In the absence of Theron, there was only silence. To call it awkward wouldn't be accurate, the pair simply had nothing to say. Nothing to say to each other, or to themselves that might make light or salvage the situation. It had been inevitable, but it hurt all the same for reasons that were both different and alike. 

Satele moved first, and Jace allowed her the escape of a few steps of space before following her. Anyone else, well, maybe apart from those Jedi who could sense such things, might not note the change to Satele. It wasn't just from this momentary clash, it was something she'd been carrying this entire time. Theron, if anything, had given her a momentary outlet, a new reason. It was some time before she spoke. Perhaps she was away with her thoughts and hadn't noticed him, or perhaps it had taken her this long to remember his presence wasn't normal anymore.

"Non-Force Sen--"

"Satele, I'm going with you."

"Jace, it's not a matter of-"

"Unless you're going to push me away and bury 'me' under a mountain, I'm going."

He was determined, but not to the point of cornering her, keeping the distance he had maintained throughout their short walk from the meeting chamber. Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment, as if she might really be considering it. He hadn't truly been joking either. She didn't visibly give in, but she turned to carry on walking and he didn't immediately feel a wall of force preventing him from proceeding. 

There was a time when the Jedi Order had been fitted with the finest the Republic Civilian and Military industries could provide, but since the growing rift between the Senate and the Order, no doubt fueled by some of his predecessors, those days had passed. The shuttles that ferried individuals down to the surface were, of course, serviceable, but Jace certainly noted that certain military stations had received substantial upgrades in recent years.

[i]Yet more divides to mend[/i]

The craft moved easily through the void of space, and Jace used the time to study the view, at least, something that wasn't Satele. He had seen images of Tython, Satele had also described it to him before, even from a vision she once had, before they had even known the place existed. This was not the sight that greeted him. The craft descended towards a world clearly in the throes of trauma. The skies were a swirling mass of storms, some in colours he had rarely seen in weather patterns before. He exhaled steadily, a few moments of apprehension before the adrenaline came rushing in to replace it. He turned to face Satele again and found her eyes on him. Their eyes locked for several long moments, and they saw the same in each other. The thrill. It never went away.

The moment passed and in the next moment, it felt like the entire weight of a world slammed into the small shuttle craft. The pilot, no doubt a skilled Jedi or attache to the order, manoeuvred the craft as best they could, no doubt better than most pilots in the galaxy could, but they could not shield their passengers from the storm. Jace watched the view again, and from what little bearing he could make as they hit the atmosphere and thus the storms, they were thrown about like a ragdoll. Powerful thrusters strained and failed to account for the force of the storm, at one point, they were even moving backwards. The shuttle groaned in such a way that revealed the shielding had failed to entirely account for the storm, it was beginning to physically pull at the craft. Jace knitted his fingers together and looked forwards, studying the far side of the craft. His form tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. A powerful man, in terms of physicality, ability and politics, he did not enjoy such situations where he could not be a part of the solution. Instead, he resorted to his own form of meditation, awaiting the moment he could spring into action in some way or another.

This meditation consisted of assembling his combat armour, loaded into the compartment with him. Each segment was slotted into place over his body, forming the protective shell a piece at a time. The white and orange plate, known the Galaxy over, gradually taking form. It could be done faster, or with aid, but there was a slight ritual to the way he did so, when he had the time, that helped focused the thrill-seeking element of his mind into a useful tool. Once the set was complete, he sat back down, still holding his helmet. Then, he waited.

In the end, the moment didn't come. The craft touched down with a thump that, after the storm, barely registered for those within. The craft's landing doors opened and the interior was immediately assailed with the force of the wind. Jace stood and pressed his helm over his features all in the same motion. He didn't know if the Jedi had some trick against the storm, but he did not, besides, the armour provided some further sense of command. He looked towards Satele, nodding to her.

"Lead on."