Basic Information:

• Name:  Kleya Noxstarr

• Alias:  None

• Species:  Human

• Gender:  Female

• Age:  32

Affiliation & Status:

• Affiliation:  Jedi Order, Galactic Republic

• Title:  Diplomatic Peacemaker

• Rank:  Jedi Master

• Force Sensitive:  Yes

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Coruscant

• Current Residence:  Tython

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.68 meters (5’6")

• Weight:  57 kg (125 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Slender, deliberate

• Eye Color: Storm-grey with faint blue flecks

• Hair Color:  Deep chestnut, often worn in a functional braid

• Skin Color:  Fair
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Centered presence, quiet steps, unwavering gaze

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Subtle scar behind right ear (never discussed)

• Other Notable Features:  Always wears an aged silver ring with an unknown crest; loth-cat fur from Sandy often clings to her robes

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience:  Very High (receptive, nuanced, intuitively adaptive)

• Conscientiousness:  High (disciplined, contemplative, inwardly ordered)

• Extroversion:  Low (contained presence, relational through resonance)

• Agreeableness:  High (compassionate, clarity-driven, gently assertive)

• Neuroticism:  Very Low (calm, deeply grounded, emotionally integrated)
  
  

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Intentional listener, layered thinker, leads through quiet example

• Flaws:  Reluctant to escalate, hesitant to interrupt, subtle urgency rarely seen

• Likes:  Muted spaces, ancient languages, trust that requires no translation 

• Dislikes:  Feigned authority, rhetoric without soul, memory used as leverage

• Disposition:  Grounded, watchful, inwardly radiant

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Jedi Council

• Subordinates:  Padawan Jol Maron
  
  

Personal Connections:

• Significant Other:  None (emotional resonance expressed non-romantically)

• Notable Friends:  Amara Noxstarr (twin; foil, constant, reflective tension) 

• Pets/Companions:  Sandy (female loth-cat; intuitive, quiet, enduring)
  
  

Family:

• Mother:  Vela Noxstarr (archive technician; deceased)

• Father:  Ceren Noxstarr (Republic civic planner; status unknown) 

• Siblings:  Amara Noxstarr (twin, Jedi Master; mirrored difference, silent intimacy) 

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  Presence anchoring, empathic resonance, layered perception

• Combat Specialties:  Defensive stabilization, peaceful redirection, wide-field Force buffering

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic, High Galactic, Old Voss (scholarly fluency)

• Notable Achievements:  Executed contactless containment on Odessen; drafted post-Belsavis resonance protocols

• Other Skills:  Signal threading, ritual decryption, interpretive diplomacy
  
  

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Dual white-bladed lightsabers (rarely activated)

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Ritual-encrypted datapad with memory-encoded Force traces

• Armor/Outfit:  Layered Jedi field robes woven with neutral-toned Vossweave

• Personal Items:  Amara’s old glyph pin, Arindon’s ciphered stone, Padawan-era ink scroll

• Mount/Vehicle:  Jedi transport (communal); prefers long meditative walks

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Rubs thumb over ring when parsing emotion; hums Voss refrains when processing; pockets dried leaves from pivotal places

• Rumors & Reputation:  Known to some as “the Listener”; whispered to retain a lost vision from a vanished vault

• Open Connections:  Surviving students of Master Arindon, Force sensitives researching memory patterns, Voss pilgrims guarding old shrines
  
  

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Sustain peace through full-spectrum memory; reframe Jedi tradition through presence, not proclamation

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Carries a decrypted Mystic vision never revealed—not even to Amara

• Fears/Weaknesses:  That stillness may one day be mistaken for failure—or enable avoidable pain

• Story Arcs:  Redefine leadership without dominance; teach resistance through stillness; shape a legacy that hears before striking

Background:  

Born into midsector quiet on Coruscant, Kleya learned early to inhabit silence as strength. Where her twin Amara ignited, Kleya absorbed—anchoring presence in quiet moments. The Jedi Archives offered her more than knowledge—they offered breath. From whispered meditations on Tython to vault implosions on Odessen and harmonic loops on Belsavis, she wielded stillness like an unseen blade. Her rise to Master was quiet—built on trust earned in moments between speech and decision. Now, on Voss, she listens more than she leads. And in that listening, others find the shape of what comes next. 

Timeline/Chronology:

• 3653 BBY | Age 0 — Born on Coruscant; twin to Amara.

• 3643 BBY | Age 10 — Joined Jedi Initiate program; noted for early pattern discernment.

• 3636 BBY | Age 17 — Traced Revanite signal web beneath Coruscant’s undercity.

• 3635 BBY | Age 18 — Witnessed unnamed Force signature on Nar Shaddaa; began quiet tracking.

• 3632 BBY | Age 21 — Abstained during Ord Talath shard event; codified restraint theory.

