Private Where Control Slips

[Lumiya Dara]

The desert stretched without mercy. Endless dunes rolled beneath a pale, unbroken sky, their shapes carved and recarved by a wind that never seemed to rest. There was no shelter here. No concealment. Only distance, heat, and the slow erosion of anything left exposed for too long.

The transport had not been meant to fall into it. It's descent had been violent; less a landing than a surrender. One engine had failed first, coughing into silence before the second followed in stuttering protest. The pilot had fought it - briefly, desperately - but the sands below had already claimed their trajectory. The impact came hard. The vessel struck at an angle, skidding across the dunes in a shriek of tearing metal, plumes of sand erupting in it's wake. It dragged, buckled, and finally collapsed into stillness half-buried, it's hull split open to the relentless sun.

Silence followed. Not the quiet of peace. But the quiet of aftermath.

Lumiya did not rise immediately. Awareness returned to her in fragments: heat first, pressing insistently against her skin. Then the weight of her own body, grounded and unmoving. Then pain that was sharp, localized, and inconvenient. Her eyes opened to light that was too bright, too direct. For a moment, her vision swam. Not from disorientation, but from the body’s attempt to reconcile itself with survival. She inhaled slowly. Measured. Controlled. Assessment came before action.

Her arms responded when she willed them to move. Her legs followed, slower but functional. Structural integrity intact. Nothing broken. Then her gaze lowered. Blood. Not much. A shallow tear along her side where metal had caught and dragged, staining fabric in a dark, uneven spread. It should have been insignificant. But it wasn’t....

Her breath faltered just slightly. A flicker that was brief, and unwelcome. The sight of it: it's color, it's contrast against the pale fabric; pulled at something instinctive, something beneath discipline. A momentary lightness edged into her awareness, the world tilting not physically, but perceptually.

No. Her jaw set, subtle but firm. This was not pain. Not injury. This was reaction. And reaction could be controlled.

Lumiya closed her eyes; not to retreat, but to refocus. Breath in. Slow. Precise. She did not allow the sensation to expand, did not give it space to become something more. It existed. It was acknowledged. And then, it was diminished.

When her eyes opened again, the moment had passed. Efficiency had returned. With deliberate care, she reached for the small medical kit secured at her side. The motion was practiced, almost automatic. She retrieved a sealant patch and antiseptic, working without hesitation; cleaning the wound, sealing it, and reinforcing it with a compact dressing designed for exactly this kind of contingency. No wasted movement. No excess thought. The bleeding stopped.

Only then did she allow her attention to move outward. The transport lay broken around her, it's hull cracked open like a carcass left to the elements. Sand had already begun it's work, creeping inward, softening edges, erasing distinction. And beyond it there was nothing. No immediate movement. No figures. No rescue. Just the horizon, shimmering faintly in the heat.

But not empty. Her gaze lingered there a moment longer than necessary. Someone would find this. The wreck was too visible. Too exposed. It was only a matter of time.

Lumiya rose at last, steady despite the lingering tightness at her side. Whatever came next - whether scavenger, passerby, or something less predictable - she would meet it as she always did. Prepared and composed.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

The sun did not always warm him; it led him. Syn moved through the blistering haze of the sand sea with a gait that was neither hurried nor labored merely inevitable. At six foot eight, his silhouette warped the horizon, a slender column of shadow cutting through the shimmering, liquid distortion rising off the dunes. He carried two hundred and ten pounds of dense, kinetic stillness, wrapped in flesh that was the color of a lightly tanned forrm: a mottled topography of ochre and umber, with streaks of raw sienna running like dried riverbeds along his cheeks. THe jedi master felt it overhead, he couldn't see it... the force flashed and something was coming down which had drawn him out of his hunting sithspawn.

The wind, sharp with grit, found the short, dark brown spikes of his hair but could not move them. They stood in stark, stubborn relief against the blinding white of the sky, as rigid as his posture. A length of sun-faded, ink-black cloth was bound tightly across the upper half of his face, concealing the smooth, hollow void where sight had never resided. It fluttered only slightly at the edges, tugged by a current of dry heat that would have blinded any other man. He often enough traveled across the galaxy seeking other dangers and creatures. His movements with Lyra and Serra aiding him in getting through much of it so he could fight the beasts.

