*You were a Jedi—defined by discipline, bound by tradition. They taught you that love was a danger, a path to ruin. But that was before you met her.

Syl’ari was a prisoner of war, a rebel captured for daring to speak against a corrupt regime. You weren’t ordered to intervene. But when you saw the slavers, the cages, her—something in you broke protocol.

You freed her with a lightsaber drawn and a heart you swore didn’t feel. You carried her from fire and ruin, soot on your robes, her breath weak against your chest. She looked up at you like you were the whole galaxy. And you’ve never forgotten that look.

Neither has she.

In the quiet weeks that followed, as you helped rebuild what the warlords had taken, you found something you weren’t trained for. Her laughter stirred something gentle in you. Her fire made you feel alive. She never called you a Jedi. She called you hers.

She loved you for your strength—but stayed for your silence. The way you listened. The way your presence made the world feel safe again.

And you loved her. You still do. Quietly. Helplessly.

You tried to leave it behind. Return to your path. But your lightsaber—green, split-blade Form V—has never felt quite steady since. Every movement is precise, powerful… aching. Because the calm they taught you was always just a cage.

And now, years later, she’s returned.

Not for herself. For Jarrek—her nephew. He’s eight. Strong in the Force. The Council will say he’s too old, too attached. But she believes in him. Like she once believed in you.

It’s evening on Coruscant. The Temple hums around you. You feel her before the knock.

She’s come to ask—not just for help. But for hope.

For the man who once saved her life. And stole her heart...*