• 3630 BBY | Age 23 — Mediated containment on Taris with Imperial forces; pioneered Quiet Directive.

• 3629 BBY | Age 24 — Initiated signal-pulse suspension on Odessen vault; structured passive containment.

• 3627 BBY | Age 26 — Embedded a long-term passive scan protocol within Belsavis relay grid.

• 3624 BBY | Age 29 — Returned to Tython; guided post-Elom Initiates in silent tracing and Force resonance.

• 3621 BBY | Age 32 — Became Jedi Master; divided residency between Voss and Tython to steward presence.

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Kleya Noxstarr - Pub Side)

• Timezone:  EST (UTC-5)

• Activity & Availability:  Weekdays (afternoon) & weekends (during day)
  
  

Roleplay Preference & Boundaries:

• Roleplay Style:  Prefer 1:1 or small group roleplay, mostly in-game.

• Triggers & Boundaries:  No god mode.

• Plotting & Collaboration:  Open to long-term plots but prefer things to develop more on the fly/spontaneously. 

• Other Notes:  Preferred session length: 1–3 hours.

🟥 Episode I – Whispers in Stillness
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Jedi Initiate | Tython, Temple Archives 

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Jedi Order returns to its birthplace as a broken galaxy simmers under false peace. Here, on Tython, war feels distant—but the shaping of future peacekeepers begins early. For Kleya Noxstarr, stillness is not a challenge—it’s the language she already speaks. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Kleya Noxstarr didn’t mind the quiet. Coruscant had taught her how to listen—not just with ears, but with presence. The Jedi Archives felt like a deeper version of that—a city without sound, where knowledge moved like breath. While Amara wrestled with stillness, Kleya found it instinctual. She spent hours beneath the holostatues, fingers hovering over unreadable glyphs. There was no rush. No spark. Only rhythm. Her instructors said she was “attuned.” She wasn’t sure what that meant yet. But she felt it—subtle tides in the Force, the way silence could shape outcomes long before action. And still, she wondered: Would anyone notice if she was never loud?

✧ The meditation circle fractured with a single cry. Kleya did not see the vine cat leap—but she felt the break in presence. Chaos. Screams. Movement. Her sister’s saber flashed. But Kleya didn’t move. She centered her breath, reached outward, and began the calming mantra their Master had taught them—voice clear, low, steady. Around her, the other Initiates anchored. She felt their panic knot, then loosen, drawn into the cadence of her voice. One child clutched her tunic. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t close her eyes. When the Masters arrived and the threat ended, her own heartbeat stayed even. But inside, something trembled. And still, she wondered: Had she done enough by not rising?

✧ The praise after was uneven. Amara was named courageous. Kleya—“emotionally regulated.” She accepted it with a nod, but it didn’t sit cleanly. Later that evening, she wandered into the deep stacks of the Archives and found Master Arindon browsing alone. He looked at her, then at the holotext he held. “Still water carves deepest,” he said. She didn’t respond. Not then. But the phrase followed her back to the dorms. Her sister lay stiff in her bunk, eyes open, too quiet for sleep. Kleya didn’t speak. Just breathed, slow and steady. And still, she wondered: Could silence be a strength if no one remembered it?

✧ Amara asked her, “Why didn’t you do something?” The words weren’t cruel. Just tired. Kleya considered a dozen answers. But she offered the truth: “Because I knew you would.” Amara didn’t reply—but something shifted. Their bond bent, didn’t break. In the following days, Kleya watched her sister train harder, with sharper focus. She didn’t interrupt. Just mirrored where needed, balanced when able. In the Archives, she began studying pre-Republic treaties, tracing how diplomacy shaped peace without ever drawing a blade. The work wasn’t glamorous. But it mattered. Stillness, she was learning, could leave a mark—just not always one you could see.

✧ When the Council assigned Initiate trials, Kleya’s came not with a saber, but a holocron—damaged, dormant, ancient. She spent three days reconstructing its logic thread, deciphering dialects, feeling her way through the patterns like music. What emerged was a fragment from a Consular’s journal: “The hardest peace is the one you never get credit for.” Kleya copied it into her log. During the debrief, the Council asked her how she located the core thread. She said, simply, “I listened.” Amara stood in the hallway afterward, arms crossed. “You really are made of stillness,” she muttered. Kleya smiled. “Someone has to be.” And still, Amara nodded.

📓 Personal Log: “Held in the Quiet” | Tython, 3643 BBY

"The forest doesn’t rush. Neither should I. Amara acts. I anchor. But that doesn’t make me invisible. It makes me ready. Master Arindon says silence is the shape of wisdom before it speaks. I think I understand that now. Stillness isn’t absence. It’s intention."

