( Ryen Daros's POV )
Ryen stood alone under the open sky of Aleru, the winds biting through the desolate plains like the remnants of a dying storm. The stars above flickered dimly, their light muted by the vast emptiness of the galaxy. The planet, a desolate patch in the corner of the universe, felt as though it was suspended in a moment of quiet death, its silence only broken by the occasional rustle of the dry grass beneath his boots.
The isolation felt like a living thing, pressing down on him with every breath. Ryen had grown accustomed to the solitude over the past three weeks, but tonight, it felt heavier than usual. It wasn't just the stillness of the planet that disturbed him—it was something deeper, something that seemed to hang in the air itself.
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the faint glow of distant lights from the outpost barely pierced the darkened landscape. The Force hummed beneath his skin, its presence always there, but tonight it felt different. Sharper. Unsettling.
His fingers brushed over the rough stone of the outpost, his mind wandering back to the years spent in the Jedi Temple, to his days as a young Padawan, the eager anticipation of the trials that had never come. He had been so close to becoming a Jedi Knight, so close to the title that had been the culmination of his training, his life. But that was before the Purge. Before the moment when the galaxy changed forever.
A wave of bitterness swept over him, but he quelled it quickly. There was no room for such emotions now. Not here. Not on Aleru. But the bitterness lingered, a reminder of the fragility of their existence now. A shadow, always present, and always lurking.
He pushed the thoughts aside and focused on what mattered: Eli. The youngling he had taken under his wing, the boy who had survived the fall of the Jedi Order, much like Ryen himself. It had been a strange twist of fate that had brought them together. At first, Ryen had seen only a reflection of his own past in Eli—a lost child, an orphan of the galaxy, desperately clinging to what remained of the Jedi teachings. But in the weeks that followed, the boy had become more than that. Eli was stronger than Ryen had expected, more capable of handling the weight of his emotions than he had first assumed. But still, there was something raw about him. Something untamed.
Ryen had tried to be the teacher, but it wasn't always easy. Eli was hungry for knowledge, eager to learn. But he was also impatient. He pushed himself harder than Ryen would have liked, always seeking to train faster, harder, as though the urgency of his situation was a weight too great to bear. Ryen understood the impulse; he had felt it himself, a decade ago. But there was something dangerous about that kind of drive. Eli's anger often flared up during their sparring sessions, an emotion that Ryen had tried to help him control, but the boy was always in a rush, always pushing forward without thought.
Ryen had tried to speak to him about balance, about patience, but Eli's mind was always elsewhere, constantly turning, constantly striving. Ryen had told him time and again, "Patience is a Jedi's first lesson. Without it, you are nothing but a blade with no master to guide it."
But Eli had difficulty understanding, his need to push himself seeming to override everything else. Ryen couldn't fault him for it. He had seen the same hunger for survival in himself once. It was the same need that had driven him to escape the Temple after his Master's sacrifice, the same need that had pushed him to survive after everything had been lost. But Eli's anger… that was something Ryen couldn't easily ignore.
Ryen's thoughts drifted back to the present, back to the youngling who was currently sitting cross-legged nearby, breathing heavily as he recovered from their latest sparring match. Eli wiped sweat from his brow, his young face still marked by the faint shadows of exhaustion and frustration.
Ryen took a deep breath, pulling his senses through the Force, trying to calm the unrest in his mind. But as his awareness stretched out, something shifted. It was a subtle change, like a whisper on the wind, but it was unmistakable.
The Force itself felt colder.
The familiar warmth that usually permeated everything, that which had once connected all Jedi to each other and the galaxy itself, was distant. Something had torn it, fractured it. A sharpness lingered in the air—bitter and heavy, like ice scraping against skin. It was a presence, but one that was unlike any he had felt before. It was not like the calm focus of the Jedi or even the unpredictable nature of anger. No, this felt darker, more malevolent, as though the very air around him had grown thick with hatred.
Ryen's heart skipped a beat.
His mind instinctively grasped for the source of this disturbance, but the Force itself seemed to recoil from it, as if unwilling to touch it. He focused harder, trying to find clarity, but the presence remained distant, its edge cutting through his thoughts like a blade against flesh.
He had felt something like this before—once, not so long ago. A coldness that had chilled him to his core when he had been forced to flee the Temple. Back then, the echoes of death and betrayal had lingered in the Force, making every step feel like a battle just to survive. He remembered the feeling of his Master's death, the way the darkness had rippled through the Force as she sacrificed herself to save him. But this… this was something else.
Ryen shuddered, the sensation gnawing at him. The presence was still out there, just beyond his reach, like a predator lurking in the shadows. The anger, the cold hate—it was palpable, and Ryen instinctively pulled his own presence back, afraid that drawing closer would only provoke whatever it was that lingered in the distance.
It wasn't just the dark energy he felt; it was a purpose behind it. A will, intent on something. The air felt thick with the promise of violence, and the very fabric of the Force seemed to pulse with this oppressive force. He couldn't explain it, but Ryen knew with a certainty that something—or someone—was coming for them.
It wasn't just a feeling of threat. It was something more precise. More calculated.
He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. This was no ordinary danger. This was something more.
"Ryen?" Eli's voice broke through his thoughts, a soft call that pulled him back into the present.
The youngling was standing now, concern etched across his face. "You've gone quiet. Are you alright?"
Ryen didn't answer immediately. His mind was still focused, still trying to grasp the elusive presence that had stirred in the Force. But it was like trying to hold water in his hands—slippery, elusive, and fading the longer he tried to understand it.
"Yeah," he finally said, his voice steady, but his heart was anything but calm. "Just… tired. Maybe a little too much training today."
Eli didn't look convinced, but he didn't press further. He merely nodded and sat down again, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
Ryen kept his eyes on the horizon, his senses still straining, reaching for whatever it was that had disturbed the peace of the night.
The presence remained. Cold. Unyielding.
And though he didn't yet know the name of the darkness that was creeping toward them, he could feel it—just as surely as he felt the wind bite through his clothing.
It was coming.
And they weren't ready for it.