Private No Good Deed

[Aielyn Veralas]

The cantina had seen better days.

The air was thick with the scent of cheap liquor and overcooked rations, a humid, cloying blend that clung to every surface. A holoscreen flickered weakly in the corner, broadcasting some grainy Outer Rim swoop race, but few paid it any mind. The patrons were a mix of locals and transients—smugglers, traders, the occasional spacer nursing a drink like it was the last good thing in the galaxy.

Aielyn had settled into a shadowed corner, the hood of her cloak resting over her shoulders rather than concealing her face. She was dressed down, nothing about her immediately drawing attention save for the intensity in her violet-blue eyes as she idly traced the rim of her glass.

She wasn't here for trouble, but trouble had a way of finding people like her.

The first comment was easy to ignore. Some grating voice slurred something about how "offworlders" shouldn't take up good seats. The second remark was louder, aimed to get a reaction. When she didn't so much as glance up, the presence shifted closer. A shadow fell across her table as one of them—a broad-shouldered brute with a crooked nose—set his hand down on its surface with a dull thud. "You deaf, sweetheart? That was a request."

Aielyn exhaled slowly, glancing at the untouched drink in front of her.

Patience.

It was always patience.

But the moment stretched, and she could already tell—this wasn't going to be one of those moments where patience paid off.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

Actually, for her it was going to pay off.

See, one of the other people in the bar was a smartly dressed young man who'd been having a conversation with someone who was, for lack of a better term, seedy looking. That young man, was cleverly concealing a lightsaber inside of his wardrobe so as not to draw attention. The character he was talking to, a Gotal, handed him a data chit, which he pocketed before sliding several credits across the table in exchange. But even as the transaction was going down, the young mans eyes had drifted to the situation in the corner.

Given the nature of his business, drawing attention to himself as anything more than, supposedly, a young businessman, was detrimental. However, he didn't much care for people bullying others, and he could tell, more like feel, that this other individual was someone endowed with the Force, and good naturedly so. They didn't want a fight, but they also didn't want to give up their seat to a drunk yokel.

Pretend you don't understand, he sent to her mind without looking directly at her, and pretending to focus on his drink as the Gotal got up to leave.

She wouldn't at first, because it would appear he did nothing, but a barrier would appear between her and the brutish local. Slowly pushing him back away from the table. Subtle, nobody was going to get hurt, and Caelan could easily contain using barriers if he needed to. One barrier was nothing for him. He barely even had to pay attention to do it. Hopefully, the guy would get a clue, and drift off.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

The cantina hummed with idle conversation, the occasional clatter of glassware punctuating the low murmur of patrons exchanging forgettable words. Smoke curled lazily toward the dim overhead lights, a haze of spice and cheap liquor settling into the worn fixtures of a place that had seen too many nights like this one.

Aielyn felt the touch of another before she heard them, a presence woven with calm. Their words brushed against her mind like a whispered breeze, slipping past the tension tightening the air.

~Pretend you don't understand.~

Her violet-blue gaze flicked upward, drawn toward the source.

"Tashira venai—sohl anira vei, i'vanai toth?" she murmured in Valarian, her voice smooth, unhurried. Her finger traced slow circles along the rim of her glass, her posture unchanged, as if the exchange barely registered.

It wasn't the answer the brute wanted. Not the crooked-nosed thug nor his companion. But as they moved to press closer, something stopped them.

It was subtle at first—an unseen force nudging them just slightly off course, a hesitation where there should have been confidence. Their boots slid an inch to the left instead of forward, their balance shifting, weight thrown off by something imperceptible yet undeniable.

They tried again, only to be rebuffed once more.

Aielyn watched, intrigued, amusement flickering behind her gaze as their frustration mounted. Their patience was running thin, and it showed in the twitch of their hands, the clench of their jaws.

Then, rage took hold.

The crooked-nosed thug snarled and yanked a blaster free, leveling it at her.

"You think you're better than us, offworlder?" His voice was sharp with indignation, a challenge that begged for an answer.

Aielyn exhaled, steady and unbothered. The Force stirred around her, threads of energy woven into something precise, something absolute.

