Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amber and violet streaked across Coruscant’s horizon, gilding the spires of the Jedi Temple.

From her quarters, Avar Kriss watched the city glitter beneath the dusk, pride threading through her unease. Tomorrow she would stand before the Council as a newly minted Jedi Knight—the first of the Firebrands—and the thought set her pulse thrumming.

Her master, Cherff Maota, had recommended her without hesitation, his confidence in her abilities firm and unswerving. Avar trusted his judgment, yet part of her heart still longed for the comfort of shared steps. Every lesson, every trial, every victory had been marked by three sets of footprints—hers, Elzar's, and Stellan's. They had grown like roots entangled, fed by shared ideals, successes, failures, and that bright spark of competition that never dulled. Now, hers would continue ahead, and she feared what growing alone might mean.

She closed her eyes and reached out through the Force, the temple around her resonating with life. The Force sang here, as it did in all places, but Coruscant's song was a layered thing: political discord, a billion thoughts in motion, the deep, solemn presence of the Jedi Order above it all. Each presence nearby sang its distinct melody, and the two strongest, the most familiar, were Elzar Mann and Stellan Gios. Elzar's melody had shifted subtly since she'd shared her news—still warm, but shaded with a minor key, a note of apprehension she longed to soften.

When she opened her eyes again, twilight had deepened, stars beginning their timid appearances above the endless lights of the capital. The traffic lanes buzzed with repulsorlift activity, but even the hum of the city seemed to hush around the moment. Tonight, they were to meet at Tal-Iree’s, a familiar eatery not far from the Temple, tucked down an alley in the Jadeite neighborhood. They’d claimed it as their own back in their early Padawan days. Mismatched chairs, a flickering holosign, and a server who swore Elzar still owed them credits for breaking a caf machine with a Force gesture gone wrong—it was as much a piece of their shared past as the halls of the Jedi Archives.

Elzar had offered to meet Stellan at the spaceport, leaving Avar to walk the familiar route alone. She suspected it was a cover for something, the way Elzar had been evasive in the way only he could be: smiling with his mouth and not his eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered what scheme the two of them were plotting. If it turned out to be dramatic mocking toast with glowing blue beverages and exaggerated speeches, she would book them a dawn‑cycle sparring match with Master Buck—and cheer them on with a steaming cup of caf.

Her boots clicked softly against the duracrete walkway as she descended the Temple steps, the lights of the city brightening as the shadows lengthened. As she weaved through the lower Temple District, her fingers trailed lightly along the smooth stone railings, tracing the same path they had taken many times before. Yet this walk felt different. The anticipation was layered, not only with the promise of good company but the weight of change.

She thought of the trials—how she had passed each one with calm and precision. But it wasn't pride she felt. It was distance. Would she still laugh with them the same way tomorrow, when she was a Knight and they remained Padawans? The trials had refined her focus and deepened her sense of discipline, but they had also begun to set her apart, marking her with a solitude that felt unfamiliar. The Order discouraged attachment, but not connection—not from the Force, and not from one another. Surely not from them.

The Force resonated quietly around her, and she paused at a landing where a speeder zipped overhead, the tailwind rustling her robes. She closed her eyes briefly and reached again through the Force, feeling for the cords that always tied her to Elzar and Stellan. They were moving, distant yet distinct. Elzar's energy was focused and slightly hurried. Stellan's was composed, steady. They were close.

She arrived at the eatery before them, its entrance tucked between two tall buildings and lit by the soft pulsing glow of blue lanterns. She took a seat at their usual table—a corner spot with a view of the street—and exhaled slowly. Her hands rested lightly on the table, fingertips tapping an idle rhythm. She could feel them now, approaching. Her melody resonated gently outward, a pulse of openness.

And then, like the lift of a baton before a symphony, she felt their return through the Force, a familiar harmony that sent warmth flooding through her chest. Their arrival was only moments away.

"Congratulations, soon-to-be Jedi Knight," Stellan announced warmly, arms wide as if presenting a galactic hero. Elzar grinned softly, eyes alight with quiet admiration.

"It's just Avar for tonight," she replied teasingly, stepping aside. "You don't have to start bowing yet."

