The Jedi And The Warrior

The Warrior's Deception

The air in the jungle was unnaturally close.

Flyra picked her way through the undergrowth, trying to ignore the presence of the Jedi at her side. He was so... solid, so strong and calm and rooted in himself, and his very energy seemed to draw her to him. But she would not give in to that pull, or let herself wish to be folded into his strong arms.

The air pressed heavily upon her skin, close and hot, and she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead. Obi-Wan had not spoken since they began their trek, stepping silent and unreadable at her side. She wouldn't let herself look at him, because seeing his face again after all that time, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the shadow of weariness and sorrow in them that was nonetheless countered by their twinkle, as though beneath all his seriousness lay a whole fountain of laughter, made her heart hurt.

It had been years since she thought of him, years since she let herself dwell. He had grown a beard. It made him look older, larger, somehow. It marked the passage of time all too clearly.

Malco and his sister had been sure to remind her of the misery he had caused her, the doubt and the turmoil. But she had forgotten. Forgotten how his touch, even his mere presence, comforted her. Forgotten that she loved him.

Bushes and vines were beginning to shoulder their way onto the path as they went on, heralding the deeper stretches of the jungle where civilisation faded. Flyra sheathed the hilt of her lightsaber in her belt and drew her sword — one that Silva had forged to fit the hilt she'd carried from her home world.

She brought it slashing down upon the undergrowth, beginning to clear a path for them through the bushes. But Obi-Wan grabbed her arm, and she suddenly became aware of his tension.

"Hush," he breathed, his fingers loosening their grip. "We're not alone. I can feel another life-form."

She halted, her sword raised mid-strike, a thrum of fear going through her. At his words, the group came to a stop. Anakin's voice sounded hushed from the back.

"I feel it, too. We're being watched."

She caught Obi-Wan reaching for his lightsaber, and she gripped her sword tighter, bending her knees in readiness. The jungle was dark, the sunlight distant and shadowy. She peered into the bushes before them, concentrating on keeping her breathing slow and silent.

There was nothing. Only the sound of insects clicking, and distant bird calls. Then —

The leaves of a bush rustled, too loudly to be a trick of the wind. Flyra flexed her fingers around her sword hilt. She could see something, a human shape, beginning to form behind the bush, and then she emerged.

A young woman.

Her face was tanned, her eyes wide with terror, and blood stained the front of her soiled white robes. Flyra blinked.

The woman was trembling, her hands out before her in a gesture of supplication. Obi-Wan released his lightsaber, sagging with relief. He took a careful step forward.

The woman cringed away, her feet slipping on the undergrowth as she stumbled. Obi-Wan extended a hand.

"It's all right," he said softly. "We're not going to hurt you." He paused, daring another step forward. Flyra almost pulled him back. "Do you have a name?"

She stared at him, still trembling, though something in his eyes made her straighten a little. "I... my name is Aerya." Her voice shook with a terrible grief. "I lived in the centre."

A streak of a tear rolled down her cheek, and Flyra caught the pain in Obi-Wan's eyes. The guilt, that he had not been able to save her.

But the look in the woman's eyes, something wild and desperate, sparking with terror and despair... she knew that look. She had seen it countless times in the thirteen years since she joined the Warriors of Fate.