its usual rhythm of order and precision. Yet for Xian, the emptiness around her felt heavier than the silence should allow.

She moved through the courtyard alone, blade hilted but unlit, tracing arcs with the elegance of someone who had long practiced grace and discipline. Each turn, each sweep, was precise—controlled—but beneath it, a tension hummed. Her heart carried a weight the motions could not erase.

The autumn air brought the faint scent of burnt leaves and cooling embers from the gardens. For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of her movements and the stillness of the morning soothe her. She had been happy once—quietly, simply happy—in a way she rarely allowed herself to feel.

Then came the sound: a door opening behind her, footsteps careful, deliberate. Something in the tone, the weight in the air, told her this was no casual visitor. She instinctively tightened her grip on the hilt.

News was coming.

News that could change everything she had allowed herself to feel.

Her thoughts flickered briefly to him—the king who had made her feel wanted, cherished, and alive. She had been falling, quietly, completely, savoring the moments where love had softened the edges of her life.

And now, whatever words would arrive with those footsteps… she feared they might take it all away.

Diarch Rellik

 

[Diarch Rellik]

The faint hum of the courtyard's door broke the silence of the day. Rellik stepped through it slowly, the morning light sliding across his features.
He stopped a few paces away, watching Xian's movements flow through the cool air, blade unlit but alive in her hands. Each motion was deliberate, but even from here he could sense it, the strain in her spirit, the tremor beneath the discipline.

"Up early and training, can you sense something wrong?" he said, voice low and steady. There was some empathy to bear but the Diarch wanted to keep tabs on his ward. Xian was not just an apprentice. He promised to bring her here and help her find purpose. To always try and uplift her. Be honest with her.

He took another step closer, the datapad in his hand catching the light. "I received a transmission," he began, measured and careful. "Through the diplomatic relay not long ago." Rellik extended the datapad toward her, though his gaze never left her face. "An edict. From the Throne of Devit itself."

Silence followed. Only the wind in the courtyard moved.
He watched as the words reached her, the moment her stillness turned into something fragile.

Xian Xiao

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian's blade lowered slowly, the practiced precision of her movements faltering as Rellik stepped closer, the datapad extended toward her. She did not take it immediately, letting her gaze linger on him, searching for some hint in his expression—some clue as to what he carried. A faint unease coiled in her chest, a quiet tremor beneath her discipline.

Finally, her hands reached for the datapad, the metal cold beneath her fingers, grounding her as she activated it. Her eyes scanned the words, each line sinking heavier than the last. The edict named Caelan confirmed what she had feared, and the weight of it pressed down, sudden and unrelenting.

Her breath caught, a shuddering hitch she refused to release. "He… is gone." The whisper barely rose above the wind. Her eyes glistened as the first tears threatened to fall. She blinked rapidly, holding them back—not here, not now. Caelan… She remembered the warmth of his hand, the quiet reassurance in his voice, the calm strength that had anchored her in ways she had never admitted.

Her gaze lifted to Rellik, grief mirrored in the faint shimmer of her eyes. "The children… the responsibility…" Her voice wavered despite her effort to remain composed. "It falls to Lady Corazona now. And I… I am left with this…the memory of him."

The courtyard seemed to still itself around her, morning light sliding across the marble tiles, soft against the shadow of grief. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of dew and wet stone, as if the world itself paused.

Her fingers clenched the hilt once more, then loosened. Slowly, deliberately, she let go, the weapon falling to the ground with a muted clatter. Turning to Rellik, she stepped into him, pressing her forehead against his chest, and finally, fully, the tears came. They ran freely now, hot and unrestrained, as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, leaning on him for support.

Flashes of Caelan lingered in her mind—the cadence of his voice, the warmth of his hand, the quiet moments she had treasured. The memories were both dagger and comfort, grounding her in the love that had been.

"Thank you… for bringing this to me," she murmured into Rellik's chest, voice muffled by her sobs. "I will honor him… I will remember him… always."

Rellik's arms wrapped around her, steady and warm, and the soft morning light glinted off the wet courtyard. For the first time in hours, Xian allowed herself to surrender to the grief clawing at her chest, letting the storm of her heart find release in the quiet, tender embrace, carrying both the weight of loss and the enduring echo of the man she had loved.

Diarch Rellik

 

[Diarch Rellik]

When she pressed into him, Rellik's arms moved automatically. On instinct he and his cloak enclosed her. His hands rested between her shoulders, offering a lite pat and ruffle of Xian's hair. When at last her sobs began to quiet, he exhaled. Although he has seen many brave and great people fall, every one was tragic to someone who loved them.

"He was a good man," he said softly. "The Force will take him kindly and look for his children."

It was not often he spoke kindly about the force. Or its effects on those who pass. He was trying to ease a bit of the pain.

"It is okay to be sad. Do your best to lift yourself up and work in his memory. Instead of suffer."

The Diarch was doing his best. He had no children to call his own. Yet he wanted to show Xian she was not alone.

Xian Xiao

 

[Xian Xiao]

Xian pressed into his cloak, letting herself be held, the sobs wracking her small frame even as they slowly began to quiet. She felt the gentle pressure of his hands, the pat and ruffle of her hair, and for a moment, the chaos inside her dimmed enough to notice the care behind the gesture.

"He…he was," she managed, voice trembling, "he was everything I wanted to be, in some ways. And I wasn't…I wasn't ready to lose him." Her chest heaved, tears slipping past the corners of her eyes, and she buried her face a little deeper against his cloak, seeking something solid in the world that no longer felt safe.

She felt his words, soft and measured, try to weave through the raw ache in her chest. "The Force…the Force can't bring him back," she whispered, almost to herself, though he could hear her. "I—he…I can't…" The thought of him, gone, final, unmade her stomach twist.

"I don't know how to honor him," she admitted, her voice small and uneven, "how to…be brave when it hurts this much. How do I…keep him with me without breaking?" Her hands pressed against his cloak as if holding onto more than just fabric—holding onto the idea that someone could care for her grief.

Rellik's presence, steady and warm, anchored her. His quiet acknowledgment, the way he let her feel the sorrow without pressing her to move too fast, gave her the tiniest sliver of space to breathe. And yet, the ache inside her pressed against that space, whispering that she needed more.

"I think…I need to go away for a little while," she admitted, voice trembling but firm. "Just…to think. To figure out how to honor him, to be…myself. Alone." She pulled back slightly, her wet eyes meeting his. "Not because I don't want you here, but because I can't…I can't do this properly if I'm not facing it, even a little, on my own."

Her words were heavy, but there was a quiet determination in them, the kind that could turn grief into something lasting. She drew in a shaky breath, feeling the tug of guilt and sorrow mingle with resolve. "I don't know where I'll go, or what I'll do exactly…But I have to try."

Rellik's hands remained on her shoulders, steady, patient, giving her permission without a word. In that silence, Xian let herself lean into her choice, feeling both the weight of loss and the fragile spark of hope that she might find a way forward.

"And…maybe," she whispered, almost to herself, "maybe I'll find a place, or someone…or something that makes it easier to keep living without forgetting." The thought lingered, unspoken but pressing, a seed she didn't yet understand—one that would lead her forward, eventually toward someone she hadn't yet met.

For now, she let herself exist in the quiet, the sorrow, and the small but unyielding spark of determination. She would honor him in her own way—and somehow, she would survive.

Diarch Reign