He did not feel the heat as discomfort, but as information. He felt the vibration of distant dune collapses through the soles of his feet, the life-force of a burrowing sand beetle flickering ten meters to his left, and the whisper of quartz grains scraping against the shell of an old wreck buried deep below. And there, on the high ridge of his cheekbone, etched into the yellow-brown canvas of his skin like a maker's stamp, was the blemish that mattered most. It was no longer wet; the desert had baked many others but he rarely showed it. Turning with the sounds as he moved through. His sabers on his hip and field kit.

The broad swath of his back was bare to the elements, the ridges of muscle along his spine shifting like tectonic plates under a sheen of sweat and fine, clinging dust. He was not a statue here; he was a piece of the desert that had simply decided to stand up and walk. He paused at the lip of a steep dune, his head tilting not to hear a song of the force when he could see someone was alive in the crash in the distance. He didn't rush, running towards it and them would likely scare them or cause a response that would be less then helpful in such a situation. He would approach briskly and make sure that they were able to see him coming with no weapons in his hands.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The horizon did not remain empty. Not for long. At first, it was nothing more than a distortion; heat bending light into shapes that refused to hold. The desert had a way of creating movement where there was none, of suggesting presence where only distance existed. Lumiya did not trust it. She stood still, her posture composed but no longer at ease, her gaze narrowing slightly as she tried to separate illusion from truth. The shape persisted. Not shifting. Not dissolving. But approaching. Her breath slowed; not out of calm, but intention.

Someone was coming. Her first instinct was not relief. It was caution.

There was no rescue out here. Not truly. Only chance. And chance did not always arrive with good intentions. Her fingers brushed briefly against the edge of her medical kit, grounding rather than reaching. The lightsaber at her side remained untouched. She did not step back. But she did not move forward either. Instead she waited.

As the distance closed, the details began to resolve. Not quickly, not all at once, but enough to challenge her first assumptions. Height. Presence. Stillness within motion. Not hurried. Not uncertain. The way he moved did not belong to someone lost in the desert. It belonged to someone who understood it.

Lumiya’s gaze lingered, searching not just for what he was, but for what he intended to be. No weapon was drawn. No sign of immediate aggression. Still….he was not harmless. Something in the way he approached that was measured and deliberate felt less like arrival and more like inevitability. Her shoulders drew in slightly, not in retreat, but in quiet readiness.

When he came close enough for the details to settle fully into place, her attention shifted subtly, but unmistakably to the cloth across his eyes. Not a glance. Not with curiosity. But with recognition. The realization did not startle her. It adjusted her. Her posture softened by a degree that might have gone unnoticed to anyone else. When she spoke, her voice carried the same quiet presence as before but now, it held something more careful. More intentional. “You felt it,” she said, not quite a question.

A small pause followed. The wind moved between them, carrying heat and the faint scent of scorched metal from the wreck behind her. “I’m not the only one who survived,” Lumiya added, her gaze flickering briefly back toward the broken transport. “Some are still inside.” Another pause. Then, more softly she added; “They’re hurt.”

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

The sound was the first thing to carry, then the scent in the heat of the desert. Had he eyes he might have been blinded from the suns reflection for it. He could see Lumiya in the force when he was close enough. Her voice there as he moved forward at the mention of others within. His feet moving in the sand with purpose but also a shifting motion that didn't make vibrations. A habit when going through desert as he moved and motioned with one hand towards the crash he was able to feel. "Where?" He said it as he stepped forward and stood tall and at the ready for anything. She might be able to provide a better direction though as he breathed inwards and then outwards. Letting the senses in the force expand but he was pulling with the force on the debris to raise it up and push away the sand to expose the different areas buried to make getting out easier.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The shift in the air came before the movement itself. It was subtle. But unmistakable. Lumiya felt it - not as force, not as pressure - but as something being lifted. Displaced. The weight of the wreckage loosening where it had settled too heavily into the sand. Her breath caught just slightly; not from fear, but from the sudden awareness that she was no longer the only one reaching toward the problem. When he asked, she did not hesitate. Her gaze turned immediately, anchoring not on him; but on the fractured remains of the transport behind her. “There,” she said softly, though the direction was clear in the way her hand followed, lifting just enough to indicate the torn section of hull partially buried beneath sand and debris. “Midsection,” she added, more precise now. “There’s a cluster….they were conscious.”