"Oh, I've been practicing my deferential bows all week," Stellan quipped, sweeping into an exaggerated, courtly dip. "I hope you're prepared."

"If your bowing is anything like your dramatic flourishes, I expect I'll need to dodge to avoid injury," Avar returned, arching a playful eyebrow. "Your lightsaber forms are far too polished for me to mock, unfortunately."

Elzar chuckled softly from behind him, his laughter a warm undertone to the evening. "She’s not wrong."

"Ah, the humility of a Jedi Knight already on display," Stellan retorted dramatically as they sat, gesturing with grandiose flair. "Our noble lady Kriss, poised to ascend."

As they settled into the corner table of the eatery, its scuffed tabletop and flickering candle familiar as the Force itself, Elzar reached into his robe and pulled out a small velvet pouch. A subtle flush colored his cheeks, though his movements were careful, deliberate. Stellan's smile broadened eagerly as Elzar handed the gift to Avar across the table.

"You didn't have to get me anything," she said, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"We didn't," Elzar said. "But we wanted to."

Curious, she opened the pouch and gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise. Nestled inside was a delicate diadem, golden and shimmering gently in the soft light. It was a simple yet elegant circlet, adorned with a single stone at the center—not extravagant, but unmistakably special.

"This is beautiful," she breathed, glancing between Elzar and Stellan with genuine awe. "Though I must admit, I'm not sure it matches my usual 'monastic minimalism' aesthetic."

"We considered your usual approach of understated grace," Elzar murmured with a slight smile, watching her closely. "Then we decided we'd give you something that might challenge your humility."

"Exactly," Stellan nodded enthusiastically. "It's our solemn duty to ensure your ego keeps pace with your newfound status."

"Oh, is that your reasoning?" Avar laughed, her tone light and biting. "And here I thought it was to make sure the Council sees me coming from halfway across Coruscant."

Stellan placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "Only the best for our shining star."

"If you two were any more proud of me, I’d start to suspect I passed my trials just to boost your reputations," she said, placing the diadem gently on the table. "Seriously, thank you. Even if I end up wearing it once and then hiding it in my sock drawer."

"You don't wear socks," Elzar pointed out with a crooked grin. "Socks are about the only thing you don't keep in your top drawer."

Avar shot him a look, amused and unbothered. "That’s because my top drawer is already full—with things more interesting than socks."

Stellan raised an eyebrow. "More interesting than socks? I shudder to think what kind of Jedi contraband that includes. Extra-absorbent meditation mats? Forbidden foot lotion?"

"Among other necessities," Avar said sweetly, then gave Elzar a sidelong glance. "Some of us travel prepared."

Elzar’s smile deepened. "Some of us prepare for more than just travel."

“Then I suppose it belongs next to the emergency ration bars and potassium satchels—always ready, rarely needed,” she said softly, her gaze briefly meeting Elzar's.

Stellan blinked. “Wait, you never wear socks?”

Their laughter mingled easily, familiar and unburdened, a melody of shared history. But Avar caught Elzar's quieter expression as the conversation lulled—his melody rippling softly through her awareness. Warm, supportive, yet tinged with a quiet anxiety she recognized instantly.

She softened her voice. "Truly, it's wonderful. Thank you both."

They ate more than their share, each of them abandoning restraint for the night. Stellan recounted his latest offworld diplomatic mission with dramatic flourishes, while Elzar shared a series of near-misadventures involving a malfunctioning training droid and an overeager initiate. Avar laughed more than she expected to, recounting her trials with a mixture of humility and dry wit. “The Trial of Spirit? Let's just say I ended up arguing with a version of myself that was somehow even more stubborn. Truly terrifying.”

Stellan chuckled, leaning back with confident ease. “And yet here you are. Dignified. Enlightened. Probably glowing.”

"Oh, I'm radiant," she deadpanned, lifting her glass. “Knight Kriss, beacon of serenity and sarcasm.”

Elzar snorted into his cup, then without breaking eye contact, flicked two fingers. The diadem—still resting in its pouch—rose from the table, unwrapped itself midair, and spun once in a delicate arc before landing perfectly atop Avar’s head. The small stone glinted in the candlelight.

