The rear cabin of the Sovereign Echo was dim, lit only by the lattice of hyperspace ribbons flickering past the viewport. Ashla sat curled into the corner bunk, knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on the ridge between them. Her montrals cast long shadows against the wall, the usual rhythm of her rest stilled by thoughts she hadn't yet dared voice.

Mivaal Khess stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. She didn't sit—yet. Just observed quietly, her silhouette tall and calm in the shifting light.

"You have something to say," Khess murmured—not unkind, not coaxing. Just truth in passing.

Ashla didn't answer right away.

But after a long breath, she spoke without looking. "There are rumbles. In the Temple. Among Padawans. Knights. Even the ones who cook our food and sweep the training halls."

Khess folded her arms, her stance steady.

Ashla continued, her voice lower now. "Some think Kiani was dangerous. Too bold. Too loud. Some think she's a symbol. Something to follow. Some are just... scared. Like the Code isn't enough anymore if she's right."

She finally turned her eyes up to meet her Master's. They were wet but unshed.

"I just don't get it. Why her? Why does someone like Kiani—a genuine soul, someone brilliant, kind, open—draw so much disdain?"

Khess sat slowly across from her, eyes unreadable but full. "Because she's the truth. And truth makes liars ache."

Ashla blinked.

Khess continued. "The Temple is a place of peace, yes. But it's also a place of architecture—rituals, ranks, tradition. You introduce someone like Kiani into that frame... and the cracks start to hum. Not because she's reckless. Not because she's wrong. But because she asks."

"She asks too much," Ashla whispered.

"She asks exactly enough," Khess countered. "But too many of us forgot how to answer. It's easier to dismiss the questioner than to rewire the lesson."

Ashla sank a little deeper into her arms. "Sometimes I think I wouldn't last either if I weren't quiet. If I weren't... safe."

Khess smiled—not soft, but proud. "Then you wouldn't be here. And I wouldn't be teaching."

The silence that followed was gentler.

And then Khess added: "They'll say Kiani disrupted harmony. But that's just another way to say she made them feel something. And the first feeling is always discomfort. But it's not the last."

Ashla finally unfolded, legs stretching out slowly, breath easing. "She's still Si'Sika to me. Always will be."

Khess nodded, gaze distant now—perhaps seeing a young Kiani once asking questions that made her uncomfortable too. "Good. Because soon, the Temple may need voices like yours to remind them what real Jedi feel like."

Khess let the quiet settle around them, the soft thrum of hyperspace like breath between hearts.

Ashla didn't look up right away. Her voice came folded into her knees. "I think part of why Solari despises her is because she makes people feel like they matter."

Khess remained still, listening.

Ashla shifted slightly, unfurling her arms. "I've felt it too—small. Like I take up too much space by existing in the wrong rhythm. Like if I don't bow deep enough or quote the Code fast enough, I'm ornamental. Vrenn once told me I smiled too much in meditation."

She chuckled dryly, but there was no humor in it. "They make you shrink—Solari, Vrenn, the ones like them. Not by barking. By precision. A look too long, a correction too sharp. They don't wound with weapons. They use doubt like a scalpel."

Khess's eyes narrowed slightly—not from anger, but from memory. She knew exactly the tone Ashla meant.

"But Kiani..." Ashla's throat caught. "She never asked me to be smaller. She made me feel like I could expand. Not to impress her. Just to be whole near her. Like if I was willing to try, really try—she'd meet me there."

Her voice thickened. "She doesn't hover. She doesn't shine so bright that she burns people away. She stands beside you, and just... radiates. It's like she's sunlight for whatever's inside you that wants to grow. And people bloom, Master. They bloom."

Khess's breath caught—not visibly, but in the subtle way her posture softened. She had seen it too.

Ashla went on, barely louder than the engine pulse beneath their feet. "And maybe that's what scares the ones who spent their lives climbing statues built from posture. Kiani doesn't ask to be above anyone. And somehow, that makes them feel like they've already lost."

Khess leaned forward then, one hand resting lightly on the edge of Ashla's bunk. "You know why what you just said matters?"

Ashla looked up, uncertain.

Khess's voice was clear now, unflinching. "Because Kiani may be the storm on the horizon—but you, Ashla... you're the air that shifts before it breaks. And that shift is how we survive what comes after."

Ashla wiped at one eye. "So... I stay beside her?"

Khess smiled gently. "You already are."