Her focus sharpened; not outward, but inward, recalling positions, sounds, fragments of movement from moments before. “One is pinned,” Lumiya continued, quieter now, her voice threading carefully through what she remembered. “Left side. The frame collapsed inward.” Another breath. Steady. “There are others further back,” she said. “I heard them before the sand shifted.”

Her hand lowered slowly, returning to her side, though her posture did not fully relax. It remained attentive and present. Not to him, but to what still lay beneath the wreckage.

For a moment, she watched the movement of metal and sand as it gave way under his unseen guidance. Then she stepped forward. Not far. Just enough to close the distance between observation and action.

“I can reach them when there’s space,” Lumiya said, her voice soft but certain in a way it had not been before. “Stabilize what I can.” A small pause followed. Then, more quietly she spoke; “They’re still there.” Not a reassurance. Not quite. But something close to it.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He listened to her as she was speaking and there was a small moment. He knew she was likely pointing or speaking in a way that others would be able to track and find. He was sensing more and more as the woman directed though and his hand remained outstretched. The force guiding into the sands and wrapping around. His other hand going to his waist and belt for a moment as he released one of the limiters of his robes. The pressure changing and surging while one of the seven limiters he used to self limit himself. He remained there though while one foot went into the sand but his grip increased around the metal of the ship when he brought his other hand up. Focused on it but he spoke. "I don't exactly see where you are pointing but this will be easier to hold up, find them."

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The distinction settled quickly. Not in what he said; but in what he needed. Lumiya’s gaze flickered briefly to his outstretched hand, to the subtle tension in his posture as the weight of the wreckage shifted under something unseen yet undeniable. He could hold it. But he could not see it.

Her breath steadied. “Alright,” she said softly, the word less an agreement than a quiet adjustment. Her focus narrowed immediately, no longer divided between him and the wreck; but anchored fully on the fractured midsection he held open. “Three steps forward,” Lumiya guided, her voice calm, measured - not raised, but shaped with intention. “Then slightly to your right….there’s a support beam angled downward.” She moved as she spoke; not rushing, but closing the distance enough to ensure what she described matched what remained. “Hold there,” she added gently. “That’s where the collapse is worse.” A brief pause, her eyes tracking the shifting metal, recalibrating as space opened where there had been none. “I’m going in.” It was not a declaration. Only a fact. She slipped carefully through the newly exposed gap, her movements controlled despite the instability around her. The air inside was thicker; heavier with heat and dust, the scent of scorched metal clinging to every surface. “They’re here,” Lumiya called softly, though her voice carried with quiet certainty now.

A figure came into view; pinned exactly where she had said. Her breath faltered just slightly at the sight of it. Then steadied. “I have you,” she murmured, dropping to her knees beside them, her hands already moving; checking, assessing, grounding. Her voice softened further; not for Syn this time. But for the injured. “You’re not alone.”

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He listened and adjusted as she was saying, allowing the force to be focused on himself and then he was sending it outwards . He could connect here to the planet itself and generation of the energies were higher in many cases before the jedi master heard her going in. His senses were tracking and following her in the force. He moved forward with a step as he continued to lift it, he stabilized it while listening when she caalled out that she had found them. "Good." His voice came out, focused an loud but he wasn't shouting as it resonated. "Brring them out as you can and I can hold this." He was finding this almost idealic compared to a few of the things he had been going through... it was something different then darkside temples or navifating sithspawn.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

His voice carried through the fractured hull; not loud, but certain. It held. Lumiya did not look back. She trusted that it would. “Alright,” she answered softly, though the word was more breath than sound; an acknowledgment rather than a reply.

Her attention remained fixed on the figure pinned beneath the collapsed frame. Up close, the damage was clearer. Worse. Her stomach turned. She felt it both sharp and immediate, the familiar pull of dizziness threatening at the edges of her awareness. The sight, the proximity, the reality of it pressing in all at once. Her hand paused. Just for a moment. Fingers hovering where they needed to act. Then she exhaled. Slow. Controlled. Not to banish the reaction. But to move through it.

