ʟɪʟ' ᴏʟᴇ ᴍᴇ
The morning air over Naboo carried the scent of crushed mint and damp earth, settling quietly over the modest courtyard garden. It was a compact refuge of ancient masonry, bounded by a weathered stone path that looped its hundred-metre circumference around a central pond. At its heart, an elegant, time-worn water feature spilled a steady, rhythmic trickle into the dark surface below. Grandmaster Ala Quin stood near the lip of the water, a diminutive figure wrapped in the soft burgundy wool of her traditional Shirayan robes. Beneath her hood, an abundance of unruly brown curls caught the early sunlight, softening an expression that had grown increasingly measured over the past year.
By nature, Ala was an engine of optimism, a woman whose spirit inherently reached toward light. Yet leadership possessed a weight. The burdens of her title had gradually shaped that raw energy into a quiet, enduring warmth, a reservoir of patience that now served her well as she waited. Today's serenity was a fragile veneer. Just beyond the flowering shrubs and manicured hedges loomed the stark, heavy silhouette of the Jedi prison complex.
She had requested this audience with Ella Nova, the formidable woman who called herself Her. Ala's strict insistence on the Force-nullifying collar had been a matter of cold, logistical necessity rather than cruelty, yet the reality of it sat heavily in her chest. Watching a pale bloom drift across the pond, Ala searched the shifting ripples for a ghost. True redemption was a long, agonizing road, and she harboured no illusions that a single conversation would shatter years of dark-side corruption. Still, a stubborn spark of her old self remained, refusing to believe that the Jedi Ella was entirely gone. She felt a profound duty to offer the first step. Hearing the distant, heavy click of the security gates opening, Ala turned slowly toward the stone path, exhaling a quiet breath to center her mind.