Without fanfare, without so much as a flick of her wrist, the tendrils of the unseen lashed out.

The man barely had time to process it before the floor yanked him downward. His legs were stolen from beneath him, his body crashing hard against the marblecrete. His companion followed, slamming down with a choked curse, limbs sprawling in undignified disarray.

A breath of silence stretched through the cantina.

Then the shouting started.

Curses, threats—empty words spat from the ground where they lay. Hands scrambled for weapons, but their fury found no outlet. Security forces arrived before tempers could boil over further, their expressions bored, their movements efficient as they hauled the pair to their feet. No one wanted to deal with the paperwork that came from spilled blood.

And still, Aielyn had not moved.

Not when they threatened her, nor when they fell, nor when they were dragged away like petulant children. She only sat, fingers idly tracing her glass, her mind elsewhere.

She had always known she was different. She had always known the galaxy was vast.

But now, she knew something more.

Others could feel her. Others could see her for what she was—even when she did not yet understand it herself.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

It was easy, the way she handled them. Like him, she didn't seem at all put out by doing what she'd done. The fact they had gone for their weapons over a seat wasn't lost on him. How foolish could one be? It was just a seat. Drawing weapons over something so trivial was by far one of the dumbest things one could ever do. And now they were being hauled off by security forces as a result, so they got what they deserved in the end.

"Fate," he said in hushed tones.

The little BD droid tottered out from under the table. Normally they weren't allowed in places like this, but when you paid enough, you could get anything your way.

"Keep an eye on the door and let me know if either of them comes back in, or anyone else that might resemble them."

"Bwoo-dweet beep!"

As the droid moved over to where he could watch the door, Caelan slipped out from the booth that he was in and straightened his sleeves as he made his way towards where the silver-haired woman was sitting. She had seemed to understand him, but hadn't made any motion towards doing so. Something about her made him feel as though he should speak with her, even if it meant deviating from his task. That was alright with him. There was some time, and sometimes such deviations were more important than the mission in the end.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, voice polite, but lacking the core world posh nature.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn's gaze lifted, her violet-blue eyes settling on the source of the request. A single brow arched—not in irritation, but in measured curiosity. She studied him, not just with her eyes, but with the Force, allowing its currents to weave around him, revealing what words did not. Strength. Honor. A presence both steady and deliberate.

So this was the one she had felt.

Her benefactor.

A faint smirk played at the edges of her lips, subtle yet deliberate. She inclined her head, fingers shifting from the rim of her glass as she gestured to the seat across from her. The motion was refined, effortless—regal even. There was a weight to it, a silent cue that spoke of status, of a bearing not easily shed, no matter how far from home she roamed.

"Vah'ren esai, arith velan." The words flowed in smooth cadence, the syllables carrying a gentle lilt, a fluid grace distinctive of the Valarian tongue.

She watched for a flicker of recognition, though none came. Amusement softened her expression as she shook her head, a subtle exhale punctuating her next words.

"Or, as it is in Basic," her voice carried the slightest trace of her native intonation, vowels drawn just a breath longer, consonants softened at the edges, "hello."

The cantina noise hummed in the background, but it felt distant now. The space between them, though measured in mere feet, felt heavier with something unspoken. An exchange of awareness. Of recognition.

And perhaps, of expectation.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

When she inclined her head towards the seat across from her, he settled into it. She was curious, feeling him out, quite literally, with the Force. Not something he was used to others doing, but then, she didn't quite strike him as a Jedi, per se. Not a dark sider, but she was clearly something else. Even her language betrayed that. He'd heard a fair few over the years but the one she spoke was entirely foreign to him. Beautiful, but foreign.

"Hello yourself," he said in return, smiling slightly.

The amusement was in the way she had tested him, for she had tested him. It was clear in the way she'd spoken, watched and waited, and then responded moments later. She was hoping, or at least searching, for some recognition.

"Sorry you had to deal with that. It's an unfortunate reality in places like this. People that come to the same place usually have a favored booth. You seem to have settled into theirs and they weren't willing to be adults and let it go. Now they're going to be adults and spend some time behind bars."