“I need you to stay with me,” Lumiya murmured to the injured, her voice low and steady despite the strain beneath it. “Don’t try to move yet.” Her hands resumed their work; gentler now, but deliberate. Assessing the angle of the pinning debris. Checking for responsiveness. For breath. For anything that told her how much time they had. Not enough. But enough to try. “Can you feel your legs?” she asked softly. There was a faint response that was barely there. Relief that was small, but real settled into her chest. “Good,” she whispered, more to anchor them than to celebrate it.

Her gaze lifted briefly, tracking the line of the beam that held them trapped, committing its position to memory before lowering again. “I’m going to move this just enough,” Lumiya said, her voice threading carefully between reassurance and truth. “When I do, I need you to stay as still as you can.” Another breath. Then slightly louder; just enough to carry in the wind: “There’s one pinned,” she called to Syn. “Left side, under the beam. I’ll guide you when I’m ready.”

Her hand hovered again; not from hesitation this time, but from timing. Waiting for the moment where effort and opportunity aligned. “You’re not alone,” she repeated quietly, her gaze steady on the person beneath her hands. And this time she believed it.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He continued the focus as she was moving through the ship with a smaller nod as he stepped forward. He reached more of the ship itself while securing it. "Go." He said it but was finding a place more where it would be set down on a flat area. With a breath while he checked over a few things in the force.. he could feel the woman who was in there before he was moving forward with more and more. "Stabilize them, get them out and then we will work on healing them." Or something, he wasn't much of a group healer but he was good at focusing and transferring force enemies to the ones who needed it so he had a plan.. Maybe a really bad plan but a plan.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The word settled into her like a signal. Go. Lumiya didn’t question it. Her hands moved immediately; no pause, no second thought sliding into place along the edge of the beam where it pressed too heavily into the body beneath it. “Alright,” she murmured, softer now, her voice meant for the person beneath her hands. “Stay with me.”

Her touch shifted; one hand bracing, the other guiding, testing the weight, the give, the smallest margin that might be enough. “Just a little,” she warned gently. “Don’t try to help. Let me do it.” A breath was taken as she waited for the right moment. And then: “Now.”

The beam lifted just enough under Syn’s unseen hold. Lumiya didn’t waste the moment. She moved with it, easing the trapped body free with careful precision, guiding rather than pulling, keeping the spine aligned as best she could within the tight, unstable space. “There you go… slowly…” she whispered, more rhythm than instruction. The weight came clear. Not cleanly. But enough.

She shifted immediately, lowering them onto a more stable section of the hull, one hand already moving to check for changes such as: breath, responsiveness, any sign that the movement had made things worse. A small exhale left her. They were still with her. “Good,” she said quietly. No relief yet. Just continuation.

Her hands worked quickly now; securing what she could, reinforcing what might fail, her movements gaining a subtle efficiency that hadn’t been there before. “They’re free,” Lumiya called; not loudly, but with certainty. A brief pause was given before she more softly: “I’m bringing them out.”

She adjusted her grip, careful and deliberate, before beginning the slow process of moving them toward the opening Syn held for her. “You’re doing well,” she murmured again to the injured, her voice steady despite everything around them. “Just a little further.”

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He could hear her and he could see the others who were there as he channeled and pushed the force energies outwards. Transferring and making the surrounding area more rich in energy... generating as he connected to the world below.. And then deeper and deeper into the planet itself. The living force of the world. He was pulling it up and channeling it along from his hands before breathing in and then outwards as the force and his senses expanded to sense her. "Steady." He said it but whether it was for her or himself it was uncertain as his hand remained where it was. The ship hovering just over the sand instead of higher up so that it would be level and she wouldn't have a drop.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The shift was immediate. Not in sight, but in feel. The unstable tension that had threaded through every movement eased, not disappearing, but settling into something held. The wreck no longer threatened to give way beneath her hands. The space around her felt steadier. Anchored. Lumiya felt it. And adjusted without hesitation.

Her grip shifted slightly beneath the injured, compensating for the new balance, her movements smoothing where they had once been cautious. “…I have you,” she murmured again, quieter now; not as reassurance alone, but rhythm. Something to follow. She guided them forward, inch by careful inch, until the threshold of the opening came into reach. Light spilled across them in broken lines, the heat of the desert pressing in to replace the closeness of the wreck. “Almost there,” she said softly. One more step. Then another. Until at last, they were clear.

