Private The Path To Understanding

[Briana Sal-Soren]

The climb to Shiraya's Rest was steep.

She could have taken a speeder, or any other number of transport to reach her destination, even augment herself through the Force, to make this all easier, but Briana decided to embrace the climb. She didn't want easy today. She wanted to let herself feel the ache in her legs, feel the way her knees groaned and protested as she forced herself to stay upright, her dust-covered boots scuffing along the endlessly narrow and steep path that twisted like a carved serpent through the Gallo Mountains. The start of her self-imposed penance, manifesting in burning muscles and protesting joints.

With each push forward Briana's breath fell in more jagged, un-even pants, the thin mountain air clawing at her lungs with invisible talons.

In the stillness of it all, with nothing but wind and stone for company along the trek, her thoughts churned in an endless, unforgiving loop. Vulnerable against the lack of easy distractions to hide from the demons that came for her with teeth and claws and aimed straight for her throat.

Astor and his final words filtered in and out, along with the images of Romi and her final stand amidst the ruins of Coruscant. Little Zeriana was there among the ghosts, her and her dark curls and impossibly large eyes; her empty crib and the grief that consumed Lossa like a living nether beast following her every step. The helplessness in knowing there was no easy fix for any of it — the gut wrenching truth that her own flesh and blood was the cause of that pain.

It chaffed away at her pride.

There were prophecies and warnings she didn't yet fully understand, fractures, some of which she'd caused among her council members — mind lingering on the sharp words she'd barked at Lorn and Brandyn, and what ultimately brought her out here after having given them the space to breath — herself the time to contemplate on the ways in which she could have handled herself better.

Should have been better.

Briana grit her teeth until her jaw ached, steel blue eyes locked on the next bend in the path, refusing to look down at the dizzying drop beside her, at how far she'd come—at how far she still had to go even as her steps faltered and balance wobbled, as if the mountain itself was trying to drag her back down. Back to where she'd started. Back to failure.

...It would be so much easier to give up.

Keep. Fucking. Moving.

The words pulsed through her blood like a war drum.

She needed to endure this — had to, if she hoped to face the pain she'd caused and try to repair it. Assuming Lorn would grant her an audience. Not that she'd blame him if he decided against it. But, giving up just as she was about to crest the top of this punishing hill, wouldn't only be admitting defeat to the mountain, but it would be admitting defeat to herself. Would be to admit that they were defeated, as a whole, and that there wasn't anything worth trying to salvage.

The muscles in her calves were screaming by the time she pushed herself up that final stretch, sweat trickling down her spine as she dragged herself to the top of the ridge where the path finally leveled out, pausing to take in the view of the training villa that sprawled against the cliffside, basking in the fading sunlight.

Shiraya's Rest. Briana mused. A misnomer if there ever was one.

Shiraya's Crucible seemed more accurate. The thought brought a thin smile to her lips as she studied the weathered stone. Like most things connected to Naboo, there were layers of meaning, some more subtle than others.

Reaching out with the Force, Briana probed delicately, alerting Lorn to her arrival — assuming he hadn't already sensed her trudging up his Shiraya-damned mountain like some penitent pilgrim.

Which, she supposed, was the truth of it.

TAG: Lorn Reingard , Ala Quin

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[Lorn Reingard]

Briana Sal-Soren | Ala Quin

​

The ring of practice sabers clashed against the midday silence, echoing across the terraces of Shiraya's Rest. Dust swirled in the golden light, kicked up by swift movements and disciplined footwork as Lorn trained alongside a small unit of the Vanguard, his strikes precise, his stance rigid, a little too sharp. Like he was trying to carve his guilt into the air.

Sweat clung to his brow, but he hardly noticed. The heat in his chest wasn't just exertion. It was the weight of missteps, of words said too quickly, of friends avoided since that disastrous council meeting.

He'd called for someone else to lead them. Not because Briana wasn't capable, because she was. But fear doesn't always make clean decisions. It makes reactive ones. Protective ones. Stupid ones.

He felt her long before he saw her.