🟥 Episode II – Voices in the Dark
3636 BBY | Age 17 | Jedi Padawan | Coruscant, Jedi Temple Archives & Underlevels

🪐 Galactic Context:

Ziost’s annihilation remains unspoken in official halls—but its echo reaches the cracks of Coruscant’s undercity. In those dark spaces, fear finds form through ideology. As murmurs of Sith cults rise among the forgotten, Padawan Kleya Noxstarr is assigned her first solo investigation. Her saber remains unlit. But the Force speaks in subtler frequencies. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The underlevels didn’t scare her. They unsettled her—but in a way that felt useful. Kleya moved through Sector 43 like a thought, observing how sound pooled in corners and people didn’t make eye contact unless they needed something. She wasn’t hunting Sith—not directly. Her assignment was softer: track communication patterns linked to fringe ideologies, especially those invoking Revanite doctrine. “You’re not here to fight,” Master Arindon had said. “You’re here to notice.” Kleya understood. But understanding didn’t shield her from the unease in her gut as she walked past flickering holo-signs and heard Ziost whispered like a ghost story. And still, she felt she was in the right place—because fear only hides when no one’s listening.

✧ She found her thread in a market stall reconfigured into a relay station. No signs. Just movement. Her datapad glowed in low light as she translated snippets of corrupted chant-codes: “Memory is liberation. The wound must open.” Revanite remnants, twisted. Not evil. Just… misdirected. Sandy, her loth-cat, curled beside her as she pieced the messages together. The patterns weren’t violent—but they pointed somewhere dark. A belief forming in shadow, waiting to be seen. She transmitted her findings calmly to Arindon, hands steady. But her thoughts swirled. She wasn’t afraid of action. She was afraid they were looking in the wrong direction—and that no one would see it in time.

✧ The Council approved deeper observation—and added Amara to the mission. The reunion was quiet, familiar, edged with friction. They moved together through the Works: Amara watching bodies, Kleya watching minds. Symbols scratched into doorframes. A girl who flinched at her own voice. A whisper: “The fire will show us who’s worthy.” Deeper in the terminal, they found the cult. Amara’s blade ignited without hesitation. Kleya raised her voice instead. “You’re mistaking fear for prophecy,” she said. “You want salvation—but not clarity.” The room faltered. And that was enough. CSF swept in. The ritual broke. And still, Kleya wondered what they’d actually interrupted.

✧ She spent nights after that in the archives. Reading. Listening. Mapping the paths of desperate people who’d chosen doctrine over doubt. Not monsters. Just seekers. Arindon reviewed her data, then sent her to speak to senior Initiates. She didn’t lecture. She posed questions. “What if our enemies don’t hate us—but fear being forgotten?” Afterward, one Initiate whispered, “You made silence feel like strength.” Kleya didn’t know how to respond. So she just nodded. And still, the Force pulsed around her—not loud, not sharp. Just there.

✧ On a quiet Temple balcony, Amara joined her. “You slowed us down,” she said. “But we still won.” Kleya smiled softly. “Sometimes restraint is the strike.” They stood in shared silence, each facing a city that had always been watching. Amara didn’t reply. But she didn’t leave. And in that stillness, Kleya felt seen—not for what she prevented, but for what she preserved. And still, she wasn’t sure if the darkness was gone. But now, it had a shape.

📓 Personal Log: “Listening Through Fear” | Coruscant, 3636 BBY

"I don’t think they hated the Jedi. I think they hated feeling powerless. Ziost taught us that even the Force can’t prevent everything. Some people fill silence with belief. Others—like me—just try to hear the truth beneath it. Amara leaps. I anchor. And sometimes, the hardest thing is knowing neither of us is wrong. Just… different. I’m not afraid of shadow. Only of not recognizing it before it moves."

🟥 Episode III – Shelter Amid Shadows
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Jedi Padawan | Nar Shaddaa, Refugee Sector 6

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Fleet bypasses armies—but not consequences. On Nar Shaddaa, the Jedi are deployed not as warriors, but as witnesses to collapse. Kleya Noxstarr is among them—sent not to strike, but to understand what violence leaves behind. In the chaos, she senses something deeper: presence without identity. And she begins to question whether stillness can protect what refuses to be named. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The triage corridors of Sector 6 whispered in half-finished breaths. Kleya moved like breath itself—quiet, steady, fingers trailing along the canvas seams of refugee tents. Sandy kept close, tail flicking. The Force here didn’t scream. It murmured. A tremor of presence brushed her senses: curious, not hostile. She turned. Nothing. But it lingered. Like a thought someone forgot to say aloud. She didn’t chase it. Just noted it. And still, the question formed: Why watch without acting?

✧ The blast struck mid-shift. Sound cracked, and pressure rose like a wave from beneath. Kleya moved without panic, raising a hand, the Force shielding her like water bending around stone. She felt Amara ignite nearby—saw the blade flare like protest in smoke. But Kleya looked upward. A figure stood on the catwalk. Still. Not hidden. Not fleeing. Present. They saw each other. No words. No attack. Then the figure turned. And still, Kleya’s pulse didn’t settle.

