Private Who I Used to Be

[Iandre Athlea]

She tilted her head, grey eyes tracing the river below as sunlight gilded the terraces and bends.

"If the Order has changed so quietly, how do you decide when to act and when to observe? In my time, hesitation could cost lives, but constant intervention could blind you to what truly needed attention."

Her gaze swept over the valley, thoughtful and calm. "In my time, we were kind, compassionate, but detached. Duty guided our actions more than connection. We acted to preserve, to protect, but seldom allowed ourselves to feel alongside those we truly defended. Perhaps that is why your Order has needed to learn differently. There is merit in moving with the world rather than above it."

A faint, reflective smile touched her lips. "The Jedi of the Clone Wars, we thought ourselves the galaxy's shield. Our hearts were full, but our vision was narrow. We acted, often without fully understanding. Compassion, kindness…listening. We spoke of these things, but often only in theory. In practice, it was harsh, necessary, sometimes merciless."

Her fingers brushed a blade of grass absent-mindedly, a habit rather than tension. "Your Order seems to have learned to walk differently. To listen not only to the currents of the Force, but to the lives that flow through it. I…appreciate you sharing this—not as doctrine, not as history—but as understanding lived and learned."

Her gaze lingered on the valley, serene and steady. "And yet, I cannot help but wonder…how does one balance the stillness of peace with the current of the galaxy? How does one stand among the people, aware of their lives, without being swept away by them?"

She let the question hang, patient and quiet, her eyes seeking his.

"How have you learned to walk that line?"

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Iandre Athlea
​

Aiden listened as she spoke, her words a river of memory clear and steady, but carrying the silt of hard-won truth. The Force around her responded in kind, soft currents rippling through the air as though the mountain itself was listening. He let a few moments pass before he answered, his voice quiet enough that it barely disturbed the rhythm of the wind.

His steps slowed, boots scuffing against the stones. "The danger isn't in being among the people." he continued, "It's in thinking we are apart from them. Detachment was once our armor, but it dulled our senses. We guarded the galaxy so closely we forgot how to share its pain."

He drew a long breath, feeling the sunlight warm his shoulders. "Now, when I walk among them, I try not to shield myself from what I feel. Grief, joy, confusion, they remind me I'm alive within the same current I'm sworn to protect. The trick isn't avoiding the pull; it's remembering to come back to center before the current carries you too far."

A faint smile touched his mouth, a rare, human warmth threading through the quiet. "Sometimes I fail. Sometimes I wade too deep. But the Force is patient, it waits for us to find our balance again. And maybe that's the point. The line we walk isn't meant to be steady forever. It moves, the way we do."

He turned his head toward her, the light reflecting in his eyes like water. "Stillness and motion aren't opposites, Iandre. They're the same lesson, seen from different sides. One teaches us to listen. The other, to act."

The wind rose again, stirring their robes and carrying his next words softly down the mountain path.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre let his words settle around her, grey eyes following the sunlight as it danced across the terraces and river bends below. She drew in a slow breath, letting the scent of the mountain air fill her senses, grounding her in the present even as she traced the currents of his meaning. The faint hum of the Force flowed through her, brushing along the stone and grass, subtle and alive, like the wind shifting against her skin. Her fingers brushed lightly against the edge of her sleeve, a small, absent-minded gesture as she absorbed his words.

"I see," she said softly, her tone measured, reflective. "It makes sense… that balance isn't a fixed point, but a practice. One must move with the current, not against it. In my time, we guarded, we preserved…and often forgot that to truly protect, one must also understand."

She glanced toward him, attentive but unhurried, grey eyes calm yet probing, a faint tilt of her head emphasizing her focus. The Force's currents whispered around her, threads of energy weaving through the stone terraces and river below, carrying with them the memory of wind, life, and quiet vigilance. "When you speak of failing, of being carried too far, it doesn't feel like weakness," she added, a subtle exhale marking her thought. "It feels like honesty. Perhaps that is the lesson your Order has learned most of all—that to serve is not to be flawless, but to return each time, guided by awareness and choice."

Her gaze drifted back to the valley, watching the light ripple across the stone paths and rivers. She shifted her weight slightly, the movement unhurried, letting the space around her breathe with her thoughts. She felt the Force shift with the wind's currents, gentle vibrations threading along the stone beneath her boots, as if acknowledging the question forming in her mind. "And still, I wonder," she continued, her voice quiet but steady, "how do you teach this? To see the line, to feel the pull, and still return to the center? Can it truly be taught, or must one only learn by walking it?"

Her question lingered, patient and calm, her hands resting lightly at her sides, the Force rippling subtly around her, carrying her intention without disturbance—an invitation for reflection rather than instruction.

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Iandre Athlea
​

The question hung between them like a low note in the wind resonant, open, patient. Aiden let it rest there, feeling the pulse of the mountain beneath his feet, the steady rhythm of life flowing unseen through soil and stone. He'd learned long ago that questions like hers weren't meant to be met with immediate answers. They were meant to be listened to.

When he did speak, his voice was quiet, as if he were mindful not to disturb the stillness that had gathered around them.
"Some lessons can't be given." he said. "Trial by fire, essentially."

He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the river caught the light and scattered it in a thousand small reflections. "We guide where we can through presence, not prescription. The younger ones learn by watching, by feeling when we lose our balance and when we find it again. The Force doesn't ask for perfection from any of us, only that we notice when we've drifted and choose to return."

"The line you spoke of." he continued, "Isn't the same for everyone. Some of us walk it with serenity, others stumble and still find their way back. What matters is not how straight the path is, but whether we remember that it leads home."

He looked at her then, the faintest glimmer of respect in his gaze not for what she had been, but for what she was now, standing in the fullness of both eras. He gestured gently toward the valley, where a soft wind stirred the reeds beside the water. "And sometimes..." he added, "Through the silence that follows a good question. if you ever lose sight, don't hesitate to reach out to me."