Lumiya lowered them carefully onto the sand just beyond the hull, choosing a place where the ground lay as even as the canyon would allow. Only once their weight was fully supported did she release them. And even then, her hands did not leave entirely. The assessment came immediately. Her fingers moved with quiet precision; checking for changes, for signs of internal strain from the movement, for breath that remained steady enough to trust. Still there. Still holding.

A breath left her that was both small and controlled. “Stay with me,” she murmured again, her voice gentler now that the urgency of extraction had passed. “You’re through the worst of it.” Her hands moved to secure the injury properly this time; tightening the dressing, reinforcing it against the risk of further movement.

Only then did her gaze lift. Not toward the horizon. Not toward the distant sound of fighting. But towards him. She could not see what he saw. But she could feel what he was doing. The steadiness. The weight of it. The way the world itself seemed to listen where he held it. “…I’m ready for the next,” Lumiya called softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach him without breaking the calm he maintained. A brief pause followed. Then, quieter; almost lost to the wind she added: “Thank you.” It was not distraction. Nor indulgence. Just acknowledgment.

Then she moved again. Back toward the opening....

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He did not watch her with his eyes. The dust and the shimmering heat of the canyon wall would have obscured the finer details of her work regardless, but vision was a secondary sense now. He felt the shift in the hull's weight as she transferred the injured body from the twisted durasteel lip of the wreck to the relative give of the sand. It was a minute change in pressure against the invisible lattice of energy he was projecting, a faint tremor in the web he had cast between the belly of the ship and the solid bone of the world below. He adjusted for it without conscious thought, the way a man leaning on a rail shifts his weight when a gust of wind changes direction.

The Force flowed from the soles of his boots into the stone of Tatooine and back up again, a closed circuit of pressure and counter-pressure. The distant din of battle was a sound felt in the teeth and the pit of the stomach, but it was external a storm happening to someone else's sky. Here, in the narrow shadow of the fallen vessel, the only real sound was the soft hiss of her breath and the faint, labored pull of the survivor's lungs. He kept the ship level, a deadweight made feather-light, waiting for her to pass beneath the broken spar again. The acknowledgment came to him not through the auditory sense but as a ripple across the surface of his concentration. 'Thank you.'

He received the words as data, a marker of her mental state. She was not panicked; she was operational. That was the highest form of praise he could imagine under such circumstances. He offered no verbal reply sound required exhalation, and exhalation was a luxury he could not spare while holding the entire starboard bulkhead in stasis. Instead, he deepened the draw from the planet. There was a particular texture to Tatooine's life force: it was not the lush, chaotic overgrowth of Felucia or the deep, humming song of Alderaan's core. It was a slow, grinding patience. A desert wisdom that understood the difference between death and dormancy.

He pulled that patience up through the soles of his feet and pushed it outward through his palms, letting it saturate the crumpled metal around her. The durasteel groaned less. The sharp, crystalline danger of a snapping support beam dulled into a dull, stubborn ache. It would hold. Not because the metal was strong, but because 'he' was holding the metal. His eyes, half-lidded against the glare, tracked her silhouette as she turned back toward the dark maw of the breach. The light caught the curve of her shoulder, the efficient, unglamorous set of her hands. He felt her resolve harden into something tangible, a second anchor point in the Force beside his own.

As she disappeared back into the shadow of the wreck, Syn shifted his stance. The movement was minimal a quarter-turn of his back foot in the sand but it realigned the flow of energy from his spine into the damaged superstructure. He could feel the second one now, the faint, fluttering heartbeat trapped deeper in the aft compartment. The pulse was reedy, thready, a candle flame in a gale that was only still burning because the gale itself was being held at bay. He pushed past the sensation of the broken metal and the leaking tibanna gas residue to find that specific frequency of life. 'There.' He latched onto it with the same gentle but immovable grip one might use to hold a frightened bird.

He did not heal it that was her work, her touch, her voice in the dark. He merely insulated it. He wrapped the survivor in a cocoon of borrowed strength, a barrier woven from the unyielding stillness of the deep desert, so that when Lumiya's hands found the body, the spirit would still be waiting there to be saved. He felt the strain in his own knees then, a distant, geological reminder that flesh was finite. He ignored it. "Steady," he repeated into the air as he was breathing in and then outwards. his focus in the force improved his senses of the area around them so that they would be help these people. "Keep gathering them, I will be able to handle this."