✧ She moved through the aftermath like a slow current—calming, redirecting, absorbing noise into action. Medics muttered of power surges, frequencies they couldn’t trace. Kleya cataloged it all. The puzzle, not the panic, was her focus. In a quiet alcove, she found Amara—burn gel drying, eyes guarded. She placed two fingers gently on her sister’s wrist. Amara didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. The silence between them felt weighted. Kleya knew what she’d seen. And still, she didn’t know what it meant.

✧ At dawn, a slicer brought her a data fragment—signal distortion during the explosion. “Someone wanted to be seen,” he said. She believed him. A child handed her a sketch—two figures beneath twin moons. No names. Just image. She didn’t ask what it meant. But she folded it carefully, slid it into her robe. She’d seen the way Amara kept watching the rooftops. And Kleya? She kept listening—to the silence that felt too deliberate to be accidental.

✧ When the evac began, Kleya stood beside Amara, not as a guard—but as a witness. The figure appeared once more—high above, unmoving. Not threatening. Just present. “They’re still here,” Amara said. Kleya didn’t answer. She stared back. The Force between them pulsed with meaning that hadn’t found language. And still, the figure didn’t flee. Just faded. Like a choice deferred.

📓 Personal Log: “Shadow Recognition” | Nar Shaddaa, 3635 BBY

"There was someone there—at the edge of the blast. Not hiding. Not attacking. Watching. I felt them in the Force like a question we weren’t ready to ask. Amara didn’t strike. I didn’t speak. Neither of us flinched. It wasn’t surrender. It wasn’t fear. It was presence, unresolved. And still— I think we were both waiting to see who the other would become."

🟥 Episode IV – Stillness Between Shadows
3632 BBY | Age 21 | Jedi Padawan | Ord Talath, Catacomb Vaults

🪐 Galactic Context:

Ord Talath is no longer a place—it is a fracture in memory. Buried beneath Zakuulan crystal and Force-warped wreckage, it breathes with remnants of knowledge too volatile for archives. The Jedi send small teams to investigate. For Kleya, this isn’t a mission. It’s a mirror—into silence, into choice, into what restraint must carry when clarity fails. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The air shimmered over glassed stone, each step beneath her boots echoing like a question not yet asked. Kleya moved carefully, the Force here layered—not dark, not light, just fractured. Amara’s presence flared ahead—steady, taut, electric. But Kleya held back. Something was off. Two robed figures emerged from ash and ruin. They didn’t speak. Didn’t threaten. But they knew. Her hand hovered near her saber—not in fear, but in acknowledgment. She didn’t draw. She listened. The Force between them pulsed, not as warning, but recognition. And still, she didn’t break the silence.

✧ The quake splintered the vault with a sound like breath turned blade. Screams. Smoke. Debris. Kleya didn’t run toward the epicenter. She circled the edge—grounding the evac teams, anchoring the panicked with quiet words and measured hands. She watched Amara vanish into flame, then reappear, a girl clinging to her side. Relief pulsed through her like a second heartbeat. The strangers remained still, unmoved. Kleya studied them. Not apathy. Not cowardice. Observation. And still, she couldn’t name what they were waiting for.

✧ In the vault, the shard pulsed—fractured, flickering, alive. Kleya knelt, reaching out but not touching. The Force inside it didn’t call—it remembered. She flinched. Not from fear, but from recognition. Pain layered on pain. One of the strangers stepped forward—female, calm, decisive. Her voice was quiet. Her presence, sharper than a blade. Amara stepped back. Kleya didn’t. She let the tension build. Let the Force speak through restraint, not reaction. And still, the silence thickened like breath before a storm.

✧ The argument wasn’t loud. It was careful. Friction wrapped in principle. Amara spoke of danger. The stranger spoke of preservation. Kleya said little—but her eyes never left the shard. When it pulsed again, visions struck—memory bleeding through form. Ziost. Nar Shaddaa. The girl’s drawing from the refugee tent. A galaxy always on the brink of forgetting what pain costs. Her hands folded slowly. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t step away. And when the fire came—gentle, final, chosen—she didn’t flinch. The shard cracked. Not violently. Just… ended. And still, she felt the echo of what had not been said.

✧ The survivors moved like dust through dusk, filing onto the shuttle like people stepping out of time. Kleya sat on the ramp, silent, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. Across the field, the stranger leaned against the hull, gaze distant. Her companion moved among the crowd, saying nothing. Amara stood, arms crossed, shoulders tight with things unspoken. “We could’ve stopped her,” she said. Kleya nodded. “But maybe she didn’t need to be stopped.” Their eyes met. Not in agreement. In reckoning. And still, the tension between justice and judgment remained unresolved.

