Dajorra System, Selen The Citadel, Upper Courtyard Pre Dawn
It was darkish, the sun had yet to rise, yet the sky had begun to lighten already. The dew had settled and all was empty in this quiet corner of the old Citadel Arconae. Fully enclosed by old stately buildings that once held the private library of the old masters of the citadel, although a Neti had supposedly recently encroached and claimed these areas to store items collected over his long life.
All was silent, the two trees in the courtyard stood seemingly primed to greet the sun and bask in its radiance.
He was eagerly awaiting the coming light, having removed a few interior walls from some of the surrounding buildings. Certain windows had been replaced with coloured glass as well, the kaleidoscope would be quite pleasing to the Neti. He’d finally answer an age old question, do color frequencies of light have different flavors for creatures dependent on photosynthesis? He’d been away for so long, the Chamber put quite a few demands on his time. Maybe he’d have to arrange a vacation to the jungles of Arconae Primus soon?
Yet, he was also wary. A darkness, no more a shadow, had recently entered the range of his immaterial senses. He’d responded by hiding his light under a blanket of darkness, carefully attuned to match the approaching sensation. Hopefully this dark sider would be here for something that was unlikely to allow them to notice casting a second shadow in the Force…
Ruka had decided on coming to the courtyard to enjoy some time up in his favorite tree for his morning meditation. His obligatory guard lingered back in the doorways to one of the grand halls, and his husband was still going to be ‘putting on his face’ for the day for a little while yet. With Socorra raising her newborn these days, aside from the distant guards, he actually got to have some relative solitude among the leaves again when his thoughts were troubled. And they never weren’t troubled, as Proconsul.
His calm demeanor was, of course, shattered quickly by two facts: first and most importantly, an unfamiliar and strong presence of the Dark Side bloomed in the courtyard. Secondly, distractingly, there was a tree there. And not one of the tiny trimmed ones or the enormous grand oak that had been his destination, the courtyard’s own sentinel tree. No, this was just– a whole ass random new tree.
Overnight.
What in the frang under Ashla and Bogan? the Mirialan thought, and his hand extended, instinctively calling for a lightsaber that wasn’t on his hip. He didn’t have any weapons on him, wasn’t in his armor. He was in a hoodie zipped to the throat and soft training robes for his dawn exercises.
Ruka seriously debated calling the guards over right that second, alerting the Citadel. But he worried what a presence like this could do to them. Even the Summit Guard could be wiped out by a Force User this strong.
Jaw locking, the Mirialan strode forward on soft, silent steps in the grass, stretching out his senses, waiting, tense.
They’d had a meteor crash and start growing evil crystal cities before. Was it possible to do the same with a tree? Some cancerous Dark thing? A distraction? Was he under the influence of an illusion?
‘Hmm, noticed me that fast did you?’ A deep voice, seemingly weathered under an eternity, echoed silently throughout the clearing. The psychic wave barely strong enough to reach beyond the courtyard, yet covered in so many layers of meaning. Mainly though, a deep level of amusement at the startled Mirialan.
Ruka tensed even further at the voice permeating his mind. Amused at that. He scowled further, and not wanting to waste his concentration on telepathically replying, spoke aloud, just a murmur.
“I don’t recognize you. Who are you? What do you want here?” he demanded. “Are you Arconan?”
He’d read and memorized every name on the roster backwards and sideways by now for his Proconsulship, but there were still several names he’d never put to faces beyond holos attached to dossiers, if available.
The amusement seemed to grow as the presence appeared to know what must be going through the Sith’s mind, ‘Hmmrph, such impatience… take your time young one… Center… yourself… Does the Force flow through you, or do you flow through it?’
Slowly the old Jedi started to recall his time with the Dagoyan cult. Maybe a few meditation lessons would be needed here?
“Asking about philosophy isn’t gonna make me less suspicious of you not answering or tell me whether or not you’re a threat to us, ay. I ain’t playing games. Who are you? Consider that an order from your Proconsul, if you are Arconan.” Amethyst eyes darted around, narrowing again at the tree. Some hell of a prank. “You wanna talk, we can start there.”
‘Hmm, should that not be an order from my Shadow Scion? Very well then, never let it be said I do not obey.’ In a flash the techniques he’d been using to disguise himself in the Force faded away. He hoped the Sith had not been peering into the shadowy darkness too deeply as it suddenly rippled and was partially shredded in a blast of warm light, as if to say here I am.
The Mirialan inhaled sharply, a repressed gasp, mouth falling open. It wasn’t physically blinding, have that rot to look forward to though he did; it was more akin to being freezing cold and suddenly dunked in a warm bath.
He didn’t stand down entirely; a strong Light-Sider didn’t mean no threat. Time had proven that again and again to him. His first encounters with the Jedi were of Master Ta'var’s speeches of eradicating or imprisoning anyone who used the Dark Side, back in the Praxeum, back when those schisms were still very real.
But he did ease a little, if only due to the familiarity of the Light beside him, in his husband. In others.
Unless…if the first projection was a trick, could this be?
Ruka’s tumultuous thoughts and suspicions were highly obvious. He was not one to relax. He looked again to that tree and frowned at it.
Never let it be said that I do not obey.
His skin crawled. Nobody needed to be obeying him. But…
“Is this the real you, then?” he asked. And then, deciding maybe offering something would get him something, “I’m Ruka. Ruka Tenbriss Ya-ir. And you’re what? Sith? Jedi? One of the old Arconae?” He rifled through those files in his memory. There were only so many he’d never met as yet. “Ay…Timeros? Strategos?”
Some other -os?
‘Oh… my… how strange that my light imbued you with anxiety… Timeros, Strategos, … I remember those names… though I was lessened then. The dark place, the madspace… It has a way of grabbing hold, inducing a sense of power masked in euphoria while it takes… takes… takes… what it can away.’ a saddened wisdom seemed to imbue the presence as millennia of grief rose before quickly being balanced by millenia of happiness and released into the Force.
‘I sense parts of familiarity in you. Yet they feel off somewhat… tell me, were you a Jedi ever?’ the voice inquired as the area was buffeted in an air of curiosity.
Ruka was starting to get the sense that whoever this was, they might indeed be Arconan, and they were old. It was somewhat frightening, to feel the age in those emotions.
But also, somewhat…grounding? Like being in an ancient forest, like Kashyyyk or some of the crystal caves of Illum. Like the stone, or the ocean.
“You sound like an addict,” he commented at last, choosing the part easiest to address in that ramble. And Force knew that he knew addicts. That he knew the danger of the Dark. He walked that line and refused to fall to it like his mama had her booze. “Maybe a former one.”
The Mirialan paced the grasses, until he could settle down with his back to the sentinel oak, folded in a lotus pose.
“I first learned about the Force with some Jedi, but it wasn’t…for me. The Light never answered me when I reached for it. But the Dark did. It’s like I was made for it.” He sighed out, closing his eyes, inhaled slow. “My husband is strong in the Light. Maybe you feel that. I might use the Dark but I’m not some monster. I just want to protect people, help them. I hate hurting anyone…seems like that’s all I’m good for though, with my powers. Fighting. I’m still coming to terms with the fact.”