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The space inside the wreck had changed. Not visibly. But unmistakably. Where before there had been tension - instability threaded through every surface - there was now something else. A quiet resistance. A sense that the structure, broken as it was, had been convinced to hold together a little longer. Lumiya felt it the moment she crossed back through the breach. Her breath steadied. Not because the danger was gone. But because it was contained.

“…I’m coming,” she murmured, though no one had called out this time. The words were softer; less response, more promise. She moved deeper into the aft section, slower now; not from hesitation, but from care. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dimmer light, tracing the lines of collapse, the angles where metal had folded in on itself.

Then there it was. She felt it before she fully saw it. A presence. Faint. Flickering. But not gone. Lumiya dropped to her knees beside them, her hands already moving, finding contact with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. “I have you,” she whispered, her voice lower now, steadier than before. Her fingers traced the shape of the injury; carefully assessing them; and for a brief moment, the familiar wave threatened again. The sight. The closeness. The reality of it. Her breath caught. Just slightly. Then she exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

And continued. “They’re holding,” she murmured; this time not just to the injured, but outward. Not a question. Not quite. But an acknowledgment of what she could feel around her. The steadiness that wasn’t hers alone. Her hands shifted, more confident now as she worked to free what remained trapped. Not forcing, not rushing, but guiding the body through the smallest spaces the wreck allowed. “Easy…” she whispered. “You’re alright….just stay with me.” There was resistance. But not the same kind as before. The metal gave more easily now. The pressure felt supported. As though something unseen bore the weight that should have made this impossible. Lumiya didn’t question it. She used it. A careful pull. A slight adjustment. Then there was movement. “They’re coming free,” she called softly, her voice threading through the hull again. Not urgency. Just clarity. She shifted her grip, bracing as she eased them out, her movements gaining that same quiet efficiency as before; no wasted motion, no second-guessing.

When the weight finally released, she steadied them immediately, lowering them into her lap just long enough to reassess their breath, pulse, and presence. Still there. Faint. But still there. A small breath left her. “…good,” she whispered.

Then, with renewed care, she began guiding them back toward the opening. “We’re getting you out,” Lumiya murmured, her voice softer now, almost instinctive in it's reassurance. “You’re not alone.” And this time she knew it wasn’t just something she was saying.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

She was continuing as he allowed the force to guide his sight throughout the ship to follow her. A small nod of interest before he was ensuring the ones who were brought out with a look. She had more to get, more to rescue and that was good though he was wondering how many more for the moment. The sun coming down while he spoke. "How many more do you see?" He said it into the force as well as verbally so that it would be heard but not as a shout. His senses flaring outwards and wrapping around more of the ship and the people but he remained there. His one hand going to his belt pack as he was getting the survival kit for its medical kits to be able to use and the canteen.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The question reached her in two ways; through sound, and through the quiet pressure that seemed to carry beneath it. Lumiya felt both. But she did not answer immediately. Instead her focus remained on the person in her arms as she guided them carefully through the breach; her steps measured to match the uneven ground beneath her. The light met them again in fractured lines, the heat pressing close as she crossed back into the open. Only when she had lowered them beside the others - gentle, deliberate, ensuring nothing shifted that shouldn’t - did she allow herself a breath.

Then she looked back. Not just with her eyes. Her awareness stretched inward once more, tracing the hollowed spaces of the wreck, the places where presence had been and where it still lingered. Faint. Thin. But there. “…One more,” Lumiya said softly at last. A small pause followed as she refined it, her head tilting just slightly as though listening to something distant and fragile. “Further back,” she added, quieter now. “Very weak.”

Her gaze lifted briefly toward him; not seeking confirmation, but aligning with what she knew he could already feel. Then it dropped again, returning to the survivors gathered in the narrow shelter of the hull. “They’ll need you here,” she said gently, her voice carrying a different kind of certainty now. Not instruction. Not quite. But trust. “When I bring them out, that is.”