📓 Personal Log: “Reflections in Fracture” | Ord Talath, 3632 BBY

"I saw her choose not to fight. Not because she lacked power—but because she understood the cost. The shard is gone. Maybe that saved lives. Maybe it erased something we needed. Amara wanted clarity. I wanted presence. What we got was restraint—shared between strangers. And still— I don’t know if we made the right choice. Or just the quiet one.”

🟥 Episode V – The Quiet Directive
3630 BBY | Age 23 | Jedi Knight | Taris, Southern Containment Zone

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Jedi no longer report to a Council. Their ranks are fractured, their mandates unsanctioned. On Taris, containment fails. Imperial forces arrive not as invaders—but as question marks. For Kleya Noxstarr, silence is no longer sanctuary—it is negotiation, risk, and the only directive she can still trust. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ Taris didn’t breathe. It waited. Kleya stepped into the med-station like it might fold in on itself. Her boots slid on damp tile, her pulse matching the hum of overloaded generators. Civilians lay scattered—fevered, shivering, forgotten. She found an elderly man whose veins ran blue, whose eyes didn’t track. “Stable,” she whispered, though the word felt dishonest. Amara crouched beside a child, jaw set like a blade. The Force here didn’t guide. It absorbed. And still, Kleya listened—to the silence between shouts. That’s where decisions were born.

✧ The Imperials arrived like punctuation. Sharp. Deliberate. Final. Kleya rose slowly, letting her presence extend—not defensive, not submissive. A commander stepped forward, visor blank. “We’re not here for war,” she said. Kleya felt Amara tense beside her. The saber at her sister’s hip buzzed faintly in the Force. She didn’t reach for hers. She didn’t need to. Because this moment wasn’t about strength. It was about stillness. And still, every muscle braced for a noise that never came.

✧ The soldiers did not raise weapons. They lifted the sick. They moved like people not trained for mercy—but following it anyway. Kleya watched one adjust a broken IV with two fingers and a breath that didn’t belong to doctrine. Amara passed her a child. Kleya’s arms ached with the boy’s weight—but she held steady. “This isn’t peace,” Amara muttered. Kleya nodded. “But it’s not war, either.” The Force whispered between them—not as answer, but as presence. And still, she felt how thin the line was.

✧ The evac zone barely existed—just crates and a comm tower patched with hope. Kleya settled the boy near a heater, her thumb brushing his temple. Across the ruins, the Imperials stood down. No salute. No commands. Just eyes that didn’t follow. Amara stood near the perimeter, words unsaid. “Why didn’t they engage?” she asked. Kleya didn’t answer. Not with theory. Just with truth. “Because someone in that squad chose something different.” And still, she feared how fragile that choice could become tomorrow.

✧ When the skiff launched, Kleya pulled out the boy’s datapad. A single drawing: a Jedi and a soldier—side by side. Not fighting. Just standing. “He saw us together,” she said. Amara didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. Because the Force had already spoken—in the stillness, in the breath they didn’t break. Kleya closed the datapad gently. And still, she didn’t know if the silence they survived would ever become peace.

📓 Personal Log: “Mercy Unspoken” | Taris, 3630 BBY

 "I didn’t draw my blade. And still, I felt like I fought all day. With silence. With stillness. With the space between action and restraint. Amara wanted to shield them. I wanted to see them. Neither of us was wrong. But the Imperials? They chose not to act. That choice matters more than orders. We didn’t win today. We just weren’t lost. And that has to be enough—for now."

🟥 Episode VI – Echo Beneath the Signal
3629 BBY | Age 24 | Jedi Knight | Odessen, Reclamation Ridge Vault

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire lies broken—but its remnants are not quiet. On Odessen, Zakuulan vaults stir beneath frost and ruin. The Jedi send observers. The Alliance sends none. And the scavengers—licensed by Czerka—bring eagerness, not caution. Kleya Noxstarr walks into this vault not to protect a relic. But to ask whether the Force still holds memory… or just consequence.

📘 Narrative:

Wind clawed through the ridge like breath over old bones. Kleya pulled her hood closer, stepping alongside Amara through mist and frost. The vault ahead looked less like a door and more like a wound—broken ribs of permacrete and durasteel thrust from the slope. The Force pressed against her temples. Not dark. Not inviting. But aware. Behind them, the Czerka team spoke in clipped excitement. Kleya said nothing. The Force here didn’t feel malevolent. But it felt. And still, she knew what that meant: memory that didn’t want to be touched.

✧ Inside, the corridors shifted sound. Every footfall echoed wrong—longer than it should, deeper. Like the space remembered motion. Kleya moved slowly, trailing her fingers near the walls without touching. The younger tech’s fingers danced over an interface. “It’s active,” she murmured. “It’s listening.” Kleya didn’t reply. She felt the vibration through her boots. The vault wasn’t waiting. It was watching. She moved past them, stepping toward a sealed corridor just as a low pulse ran through the floor. And still, she didn’t reach for her saber.

