The sun hovered low as Kiani emerged from the low hills, the hem of her flared leather pants dusted in ochre, her braids loosened slightly by wind, but her face—paint intact, gaze steady—felt heavier than it had before.

She said nothing.

She didn't need to.

The Force around the Grove shifted, subtle and reverent—like something old had brushed past the trees. Conversations stilled. Meditation circles paused mid-breath. Even the animals hushed, as though recognizing the rhythm of something that had gone too deep beneath the soil to remain quiet.

Mivaal turned before she saw her. Her eyes narrowed—not with distrust, but inquiry laced with expectation. She had felt the moment of emergence. So had others. A few Jedi were already drifting toward the clearing, drawn by something they couldn't explain.

Quinn was at the edge of the stream, crouched in quiet observation of the water—until his shoulders tensed. He looked up. Stood.

Kiani stepped between tree and sky and entered the Grove like a storm cloud on legs—not dramatic, not loud, but electrically full of something. Not power, exactly. Direction.

Quinn moved first, but he didn't run. He walked—deliberate, heart in his throat—and when he reached her, he saw what no one else yet noticed:

The concern in her eyes.

Not dread. Not fear.

Concern for what must now begin.

"You saw something," he said quietly.

She nodded once.

"It wasn't just about me."

Behind them, Mivaal was already gathering the others—silent, graceful, certain. The leaders of the Grove would soon assemble beneath the singing stones that had once stood only as memorial. Now... they would listen.

Kiani sat cross-legged beneath the twilight-colored canopy, her bare feet pressing softly into the moss-veiled stone. Mivaal Khess stood nearby, arms loosely folded, while Quinn knelt beside her, close but silent, as though afraid that even the cadence of breath might interrupt the vision she now carried.

Kiani finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

"The cave... it didn't show me answers. It gave me resonance. Echoes layered in breath and fire."

Mivaal said nothing, waiting.

"There is a prophecy—carved not into words, but rhythm. It spoke of fracture... a child of extinction. One who would not walk between Order and Chaos, but through them. Who would reshape the Force without asking permission."

She swallowed—just once—and looked up.

"I don't know if it's me. Or if I'm just the one remembering it."

Mivaal stepped closer, one footfall at a time, gaze deep with something between concern and recognition.

"Truth doesn't always arrive to claim you. Sometimes it waits to see if you can hold it without breaking."

Kiani exhaled.

"I need time. Not to avoid the vision—but to listen to it."

"Time you shall have," Mivaal said, nodding.

She turned, speaking not to Kiani now, but into the air—her voice rising with measured command.

"Rovnak. Vallyn. You'll remain here. Continue your work in the Grove. Keep its pulse steady. If any Remnant delegates arrive, stall them without sparking conflict."

A rustle signaled Rovnak's low grunt of acknowledgment, followed by Vallyn's softer reply, laced with suspicion and curiosity both.

Mivaal's voice softened once more.

"Ashla stays, too. She's grounded and still learning, but her presence centers and her loyalty... is no longer in question."

From beneath a leaning stone formation, Ashla emerged silently, already nodding as if she'd heard it all. She offered a small, reassuring smile to Kiani. No words. Just shared breath.

Mivaal looked back at the three of them—then to Kiani and Quinn together.

"You asked for time to contemplate, Padawan of As'Kani. I am giving you soil. Protect it."

Then she turned and was gone into the misted trees, her robes folding into the shadows like a whisper unfinished.

Kiani remained where she was, Quinn beside her.

And the Grove... began to listen.

The shuttle sealed behind him with a low hiss, muffling Dantooine's winds beneath polymer alloy and encrypted shielding. Inside, amber lights glowed against control panels tuned to Remnant frequencies.

Maxim Scragg, intelligence operative with Imperial Remnant clearance, didn't turn as Davva Vanstra stepped aboard. He simply spoke, voice crisp, fingers dancing across surveillance feeds.

"You got the data on the girl? And the ones around her?"

Vanstra adjusted his deep plum robes, sigils of the Healing Tower stitched into the collar like veins.

"I did. I gathered it myself."

Scragg snorted. "Your mother sends you for recon now?"

"She didn't send me," Vanstra said quietly. "She doesn't know I came."

The operative turned then, one brow raised, face shifting from skepticism to something warier.

"You came as a Jedi?"

Vanstra stepped forward and placed a small, crystal data core onto the console. "I came as a Vanstra. The distinction is... fluid."

He gazed out the viewport as the shuttle lifted, stars unfurling across a velvet sky.

"Kiani is more than unique. She's a convergence point. Her Force signature resonates outside known patterns—even our most attuned healers noticed her aura vibrated with the environment, not against it."

Scragg adjusted the sensor dampeners. "And you think the prophecy's linked to her?"

Vanstra looked down, then leaned in, voice cold with clarity.

"She is the living threshold. Her lineage binds rhythm to instinct. If shaped correctly... her bloodline joined with ours would create a Force wielder unmeasured in galactic history."

Scragg was silent. The shuttle's engines pulsed. Finally, he spoke.

"She doesn't know this, does she?"

Vanstra smiled, faintly.

"She doesn't need to. Not yet."

He turned to the sealed transmission feed.

"Make no record. No logs. We bring this to General Davao in person. No one else sees it—especially not the Order. The Healing Tower must remain neutral. My presence here cannot be known."

Scragg adjusted the flight tag to mask Jedi routing.

"Understood."

The shuttle vanished into silent orbit—carrying a secret watched only by stars.