Amusing words coming from someone who only a few months ago had been FOURTEEN. Granted, for him it had been several years by virtue of what had been done to him, but still. He detested the kind of mentality these seedy little cantina's seemed to bring out of people. It was fine that they had a favorite place to venture to. He, after all, had his own places that he enjoyed and would prefer to sit in the same place when he did. But it wasn't as though he would make someone move for him. One time sitting somewhere different would not make life difficult.

But there was something more about this woman. The way she carried herself. A mutual recognition between them. Not that they knew each other, but more of an understanding of what they were. And it didn't have to do with their use of the Force.

"My name is Caelan," he said after a moment. "I believe we share a, uh... hmm, how should I put this... a penchant for planetary leadership?"

He was being deliberately vague because of their location. Openly spouting off about being royals was probably not a good idea, even for trained Force users.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn hesitated.

It was slight—just a fraction of a second—but it was there. The weight of his words settled against her like an unseen tether, tightening around something she had spent too long trying to outrun. She knew what he meant. Knew it too well.

Her fingers pressed lightly against the glass before her, an anchor against the quiet tension curling at the edges of her thoughts. She had no reason to distrust him—not yet. But there was an awareness between them, one that made her stomach coil, as if she were standing too close to something she hadn't quite braced for.

She exhaled softly, smoothing over the moment with the kind of practiced ease she had learned out of necessity, not mastery.

"A penchant," she repeated, the words a touch quieter this time. "An interesting way to put it."

Her eyes lifted, searching his expression—not for deception, but for understanding. How much did he truly know? How much had he seen? And more importantly… how much did he expect of her?

"Aielyn," she offered, her voice steady, even if something inside her was not. No titles. No claim to what she once was.

A pause. A decision.

"And you," she murmured, the words slipping past before she could think better of them, "do you carry it by choice?"

Or, like her, had it been forced into his hands?

It was a quiet question, but not a meaningless one. Because she wasn't sure which answer she wanted to hear.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

"Pleasure to meet you, Aielyn," he said, dipping his head.

He didn't have a drink like her. Not because he wasn't thirsty, but because he didn't drink alcohol and in these places ordering anything else drew attention because it was odd. He didn't like that kind of attention; didn't want it. It was easier just to come in, do what he needed to do, and get out. But now he found that he wished he had something for his hands to fidget with.

"Born into it. Parents were killed. I took over. Could have decided not to, to just be a Jedi, but I don't trust the others who might have taken over the job to do right by it."

Being an idealist had its ups and downs. He wanted to see his father's dream of a united Lazerian come to fruition. The only way that was going to happen was if he made it happen himself. None of the other noble houses would care about it. Most of them would dismantle almost everything his family had done. Many of them were still at least partially sympathetic towards the Imperial way of life and weren't that thrilled with his decision to side them with the Alliance.

Sometimes he wished the other houses would die out.

"You?"

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn's fingers tightened slightly against the glass, the cool condensation biting against her skin. He had chosen his path. Or perhaps, more accurately, he had been left with no choice at all.

And her?

She exhaled softly, gaze dipping for a moment before rising to meet his. There was no certainty in her expression, only something quietly unsettled.

"My parents live," she said at last, the words deliberate, careful. "But my future… was no longer mine to claim." Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, the motion slow, absentminded. "I did not take over." A pause, her voice lower now. "I did not refuse it, either."

Because refusal implies a choice. And she had never truly been given one. She leaned back slightly, the flickering light casting sharp edges against the contours of her face. A wry smirk ghosted across her lips, but it held no amusement.

"I left because to stay meant a future I could not control—a future that was not mine to shape."

A breath. A pause.

"And yet…" Her voice softened, something more vulnerable threading through it. "No matter how far I run, it seems to be waiting for me all the same."

Because duty does not abandon those who are meant to bear it.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

He listened to what she said, and at first she gave him the impression that she was given the choice, but didn't make one. Then he had the impression that, given she left, she HAD made a choice in choosing not to take control. But there was something in the way that she said it that made him question that concept. The way she'd hesitated, the pause, the mention of it being there no matter how far she runs from it, told him that there was some part of her that was at the least conflicted.