✧ The droids emerged like thought becoming form. Silent. Golden. Armed. Amara’s saber ignited before the noise caught up. Kleya didn’t panic. She extended both hands—Force rippling outward in a wide, contained pulse. One sentry staggered. The other raised its weapon. But the tech’s voice broke through: “Just a second more!” Kleya held. Amara held. The vault pulsed again. Then died. Silence dropped like a veil. Kleya exhaled. And still, her eyes tracked the emitter coils, half-expecting them to rise once more.

✧ They didn’t. One tech wept. The other turned away. Amara stared at the deactivated droids like they were answers denied. “We had protocols,” she said. Kleya crouched beside the young woman, checking for injury. “So did the vault,” she murmured. The Force still pulsed faintly through the walls—less threat, more fatigue. Kleya didn’t fear what had happened. She feared they’d barely touched what hadn’t. And still, she wasn’t sure if they’d prevented harm… or delayed it.

✧ Outside, dusk fell like smoke over the valley. Kleya stood beside Amara on the cliff’s edge, wind braiding silence between them. The shuttle lifted. The vault behind them did not collapse. It simply… slept again. “We let them take it,” Amara said. Kleya didn’t answer. She was still listening—to the edges of the Force, to the hum buried under ice. To what hadn’t spoken yet. And still, she didn’t know if silence meant safety… or warning.

📓 Personal Log: “The Listening Machine” | Odessen, 3629 BBY

"The vault didn’t defend itself. It responded. The Force felt tired—like memory that’s been forced to wake too many times. I didn’t strike. I didn’t command. I watched. And I listened. That’s what I was sent to do. But now I wonder… what did it see in us? Amara wants certainty. I wanted stillness. But we may have walked out of that vault with more than data. And still, I can’t name what followed us out."

🟥 Episode VII – Signal in Ice
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Jedi Knight | Belsavis, Northern Glacial Fault Line

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Eternal Empire is gone, but its shadows remain—written in architecture, protocol, and scars buried too deep to name. As fragile coalitions uphold the illusion of stability, Jedi like Kleya Noxstarr are sent not to fight, but to trace the aftermath: signals unacknowledged, vaults unsealed, memory weaponized. On Belsavis, once a world of incarceration and containment, a signal pulses with precision. It does not plead. It waits. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ The air burned cold as they disembarked, the ridge beneath their boots whispering with fractures half-buried by ice. Kleya moved in measured steps, the wind pulling at her cloak but not her breath. She felt Amara beside her—sharp, kinetic, already scanning for danger. But the danger here wasn’t sudden. It was embedded. The signal pulsed in cycles—three tones, pause, two more. Not a cry for help. A pattern. A test. “It’s too clean,” Amara said. Kleya nodded, her hand grazing the snow-packed console base. The Force in this place didn’t ripple—it hovered. Like something had been left behind on purpose. And still, no answers came. Just repetition.

✧ Inside the Sigma-47 dome, everything was intact in ways it shouldn’t be. The consoles were operational. The air filters functional. Someone had kept this place breathing. Kleya knelt beside the interface, brushing frost away from the primary node. Her fingers hesitated above the keys. “It’s Alliance code,” she said quietly, voice hollowed by realization. Amara stiffened behind her, breath catching in that subtle way that meant betrayal had just reached her bones. This wasn’t Zakuulan tech. It was theirs. Repurposed. Replayed. Designed not to warn—but to reveal. Kleya parsed the signal architecture in silence. The loop didn’t seek help. It sought response. And still, it ran. Waiting for someone to answer in kind.

✧ When the two women entered—Kylia and Raeya, no insignia, no rank—Kleya recognized the rhythm before the words. Intelligence, unspoken but unmistakable. Their presence was tension wrapped in decorum. Not hiding. Holding. Amara stepped forward, but Kleya raised a hand—not in surrender, but in calibration. “This isn’t an abandoned relay,” Kleya said. “It’s a controlled leak.” Kylia inclined her head. “And every response tells us something.” Raeya didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Kleya felt her attention like static in the air—less a threat than a mirror. Amara bristled, but didn’t ignite. Not yet. And still, the room held the weight of choices already made.

✧ Kleya returned to the interface, keying a time delay into the signal script—sixty hours. A breath. Not enough to erase the message, but enough to blur the reply. Behind her, Amara questioned their purpose. “You're testing loyalty with echoes,” she said. Raeya answered softly, “And seeing who listens loudest in silence.” The phrase struck Kleya like cold iron. Because it was true. And dangerous. These weren’t enemies. They were cartographers of uncertainty—measuring threat by who still believes in answers. Kleya hesitated before finishing the script. She didn’t know who would receive the next loop. But she knew someone would. And still, the system obeyed.