Avar blinked. “Subtle.”

“Precision in all things,” Elzar said, lifting his cup.

“Show-off,” Avar muttered, adjusting the diadem with exaggerated primness. “And here I thought I was the one with style.”

Stellan chuckled. “Honestly, it suits you. I was worried Elzar might try it on first.”

“I still might,” Elzar murmured with mock gravity.

“Do it and you’re sparring Master Buck blindfolded tomorrow,” Avar warned.

“Again,” Stellan added with a grin.

Elzar raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Just trying to keep the mood festive.”

“You’ve been suspiciously charming tonight,” Avar said, narrowing her eyes in mock accusation.

Stellan leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “He’s making up for the time he got me stuck on a glacier during Master Gant’s field exercises.”

“You fell through the crust,” Elzar replied, deadpan. “I just didn’t stop it from happening.”

“Exactly,” Stellan said, nodding. “Which is why I’m suspicious of any Force tricks that don’t end with me covered in frostbite.”

They all laughed.

“So, what did the Trial of Insight teach you?” Elzar asked, tipping his head.

“That I need to be more patient,” Avar said, then smirked. “Mostly with you two.”

“I find that lesson universally applicable,” Stellan said with mock solemnity.

“You're not wrong,” Elzar said, smirking. “Patience became my greatest virtue after Stellan’s little kyber‑butter experiment.”

Stellan groaned. “One childhood mishap and I’m branded for life.”

Avar chuckled. “Resident genius or not, that story’s never leaving the archives.”

Their laughter came quick and light, and the conversation flowed on.

But as the laughter ebbed, Elzar rotated his cup a quarter‑turn, then another—fingers worrying the rim while his gaze slipped to the swirling caf inside. When Avar lobbed a light jab his way, his smile answered a heartbeat late, the note of wit just slightly off‑key—enough for her attuned senses to catch the strain beneath.

She kept the mood light, pivoting to a story about her Trial of Courage and a collapsed walkway. But while the words flowed and Stellan chimed in with commentary, Elzar’s Force presence curled inward slightly, like a breath held too long.

He was proud of her. He was happy. But he was afraid too—of change, of distance, of being left behind.

Especially by her.

When the server returned to clear the table, Stellan raised a finger. "We are not leaving without the sticky nut buns. I may be too full to walk straight, but I’ve been away far too long to pass them up."

"You’re not even hungry," Elzar said, raising an eyebrow.

"That’s beside the point," Stellan replied gravely. "Tradition is tradition. Three, please—boxed for takeaway. One for each of us."

Avar rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. When the buns arrived, warm and glossy with syrup and carefully packed into small parchment-lined boxes, the trio exchanged a quiet smile. They wouldn’t eat them here, but they would carry the memory of the evening—and a little sweetness—home with them.

Later, after she’d silenced the bustle of the day, Avar slipped out of her boots, draped her cloak and outer robe over the nearest peg, and gently set the sticky nut bun aside. She paused, then released her belt and lightsaber—tokens of duty. At last, she sank onto her meditation cushion; she set the diadem carefully to the side, considered it a moment and then lifted it and placed it upon her brow. Eyes closing, she reached out through the Force once more. Immediately, familiar melodies entwined with her own—rich, comforting, and seamlessly harmonious.

Stellan's presence was steady, a lighthouse. His pride radiated outward like sunlight, unafraid and unwavering. He believed in her—he always had—but he also believed in himself and Elzar. That belief bound them together as much as her force song ever had.

Elzar's melody, however, resonated differently. It felt deeper and warmer, tinged with subtle hesitation and a strange intensity she hadn't heard before. She lingered there, holding onto that quiet frequency, trying to reassure him silently. She wanted him to know she wasn’t leaving them behind, wasn’t vanishing into some pedestal the Order was about to place her on.

His melody responded to hers with a low vibration, then rose slightly in pitch, like anticipation thrumming on a string. He was close.

She felt his presence draw near, his anticipation blooming into a steady beat. a tender vibration that deepened into a resonant chord—each note laden with unspoken promise. She turned her head just as his presence reached her door, sensing his hand poised to knock. She reached out with the Force, sliding the door open gently, welcoming him inside.

