Lysander von Ascania
Veiled Disciple
Danger Arceneau
Lysander’s head tilted slightly, acknowledging the task at hand, clearly welcoming the challenge that lay before them, rather than shying away from it. With grace, he brushed back several strands of hair that were plastered to his forehead. Beads of sweat trickled down the side of his face, but they didn’t dull the Padawan’s spirit; instead, they added a gleam, akin to the brightness that typically followed a training session.
“Maybe sometimes it’s about gut instinct, and mine says it’s ok.”
He also knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t have come this far if she didn’t trust him— even if only just a little.
The next time he gazed upwards at the tradeswoman, there was a spark of something he rarely allowed himself to feel with anyone: hope. It was like a light, a vulnerability he never showed. But in this moment, it was surprisingly easy to let it through.
“We won’t fail, Danger.” Each word that tumbled from the boy’s lips felt like a divine spell, capable of shaping their reality. He practiced such before every visit to the enclave, and in truth, the power felt more motivating than the outdated tenets of the Jedi code.
“Let’s give this swamp a glow up the Gungans never saw coming!” A grin stretched across his face, signaling readiness.
Underneath the bravado, Lysander was very much focused and determined.