✧ As they departed, the wind rose again—ice scouring the slope like memory clawing for shape. The dome faded behind a curve of frost, still intact, still listening. Kleya stood beside Amara on the shuttle ramp, her hood drawn low. “We should report this,” Amara said, but didn’t sound convinced. Kleya didn’t answer. She was listening again—to the quiet between pulses, to the subtle tremor in Raeya’s Force presence, to the fact that nothing in this mission had gone uncalculated. They hadn’t been sent to stop a threat. They’d been invited to see it. And still, Kleya wasn’t sure if they were witnesses… or warnings.

📓 Personal Log: “Frequencies Without Names” | Belsavis, 3627 BBY

"The signal wasn’t accidental. It was designed to provoke—not a war, but a choice. Silence speaks. So does restraint. But sometimes silence is also surveillance. I watched Amara hold her fire. I held my words. Maybe we passed the test. Or maybe we became part of it. I felt Raeya watching me like she already knew which side I belonged to. The Force was quiet. But the system wasn’t. And still— something was listening."

🟥 Episode VIII – Stillness That Watches
3624 BBY | Age 29 | Jedi Knight | Tython, Upper Archives & Watchman Plateau

🪐 Galactic Context:

The Jedi Order reels from Darth Malgus’s campaign on Elom, where ancient vaults—tied to Darth Nul—were unearthed, not destroyed. Now, uncertainty spreads through the Force like faultlines hidden beneath calm. On Tython, the Order’s birthplace, Knights like Kleya Noxstarr return to teach the next generation. But as war stories become ritual and memory rewrites caution as doctrine, the question grows louder: what do we pass on when we’re still haunted by what we’ve seen?

📘 Narrative:

✧ Morning light laced through the upper archive windows, casting soft refractions across stone and silence. Kleya sat alone at a reading alcove, her hands folded, datapads untouched. She wasn’t reading. She was listening. The Force here spoke in steady cadence: the turn of a page, the breath of an Initiate, the hush between footsteps. This place had always quieted her mind. But today, the silence felt… vigilant. Like something watching—not threatening, but waiting. Since Elom, stillness had gained weight. And with it, meaning. She let her eyes close briefly, anchoring in that presence. She wasn’t a Padawan anymore. But she didn’t feel like a teacher either. And still, she had been asked to guide.

✧ The meditation plateau opened before her like a wound carefully stitched—scars beneath soil and stone. Jol Maron waited at the edge, posture tight, trying too hard to appear composed. Amara stood beside him, arms crossed, her gaze somewhere beyond the horizon. Kleya approached without sound. Jol turned toward her too quickly, bowing in a motion meant to impress. She offered only a nod. “Tell me what you felt this morning,” she said. “Not what you did. What you noticed.” Jol blinked. “The others were distracted. I could feel it. Like… noise.” Kleya tilted her head slightly. Not a bad answer. But not full. “And beneath that?” she asked. He hesitated. She waited. And still, didn’t push. Sometimes the real answer came later.

✧ Midday brought them to the Temple’s inner circles—ritual spaces too old to explain, but too resonant to ignore. Kleya walked behind the others, her loth-cat Sandy slipping ahead into shadow and sun with practiced indifference. She paused at a threshold marked only by worn glyphs and paused breath. Darth Nul. Elom. The name still echoed through encrypted files and whispered dreams. In the past month, she’d read a half-dozen reports that said nothing—and revealed everything. Soulbinding. Memory grafts. Jedi texts marked with unfamiliar cadence. She didn’t fear corruption. She feared misunderstanding. That something old was returning… and the Order would name it too late. And still, she said nothing. Not to Amara. Not to the Council. Not yet.

✧ They returned to the plateau for sparring. Jol moved with effort. Not strength. Not flow. Effort. Amara corrected him with the edge of her frustration. Kleya watched from the perimeter, arms folded, not intervening. Not yet. When Jol’s saber slipped mid-strike, Amara’s rebuke came sharp. Kleya stepped forward—not to take over. To reframe. “You’re too focused on what the blade means,” she told him. “Try listening to what it asks.” Jol’s brows pinched, confused. But something softened in his stance. She recognized it. The shift from performance to presence. She let him continue. No more corrections. Just breath. Just rhythm. And still, beneath it all, that question lingered: are we training them for what’s coming—or for what we wish had never happened?

✧ That night, Kleya walked alone to the overlook near the oldest vault entrance. The stars above pulsed faintly through the mist. Somewhere, deep in the archives, reports on Ruhnuk’s unrest and Nul’s remnants awaited analysis. But up here, the Force felt older than fear. She sat in silence, Sandy curling at her side, and closed her eyes. Amara would ask soon—what she’d read, what she feared. Jol would ask, too. Why the stars didn’t feel steady. She didn’t have full answers. Just threads. Just presence. But maybe that was enough—for now. And still, she stayed. Listening to the weight of what hadn’t yet arrived.