"Something happened outside of your control that meant remaining there would leave what you did tainted by some darkness," he said, his tone of voice questioning even though he hadn't said it in that way.

This really wasn't a good place to discuss such things, and the more they talked about it, the more uncomfortable he got. If she was on the run from someone, or something, then it was entirely possible that word could get around. It wasn't common, after all, for people to be using the Force in a seedy place like this, and for one of them to have shockingly white hair.

"We shouldn't discuss this here."

His voice was low as he said it, and he glanced around. His next words were directed into her mind.

I'm the King of the Kingdom of Devit on Lazerian IV and a Jedi of the New Jedi Order. If you want to discuss this further, go to docking bay 4 at the starport. An airspeeder will be waiting there. It will bring you to my transport.

He stood up then and dropped some credits on the table, enough to cover her drink and any inconvenience from earlier.

"Well, good day to you, miss. Sorry to have troubled you."

Then he turned to leave, collecting Fate as he did.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn did not react immediately.

She kept her expression measured, her fingers still curled lightly against the glass before her. But inside, something tightened. The way he spoke—not as an assumption, but a realization—made the air feel heavier around her.

He had understood too much.

"Tainted by darkness."

Her breath was steady, controlled, but she could feel the weight of those words settling in the back of her mind. Was that what it was? Was that what had driven her away? She had never dared to name it, never allowed herself to define it.

But now, faced with someone who saw more than she had offered, she was not sure she liked the sound of it spoken aloud.

She did not move, not when he lowered his voice, not when his presence shifted subtly, nor when the words pressed into her mind.

A telepathic touch.

Aielyn's jaw tensed slightly, instinct flaring before she forced herself to stillness. It was not unexpected—not entirely—but it was something she had not invited. She did not push back, did not recoil, but she let him know, in the silence between them, that she had felt it.

Docking bay 4.

She exhaled slowly, her posture easing into something deliberately unreadable as she watched him stand.

"Well, good day to you, miss. Sorry to have troubled you."

Polite. Unassuming. An end to the conversation.

She knew better.

Aielyn's gaze followed him as he turned away, and for a brief moment, she considered letting him go. Simply finishing her drink, leaving the credits where they were, and stepping back into obscurity.

But something nagged at her.

The words you want to discuss this further were not a demand, nor an expectation. He had left the choice in her hands.

And perhaps that, more than anything, made her want to hear what he had to say. A moment passed before she reached for her glass, fingers pressing against the cool surface as she lifted it. She did not drink.

She was already making her decision.

The cantina's noise ebbed and flowed around her, laughter and low murmurs threading through the dim haze of spice and ale. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against her back—not from him, not from anyone she could name, but from the inevitable pull of the choice before her.

She had spent too long avoiding answers.

With a slow inhale, she set the glass down. Her fingers unfurled from it with deliberate ease, though the tension in her shoulders told a different story. She pushed back from the table, her movements unhurried but certain. As she stood, she adjusted the drape of her cloak, allowing the fabric to fall naturally into place—concealing just enough without looking as though she intended to hide.

Her stride was careful as she moved toward the exit, not rushed, not hesitant. She did not look around to see if anyone had been watching.To do so would be to invite the paranoia she was trying to ignore. Instead, she stepped into the night, into the shifting glow of streetlights and neon signs flickering against the duracrete. The starport loomed in the distance, its docking bays carved into the city's framework like gateways to something unknown.

Docking bay 4.

Aielyn exhaled once, steadying herself. Then she walked forward, toward the waiting airspeeder, toward whatever answers lay beyond it.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

The airspeeder was very nice. If she didn't already know what he was, she'd probably have suspected that he came from wealth at this point. Though, technically, he didn't personally own it. Both it and the transport were owned by the Kingdom itself. They would be utilized by whomever was ruling, not merely him.

Inside of the airspeeder the pilot waited, instructed that he would have a passenger to bring to the transport. He didn't know who that passenger was, but Fate, the little BD droid, did know, and he was waiting inside of the speeder, watching for her approach. When she entered the bay, he chirped at her in greeting and then chirped a message to the pilot who nodded in understanding as the words were relayed on the screen in front of him. This was his passenger.

