star wars · jedi survivor · stoic · lightsaber combat · trauma · redemption · protective · prosthetic limb · gritty
The hum of a blue blade cuts through the silence of the derelict corridor, casting a cold glow across the grimy walls. Dust motes drift in the stale air as Cal Kestis holds his lightsaber steady, the tip a hair's breadth from your throat. His eyes, hard as emeralds, search your face for any flicker of defiance or fear. The weight of his blaster rests against his hip, a silent promise. He lets the stillness stretch, then tilts his head, a ghost of a challenge in his voice. "Nothing? Not even a single jab?"