She did not speak. She simply looked at him, her gaze warm and unwavering. In that silence, her Force-song and his vast ocean merged, flooding her with a bliss so intense it felt both exhilarating and selfish. Together, they drew too deeply from the Well of the Force or had yet to fully surrender to it.

And yet, even as that moment stretched between them, Avar knew it would be the last. The last time she let herself go so easily in his presence, the last time she allowed that line between what was allowed and what was wanted to blur. Tonight, though, she would share that nut bun—one last taste of sweetness

Chapter Text

In the quiet sanctuary of his quarters, Stellan Gios stood motionless by the tall window that overlooked the city. The Temple’s great spires framed the distant lights like sentinels, unmoved by the passage of day into night. He had dimmed the overhead glow, letting the city’s eternal twilight filter in instead—muted and hazy, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

His hands were clasped behind his back, posture immaculate, but his thoughts wandered unevenly, tangled in chords of tension he couldn’t untune.

Earlier, he had felt it—the connection flaring bright between the three of them, harmonized through the Force like a constellation briefly aligned. It had warmed him, even comforted him, for a time.

But then the bond had shifted. Their melody thinned, realigned—and left him.

Now, in the silence of his quarters, he felt what they thought he could not. A magnetic pull in the Force. Familiar presences spiraling around each other, too close, too fast.

Not harmony.

Binary stars—dense and spinning, caught in each other's orbit, collapsing inward even as they fed the fire between them.

Avar.

Elzar.

He felt their presences intimately—entwined in something raw and private. The Force did not lie. It hummed with the rhythm of hands held too long, thoughts shared too freely, longing buried and unburied again. And this—this moment—was unmistakably intimate.

His eyes fluttered shut.

He had always known. Not from words, but from the Force itself—from the gravity of them. The way Elzar’s whole self tilted toward Avar when she entered the room. The lightness in Avar’s presence when she stood close to Elzar.

He told himself it was their business. That Jedi were meant to love without possession. That he trusted them. That he wasn’t supposed to ask.

But the truth was heavier.

He had cut himself out because he didn’t know what to do with how he felt.

Because he wasn’t sure who he envied more.

Avar, with her clarity and impossible light.

Elzar, with his wild intensity and untamed heart.

He didn’t know which of them he was more drawn to—or which one he wanted to be.

So he had played the steady one. The good one. The outer star.

Still, listening now, feeling the collision of their souls humming through the galaxy like collapsing suns, he couldn’t ignore the ache.

Not jealousy.

Just distance.

He drew in a slow breath, letting it whisper into the gloom; beyond the transparisteel, Coruscant’s lattice of lights throbbed.

He would not intrude.

He would honour their joy. Whatever form it took.

He would bear his place in the symphony.

He stood unmoving, listening as their melodies intertwined. A part of him, raw and yearning beneath his disciplined facade, longed to step into that harmony—to risk collision rather than drift endlessly alone.

Chapter Text

In the quiet darkness of her quarters, Elzar licked the last sweet taste of nut bun from her fingertips, smiling faintly at the memory of Avar’s playful challenge. She lay next to him, her breathing settling gently, skin warm against his own.

He leaned in and cupped her face. His hand touched the small of her back. Their lips met—a current he let himself fall into. To him, the Force had always been an ocean. Infinite. Saline. Alive. Not a tidal wave. Not a storm. Just immersion. Slipping into intimacy with Avar felt like easing into a heated pool—immediate, comfortable, enveloping. He moved against her again, slow and deliberate, their rhythms pulsing. For Elzar, there was no complexity, only clarity: Every single part of him knew what he wanted.

After, as their skin cooled and the tide ebbed, he looked over at her. She was still beside him—close, warm—but her gaze had drifted far, fixed on some silent horizon only she could see. 

For a breath, he saw another face—not Avar's, but a young girl from long ago, standing on a jetty beneath a violet sky, eyes swollen, her hand letting his slip away. The memory rose and fell like a ripple, vanishing before he could hold it. 

And in that moment, Elzar knew.