Once she was seated, he took off and they zoomed away from the city to a more remote location where the purple hued transport hovered. Surrounding it were three starfighters, ready to deal with any threat that might loom, though they weren't followed. The airspeeder flew into the bay and landed softly, the bay doors closing behind them.

Caelan was standing inside, awaiting their arrival. When the door opened, he offered his hand to help her from the speeder.

"Welcome to the Devit royal transport," he said. "I know it seems a lot to bring you to it instead of conversing in the city but I don't believe the conversation we were heading towards was one that should be had where people might hear that we wouldn't want to."

He waved a hand around the ship before motioning for her to follow as he started to lead her within.

"The crew here is handpicked by me. All trustworthy, all Lazerian by birth. It's perfectly safe and anything said here will remain here."

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

The airspeeder was finer than she expected.

Too fine.

Aielyn had been raised around wealth—not the kind that flaunted itself, but the kind that existed as an undeniable truth. She recognized the subtle marks of power in the way the transport was positioned, in the efficiency of the crew, in the presence of three starfighters waiting just beyond the landing bay.

This was not personal luxury.

This was statecraft.

She understood it well.

As she stepped into the bay, a chirping sound caught her attention. A small BD droid—Fate—watched her approach, confirming her identity to the pilot. The man did not even need to glance at her. His orders had been given long before she arrived.

That, too, was familiar.

The flight was smooth, efficient, precise.

Of course, it was.

By the time they reached the transport, she had already assessed the security, the formations, the efficiency of how everything moved. She did not have to ask if the crew was handpicked. She could already tell.

The airspeeder touched down with barely a tremor. The doors opened, revealing Caelan, waiting.

She met his gaze as he extended a hand to help her from the speeder.

She did not take it.

Not as defiance, but as statement.

Aielyn descended with practiced grace, her cloak shifting with the movement, the motion as fluid as it was effortless. She did not need steadying. Not here, not anywhere.

"Welcome to the Devit royal transport," he said. "I know it seems a lot to bring you to it instead of conversing in the city, but I don't believe the conversation we were heading towards was one that should be had where people might hear that we wouldn't want to."

Aielyn's expression remained composed, but she took a slow breath, eyes flickering across the landing bay. The security. The structure. The control.

"A necessary precaution," she said smoothly. "Or so I assume."

Her tone was neutral, but there was an unspoken understanding beneath it.

She knew why rulers took precautions. She had once lived in a palace surrounded by them.

As they walked, Caelan gestured toward the corridor ahead.

"The crew here is handpicked by me. All trustworthy, all Lazerian by birth. It's perfectly safe, and anything said here will remain here."

Aielyn's gaze flickered toward him at that.

"Safe." The word left her lips, soft but deliberate.

Safety was an illusion.

She did not contradict him, but she did not accept the idea outright, either. Instead, she let the silence stretch for a breath before speaking again.

"Then let us see what kind of conversation requires such careful measures."

And with that, she followed him deeper into the ship.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

He led her towards a small conference room where they could sit quietly, alone. It wasn't as though they needed to be completely alone, but it was usually more comfortable to talk when they weren't surrounded by others. He pulled a seat out for her, but since she didn't seem inclined to take on the usual measures of chivalry, he did not wait to push it in for her, instead moving around to sit across from her.

"This world isn't exactly nice to people of noble upbringing unless you're beholden to the Hutt's in some fashion," he said as he leaned back in his chair. "I wouldn't even be here if I weren't still trying to find my sister."

A sour expression crossed his face and he looked past her, gaze lost in the distance as his mind wandered. He still found himself wondering where she was and if she was alright. She was his last bit of close, immediate family. He wanted that connection back.

"Sorry, I digress."

His eyes returned to her.

"There's something about your own situation that troubles you. It feels as though you're running, but I can't tell if it's because you're trying to escape or if it's because you were forced into it. I can tell something bad happened. I can feel it because something of the same happened in my own past. Once you experience it, there's no escaping the knowledge of that feeling."

He tapped a finger on the table.