Her hand moved to secure the nearest patient once more, adjusting a dressing, grounding them with a brief, steady touch before she withdrew. The moment lingered only long enough to ensure stability. Then she turned back toward the wreck. Her steps slowed as she reached the breach again; not from hesitation, but from the awareness of what remained. The last thread. The one that might not hold much longer. “I’m coming,” she murmured, softer this time. Not outward. But to them. And then she disappeared once more into the dim, fractured interior; following that fading presence with quiet, unwavering care.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He gave a nod of his head with the movement as she was heading back in and he was moving his attention to the ones she had brought. As he was setting it down he focused on the and was slowly pulling them out and along the sand, to a more secured area that they would be able to rest as he looked around. "Hold still." He said it to the ones who were there as he pulled them along the sands careful but was allowing the force to sense and find the girl. He spoke so that she could hear. "Open yourself, channel the surrounding energy." He wasn't certain if her very weak statement had been for herself or another but he could transfer force energies as he generated it using the planet and the living force to pull it.

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The instruction reached her as she crossed back into the shadow. Not as a command. But as something offered. Lumiya didn’t answer it aloud. But she heard it.

The interior of the wreck felt different now. Quieter. Not because it was empty, but because what remained was so faint it barely disturbed the space around it. The last presence flickered somewhere deeper within, fragile enough that even her careful steps felt like they might disturb it.

She slowed. Not from uncertainty. But from respect. “...I’m here,” she murmured softly, her voice threading into the dim, fractured space ahead of her. Not to locate them. To reach them.

Open yourself. The words lingered. Lumiya drew in a slow breath as she moved, one hand brushing lightly along the warped interior wall to steady herself. Not physically, but inwardly. The instinct to stay contained, to remain small and careful, had always guided her. This asked something different. Not force. Not control. But allowance.

Her next breath came slower. Deeper. And for a moment - just a moment - she let the boundary soften. Not wide. Not overwhelming. Just enough.

The Force did not surge. It answered. Not as power, but as presence that was subtle, surrounding and already there. The same quiet thread she used to soothe pain, to steady breath, to keep someone from slipping too far. Only now, she let it extend just a little further beyond her hands. “…stay with me,” she whispered, though this time the words carried more than sound.

She found them moments later. Barely conscious. Trapped not by a single crushing beam, but by the slow, suffocating weight of collapsed plating pressing in at an angle that left no room to move; but just enough to breathe. For now.

Lumiya dropped carefully to her knees beside the lady, her hands hovering for only a fraction of a second before settling into place; one at her shoulder, the other bracing against the metal that held her. “I have you,” she said softly. Her touch steadied. And so did something else. Not strength. Not healing; not yet. But support. A quiet reinforcement that did not come from her alone. The pressure around them felt less absolute. Not lifted; but held. As though the space itself had been asked, gently, not to close any further. She exhaled slowly, anchoring it. “Just a little,” Lumiya murmured. “I’m going to make space.”

Her hands shifted; testing, guiding, finding the smallest give where there should have been none. She didn’t force it. Didn’t fight the weight. Instead she worked with it.

And somewhere beyond the hull, that same steady presence answered. The metal eased. Not dramatically. But enough. “There you go…” she whispered, easing her free inch by careful inch, keeping her body aligned, supported, never allowing the movement to outpace what they could endure.

The lady's breath hitched. Held. Then continued. A small, fragile victory.

“…good,” Lumiya breathed, more felt than spoken. The extraction was slower than the others. More delicate. Every movement measured against what little strength remained in the body she held. But she did not rush. She did not falter. “You’re not alone,” she murmured again, the words quiet but unwavering now. And this time, it wasn’t just reassurance. It was true in a way she could feel.

When at last the weight released fully, she gathered the lady carefully, supporting her close. Not out of urgency, but of necessity; and began the slow return toward the light. “…we’re getting you out,” she said softly.

Behind her, the wreck still held. Not because it should. But because, for a little while longer it was being allowed to.

Tag: Syn

 

[Syn]

Lumiya Dara

He allowed the force to continue to be there as he breathed in and then outwards... motioning for it and pulling more. The ship securing itself in the sands like a cradle as he eased it in with a look over some of it in the force. Compressing and pulling it there for a moment... he was working to secure it and hold it all in with a nof of his head before he was moving to join her. The force almost crackling off of him but it was just in sheer pressure to secure and maintain the ship as he was bringing people out gently but spoke. "Start bringing them out, make sure they are secured and then we will bring in medical beacons." THey could work on it but he crouched for a moment looking towards her. "You have done good."