📓 Personal Log: “When Stillness Becomes Inheritance” | Tython, 3624 BBY

"I stood where the archives begin to hum and the forest quiets around it. I think the Force remembers more than we do. Jol is searching for structure. Amara is resisting something she hasn’t named. And me? I’m watching a shape in the dark—one that doesn’t speak, only echoes. I was trained to listen for truth. But lately, I think I’m learning to listen for risk. Presence is not peace. It’s proximity to what we don’t yet understand. And still— I haven’t looked away."

🟥 Episode IX – The Shape of Silence
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Jedi Master | Voss, Echo Plateau

🪐 Galactic Context:

Voss stands outside the Republic’s grasp, governed not by law or code—but by prophecy, memory, and stillness. Here, Jedi and Sith artifacts lie side by side beneath sacred shrines. As Darth Nul’s legacy stirs in whispers through the Force, the Jedi Order sends its most trusted voices—not to intervene, but to bear witness. For Kleya Noxstarr, newly appointed Master, Voss is not an end. It is a mirror—reflecting what the Order cannot yet say aloud.

📘 Narrative:

✧ The air atop Echo Plateau vibrated—not loudly, but like a thread pulled taut across dimensions. Kleya exhaled slowly as she stepped past the carved threshold, her boots leaving no mark on the wind-smoothed stone. Voss was unlike any world she had walked. It did not yield to logic, or warning, or even the Force as she had been taught to feel it. It shimmered sideways. Amara and Jol were already ahead, Sandy curled like mist at the trail’s edge. Kleya followed without hurry. Her thoughts moved quietly beneath her silence—Jasmin’s voice lingering in memory, not as echo, but as tone. She had not mourned aloud. She didn’t need to. And still, something hollow lived behind her ribs, shaped like a question without a listener.

✧ The plateau stretched into spirals of stone and paradox. The Voss Mystics greeted them not as Jedi, but as seekers. Kleya bowed without hesitation. Amara paused longer—unwilling, perhaps, to surrender certainty so easily. Jol observed everything, his presence wide and raw. At the central shrine, a statue stood—split cleanly down the middle. One half Jedi Sentinel. One half ancient Sith Seer. Not a warning. A reflection. “This place remembers contradiction,” the Mystic said. Kleya stepped forward, hand grazing the stone’s divide. “So do we,” she murmured. The Force around her rippled—not in approval, but in recognition. And still, no answer followed. Only space.

✧ Amara sat with Jol at the meditation pool. Kleya remained apart, her gaze fixed on the carved glyphs that lined the cavern walls. They didn’t shimmer. They waited. Words in ancient Voss, untranslated—each one carrying resonance instead of definition. She traced a single line with her mind, letting the Force press through the shape of it. Beneath that surface, she felt Darth Nul’s legacy humming—thin, restrained, wounded but not gone. It wasn’t calling. It wasn’t tempting. It was watching. Kleya placed her palm against the stone. Not to shield. To feel. And in that moment, something within her stilled—not with peace, but with clarity. Some truths weren’t meant to be sealed. Only understood, so they wouldn’t be repeated. And still, she kept listening.

✧ At dusk, she joined Amara at the overlook, the plateau quiet except for the sound of wind brushing stone. “We’ve become what our Masters believed in,” Amara said. Kleya nodded. “Not what they planned. But what they left room for.” The stars above began to blink into place. “Does it ever stop feeling fragile?” Amara asked. Kleya answered without hesitation. “No. But it stops feeling like failure.” Amara’s silence wasn’t doubt. It was consideration. Their bond had always been shaped by tension—motion against stillness, impulse beside patience. Now, it felt like co-presence. Like breath between two steady flames. And still, the light between them held.

✧ That night, Kleya sat alone beside the archive fire, Sandy asleep beside her feet. A Mystic had left her a scroll inscribed with the phrase: “The future listens to what the present refuses to speak.” She didn’t open it. She didn’t need to. Jol would ask questions in the morning. Amara would ask in her own way—short words with too much feeling in them. Kleya was ready. Not because she had answers. But because she had chosen how to carry the silence forward. And still, she did not feel whole. But she no longer needed to be.

📓 Personal Log: “The Silence I Carry” | Voss, 3621 BBY

"I thought becoming a Master would mean arrival. It hasn’t. It’s meant listening harder—for what’s missing, what’s withheld, what’s feared. Voss echoes more than the Force—it echoes belief. I watched Amara speak to her Padawan with the kind of fire our Masters once tempered. I watched myself hold back—not from fear, but from care. I’m not here to preserve the Order’s past. I’m here to name what it’s avoided. To hold what doesn’t have language yet. And still— that feels like enough."