"Is it something you could use, or want, help with?"

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn did not move to sit immediately.

She remained standing for a fraction longer than necessary, as if weighing something unseen before finally lowering herself into the chair across from him. Not out of hesitation—but deliberation.

His words reached her, though she offered no immediate response. Instead, she studied him—not his posture, nor his expression, but something deeper, something beneath the surface.

"Then you already know the answer, don't you?"

The question was simple, but the weight behind it was not.

She had no need to confirm nor deny—he had already drawn his own conclusions, whether he realized it or not. And he wasn't wrong.

Her fingers tapped against the edge of the table, slow, rhythmic. Not nervous, not restless—just measured.

"I have spent a long time thinking about whether it matters—whether the difference between being forced into something and choosing it truly changes the outcome. In the end, does it?"

Her gaze lifted to meet his, violet-blue eyes carrying none of the softness one might expect from an exiled noble.

"You lost something. You're looking for it." A pause. "I lost something, too."

Her fingers stilled.

"But I stopped looking."

There was no bitterness in the admission, no self-pity. Just fact. A quiet truth, spoken as if the weight of it had long since settled into her bones.

But even as the words left her lips, she wondered.

Had she truly stopped looking?

Or had she simply never known what it was she was meant to find?

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

"No, it doesn't change it," he agreed, letting his eyes drift to hers. "The responsibility is the same whether chosen or forced. The only difference is the manner in which it comes to be, and how we choose to deal with it."

She was interesting. Her mannerisms were entirely different to what he was used to. Most nobles would have sat. Many would have asked for a drink. Some would have demanded it. She stood and did nothing for a long moment before she sat. He wondered if that was because of where she came from, a product of her upbringing, or because of everything that weighed upon her. In the end, he surmised it probably didn't matter which it was, merely THAT it was.

When she mentioned that she had lost but stopped looking, he took note of the way she had said it, and the look in her eye. Not an exile. Someone on the run.

"What happened to make you run?"

It was, he knew, a deeply personal question, but he genuinely wanted to help her, and he knew that she was reading him as they sat there. Not just with her eyes, but with the Force itself. Though she wasn't a Jedi, at least not of a type that he was familiar with, she was certainly versed in the use of the Force, and he knew that she didn't use it for ill.

He needed to know why she ran if he was going to help her.

---

ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

She did not shrink from the weight of his question, but she did not rush to answer, either. Stillness was its own form of control, and she wielded it with precision.

She sat upright but composed, not stiff, not slouched—just poised. A posture honed by upbringing, refined by necessity. One did not unlearn certain habits, even in exile.

Her chin remained level, her head held high—not with arrogance, but with the quiet presence of someone who knew exactly what she was, even if the galaxy had tried to take it from her.

Her gaze did not waver, violet-blue eyes resting on him—not piercing, not challenging, but measuring. Assessing. Searching for the intent behind the question before offering any piece of herself in return.

Her fingers, resting against the table, curled just slightly, a motion so small it could be dismissed as idle, but it wasn't. It was restraint. A tether against thoughts she would not yet give voice to.

The question lingered in the air between them, its weight settling like the low hum of a distant storm. Not an accusation. Not even a demand. But something far more dangerous. A door left open—an invitation to step through.

She had been asked this before. By strangers, by those who whispered in passing, by those who thought they had the right to know. But this was different.

She met his gaze, violet-blue eyes steady, unflinching.

"You assume that I ran." Her voice was quiet, even, but there was something beneath it—not defiance, but something sharper. More careful.

A pause. Not hesitation. Deliberation.

Then, finally—an answer.

"I left because I had no choice. But I did not run."

Her tone did not waver, but there was a truth buried beneath it, one that did not need embellishment. Exile was not the same as escape. Leaving was not the same as abandoning.

She exhaled softly, fingers relaxing.

"And yet, no matter how far I go, I find that I am never quite free of it."

There was no bitterness in the words. No sorrow, either. Just fact.

A quiet truth, spoken into the space between them.

And yet, even as she answered, something about her remained distant. Like the words were true, but only a fragment of them. Like she was offering him a glimpse, but keeping the rest locked away—where it belonged.