The moment her presence brushed the edges of his awareness, subtle but deliberate, Lorn froze mid-movement. A beat passed. The Vanguard soldier in front of him hesitated, confused by his sudden stillness.

"Break..." Lorn muttered.

He stepped away, barely hearing the others disperse as he crossed toward the shaded wooden table underneath the balcony. His body relaxed into the seat, but his mind kept pacing. Isla had warned him, because of course she had. The dream-ghost with opinions like knives. She'll come. Be ready. As if readiness had ever been something he was good at.

His fingers drummed against the rough wood. Then curled. Then opened again. What would he say? "I'm sorry I questioned your leadership"? "You were right and I panicked"? "Please don't banish me to Rori with those weird Gungans."

He was still rehearsing his failures when he felt her step through the boundary of the villa.

His whole body stood before his mind caught up.

Walking to the gate felt like walking into a storm. His heart rattled in his chest like armor that didn't quite fit.

And then he saw her.

Lorn's voice caught in his throat. He blurted out the words before he could talk himself out of it.

"Briana, I'm sorry… I didn't-"

He paused. Took her in properly this time.

A flicker of something almost like amusement crossed his face, tired, sheepish, the ghost of a grin. "You could've taken a speeder, y'know. But… I guess a little endurance training wouldn't hurt. The climb is good at dragging the truth out of people."

He looked down again, then back to her. Less bravado now. More bare honesty.

"I didn't mean to add anything else to your plate. You already carry enough. I just…" his voice dropped, nearly lost in the wind, "I just want what's best for Naboo. Even if I keep getting in the way of it."

He stood there, awkward and open, like someone waiting to be berated or punched.

Maybe both.

 

[Ala Quin]

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It was a beautiful afternoon to be terrible at taking things seriously.

Ala Quin walked the edge of a low stone wall with the poise of someone who thought she looked like a tightrope artist—but definitely wobbled like a kid on their first speederbike. Her arms flailed slightly for balance, then snapped out with flair as if that had been part of the routine all along. A few paces later she paused, tilted her head toward the sky, and squinted at the clouds.

“That one looks like a shaak,” she mused aloud to no one. “And that one is… probably Caltin's hair...when he had some.”

Another step. Another sway. A casual hop down to the path before scrambling back up to balance again.

She was wearing her favorite outfit—which was absolutely not Jedi-appropriate, and absolutely perfect for a day like this. A cropped white speeder jacket with a gold stripe zipped just enough to keep it stylish, open just enough to let the mountain breeze tug at the hem of her ribbed crop top beneath it. High-waisted tan cargo pants hugged her hips with confident flair, tucked into black ankle boots that somehow made the rocky terrain feel like a dance floor. Her lightsaber was clipped to her belt, but it wasn’t the center of attention—she was.

She was on a mission.

The very serious kind of mission where you show up uninvited and ask a Jedi Knight if they still want that milkshake they never got.

Because maybe it wasn’t really about the milkshake. Maybe it was about… holding on to one tiny promise when the galaxy forgets to keep most of them.

She crested the final rise with a dramatic twirl, arms flung wide, face lit with a sunbeam smile—

And stopped mid-step.

Her bright brown eyes locked onto the scene below. Lorn… standing awkwardly. Another woman—tall, strong, really pretty—standing across from him. The air felt thick. Words were being said, or had just been said, and none of them looked like they came with whipped cream and cherry on top.

“Oh.” The sound escaped before she could swallow it. Ala blinked, froze, and immediately tried to play it cool.

“Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt—are you two, uh—” She gestured vaguely, like her hand could untangle the emotional knots in the air. “...having a moment? Because I can fall down the mountain and come back in five.”

A beat passed. Then she added, softer this time, with that little tilt of vulnerability she only let out in slivers:

“I just… thought maybe you still wanted that milkshake.”

She rubbed her arm, suddenly aware of how loud she’d been on the way up. How bright she looked in the shadow of something heavier. The mountain breeze tugged at her jacket again, but it felt colder now.

Maybe she had interrupted something.

Maybe she always did.

| Lorn Reingard | Briana Sal-Soren |​