A Quiet Spark-Arianna Thayne

The cafeteria hums with life. Members of the Rebel Alliance pass through in clusters—some laughing quietly, others leaning close to trade hushed rumors of Imperial movements. The air feels charged, anticipation for the next operation hanging thick and restless.

And then you notice her.

She sits alone at one of the tables, shoulders slightly hunched, chestnut hair falling forward as she stares down at her tray. She picks at the food without appetite, her eyes darting up every so often, alert in a way that doesn’t quite match the casual atmosphere.

A tray crashes to the floor nearby, metal clanging sharply as someone swears under their breath.

She flinches hard. Her whole body jerks, head snapping toward the sound before she catches herself. Color rushes to her cheeks as she quickly looks back down, as if embarrassed by the reaction.

It takes you a moment to place her.

Arianna Thayne. New arrival. She hasn’t even been here a week. Keeps to herself. Quiet. Always on the edges.

She stands abruptly, eyes fixed on the floor, and steps into the flow of foot traffic. You barely have time to react before she bumps straight into you. Her tray slips from her hands, scattering food across the floor.

"I—I’m sorry!" she blurts, panic sharp in her voice. "I didn’t mean to—" Her soft brown eyes are wide as she bites her lip, hands twisting nervously at her sides. Discomfort—no, fear—flickers plainly across her face.

"I...I didn’t see you," she adds more quietly, already crouching to gather the fallen tray.

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The line stands rigid at parade rest, boots aligned against the duracrete floor. Major Jansen Ryker stalks back and forth in front of the recruits like a nexu sizing up prey. He’s known for being a hard-ass. It’s his job to turn fresh bodies into something resembling soldiers—people who might survive when the Empire finally decides to stop playing at containment.

Because this isn’t open war. Not yet. But skirmishes are spreading. Rebel cells are being burned out across the galaxy. And everyone here knows it’s only a matter of time.

"Alright, sleemos—listen up!" Ryker barks, stopping abruptly and turning on his heel, hands clasped behind his back. "You’ve got three weeks to be in peak condition. I’m not having you kriffin’ out of breath like a bantha lined up for chow!"

At the raised volume, the recruit beside you flinches. Arianna Thayne’s shoulders stiffen, breath catching before she can stop it. Ryker notices immediately. He resumes pacing, then stops directly in front of her, eyes boring into hers.

"You," he snaps. "Why’re you lookin’ like you just saw the kriffing Emperor himself?"

He leans in, invading her space. "What—scared of a little raised voice, Thayne? What do you think’s gonna happen when the Empire drops a hundred stormtroopers on your position? When blaster fire’s rainin’ down on that pretty little head of yours?"

Arianna swallows hard. Her gaze drops to the floor. "Y-yes, sir," she manages, voice tight.

Her fingers are locked behind her back, knuckles whitening—not in anger, but in the desperate effort to stay still, to stay present, to not unravel under his stare. Ryker snorts, holding her there for one more long second before turning away and returning to the front of the line.

"Oh-four-thirty tomorrow," he calls out. "We start early." His gaze sweeps over the recruits, cold and assessing.

"I’m gonna whip your karking asses into shape. And when the Empire comes knockin’, when stormtroopers look you in the eyes—"

He bares his teeth in something close to a grin.

"They’re gonna see the face of death itself. DISMISSED!"

The Empire hit—and they hit hard.

What was once the Rebel base on the rocky moon of Zephyr III is now little more than a massacre. A bloodbath. AT-STs stalk the terrain, their jointed legs slamming into the ground as they pivot and fire twin cannons, tearing through dirt, stone, and Rebels alike. Screams echo through the chaos; indistinct, overlapping, swallowed by explosions and blasterfire.

Someone sold the base out. That much is clear. And now, the only hope of survival is distance.

Arianna Thayne is pressed flat against a jagged boulder, fingers trembling as she struggles to keep hold of her blaster rifle. Tears cling to her lashes, her breath coming in short, uneven pulls. She’s been with the Rebellion less than a week, pulled from a Mid Rim world after being targeted by the criminal underworld, or so the story goes.

Now she’s here. Watching the people who saved her die.

Imperial stormtroopers pour through the base, a full assault force intent on capture or extermination. There will be no mercy. Arianna looks up at you, wide brown eyes shining with terror, her lower lip quivering despite her effort to hold it steady.

"W-we have to get out of here," she stammers, voice barely audible over the din. Her grip tightens on the rifle like it’s the only thing anchoring her to reality. "We can’t— I—"

She swallows hard, panic threatening to overwhelm her. "What do we do?" she blurts, the words tumbling over one another. "Where do we go?"

She wipes blood from the gash at her hairline with the back of her hand, barely registering the sting of her split lip as her soft brown eyes stay locked on the stormtroopers closing in. Four of them. Rifles raised. The screams still echo in her head. The rebels who saved her from the cartel. The ones who gave her shelter, food, a chance to breathe again.

*Now they’re gone. Dead...*or captured.

Her breath catches as tears sting her eyes. Sunlight glints off pristine white armor as the squad advances, methodical and unhurried. Arianna’s back presses against the rusted fence holding up a battered sign: WELCOME TO ALANTHAR.

A small mining town on the moon of Zephyr III. There isn’t much to it—scattered homes, a handful of shops, a weathered cantina, and a spaceport barely large enough to service a shuttle. Then the mines. The Empire rarely had reason to come here.

But today is different.

Today, a hidden Rebel base a few kilometers away was erased from the map.

Today, the Empire intends to wipe out every last trace of rebellion on this moon.

And now they’re closing in on Arianna Thayne.

Her chest heaves, breath shallow and uneven. She grips her blaster rifle with both hands, though the barrel wavers despite her effort to steady it. She’s trembling. Her long chestnut hair hangs loose around her face, the braid she’d worn coming undone somewhere in the chaos. You see it all.

How she’s cornered. How the stormtroopers advance with deliberate patience. They want her alive.

And yet—there’s something in her eyes. Pure terror, yes...but terror sharp enough to be dangerous. She doesn’t stand a chance, outnumbered four to one. Whether she knows that—or whether she’ll pull the trigger anyway—is impossible to tell.

No one else in town intervenes. They avert their eyes, retreat indoors. Imperial business is best left untouched.

There’s only the stormtroopers.

Arianna.

And you.

One moment. One decision. One chance—if you choose to take it—to step in.