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

The questions were probing and he honestly hated asking them. Part of him wanted to just cut right to the heart of things, but he could see from her demeanor and the way that she answered that trying that method would accomplish nothing. She wouldn't just tell him what was going on. What had happened was troubling to her, and possibly still actual trouble FOR her, and that was part of why she was being extremely tight-lipped about it. The other part was the personal nature of it and not wanting to share it with a stranger.

He understood where she was coming from. He also knew it was impossible to get help if you never asked for it.

"When I was run off of my world by the people who attacked it," he began, leaning back a little and setting his hands in his lap, "all I wanted was to get help. For the longest time I found none. Part of that was because I didn't see it. I hid because I was afraid that the people who tried to kill me would find me and do so. My people suffered because I was more worried about myself than I was about them, and that was a difficult lesson for me to learn, but an important one in the end."

Leaning forward, he looked her in the eyes.

"Two questions: First, if you could return, would you? Second, SHOULD you return to fix whatever happened?"

These were far harder questions, harkening back to what he'd said about himself. If her situation was anything like his own, that something had happened on her world to force her out, then at some point she needed to return and free it. It was her duty. Her people would depend on her to do the right thing.

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ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​

 

[Aielyn Veralas]

Aielyn's gaze remained steady, though something in her eyes flickered at his words. Not hesitation, not fear—but a memory she wished she could forget.

She had been asked that question before. By another.

A different place, a different time. A voice she once trusted, a presence that had once felt unshakable. A voice that had whispered of a future—a future where she stood beside him, where she fulfilled her duty not as ruler, but as something else.

"If I do, and I fail, what then?"

Karis had asked her something similar once. Not in challenge, not in cruelty—but in persuasion. In the quiet of the Valiscan forests, beneath the silver glow of the moons, he had held out his hand to her and spoken of fate. Of duty. Of the inevitability of what must be done.

She had walked away from him then. And now, she was running from the consequences of that choice.

Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. "I never wanted to leave." The words were softer now, but no less certain. "But returning is not a choice I can make lightly."

Her jaw tightened. She could still hear his voice. Still see the weight of his conviction, the way he had believed—truly believed—that she would see reason. That she would stand beside him, even as he prepared to take everything from her.

He had made it sound inevitable.

And perhaps, in the end, it had been.

"If I return, it will not be because I want to." A pause. A slow exhale. "It will be because I have no other choice."

Caelan Valoren

 

[Caelan Valoren]

"If you do and succeed, what then?" he countered.

He knew that game. The what if game. What if I fail? What if they win? What if I make a mistake? What if what if what if! It was a paralyzing monotony of the mind, a trick played upon it by people who had a certain personality type, people who questioned everything and rarely chose to act unless the outcome was certain in their favor. It was a character flaw, a bad one, but one that could be overcome if the person was willing to overcome it.

She spoke of not having wanted to leave, but of returning being difficult. Conflict. It was evident in her mind, in the way she spoke about it, in how she reacted, or, in some ways, didn't react. Caelan didn't need to use the Force to understand that there was more going on in her mind than her outward appearance was letting on. She was conflicted about everything and didn't really know her place in the galaxy as a result of what had happened to her, and she was looking for answers to the question: who am I?

"Do you have a choice not to return?"

There was always a choice, of course. If there was something terrible happening, she could let her people suffer as a result of it. That was a choice. A terrible choice, one he would ultimately hold her accountable for from a personal perspective, but it was a choice. For people like him, people with a conscience, there was no choice in that situation, though. Of course, he could be wrong about the whole thing and there could be noting detrimental happening to her people.

He leaned forward and reached a hand up, tapping a finger against the table as he spoke.

"Will what happened to you have a negative impact upon your people that you could, by returning, potentially eliminate? If you have even the slightest chance of righting a wrong done to your people, then as one charged with leading and protecting them, you have a duty to return to them."

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ATTIRE: Link | WEAPON: Lightsaber | COMPANION: BD-F8 | OTHER: Sigil Bead (Necklace), Prosthetic Left Arm

TAGS: Aielyn Veralas ​