Mihoshi walked through the corridors of the Praxeum and its adjoined temple, the soft light of early morning filling the corridors instead of the harsh overheads used at night to make sure those who scurried during the darkness from falling flat on their faces. As she walked, the small woman collected a small gathering of the students, a mixture of many different races all chattering softly to the softly smiling woman. She responded in kind to each query from the younglings as they walked the halls.
“Master Keibatsu, did you hear about…?”
“Master Keibatsu, what about…?”
To each child, she gave answers in her soft, lyrical voice. “Of course, I have, children. Did you think Councillor Haku would miss anything that goes on around our home?”
Several children giggled and shook their heads. The effect the half-Arkanian had on he children was actually heartwarming. she, herself, found the man to be off-putting, secretive and more than a little smugly full of himself. The few meetings they had had since she was asked to lead the noble house Sunrider had been…well, not disastrous, but not very useful. Only time would help the mistrusting Keibatsu unravel the mystery surrounding him.
The small woman turned and faced her charges, crouching down to be closer to their level. “You should be more interested in having breakfast than gossiping with an old woman like me.” Her voice carried a mock seriousness the children had gotten used to months before.
A chorus of voices and giggles telling Miho that she wasn’t old and she was more like their sister than their Master. With a huff, she shooed them away. “Impertinent chits. The lot of you. Begone from me before you further disrupt my dreadful concentration!”
She watched them scamper off to breakfast laughing, a smile on her lips as she remembered her own childhood. Happy and bitter were those memories. Memories best left buried by her assumption. Miho turned to continue her journey, whistling a rhythmless tune.
“Master Keibatsu,” Vorsa’s rumbling yet feminine tone echoed through the corridor as she stepped into it. Miho paused and turned, facing the ancient Jedi with a surprised, yet delighted expression. Vorsa had been in space on mission for the Temple for a few years, training her padawan. Larun followed her Master closely in step and bowed to Mihoshi in respect.
“Master Vorsa!” Miho bowed. “Welcome back. It is good to see you.”
“Thank you, I am gladdened to see you are well,” Vorsa replied with a smile as the trio gathered.
“How long have you been back?” Miho’s question came out rather too quickly, but Vorsa’s replyput her at ease.
“We returned only for the day to resupply. Until that time, I am bound for the Palace on some other matters. However, I do have a request, if I may. This little one…” she waved her open palm in Larun’s direction, “…requires some additional training that I may not be able provide.” The pause that followed bordered on the uncomfortable as Miho looked over the Miraluka Padawan who seemed to shy away from her gaze.
Vorsa continued, “she has never faced a red lightsaber, nor an opponent who has mastered one. It is presumptuous of me to to ask, but I would have her train with you for the day, if you will allow it. It will be a valuable lesson.”
A flash of something - sadness? - there and gone again before the smile returned to her face with a nod. “Mine is perhaps not a total mastery, but I have not lost control in many years. Not since…”
She shook her head with another dazzling smile. Everyone had those memories that haunted them and the Human was no different. She would need to find her center again before she could fight with a clear heart.
Violet eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked at the padawan. “I would be pleased to assist you today. The pitfalls and dangers are not easily known, but those who know the way can help you avoid them.”
Miho looked from the Neti to the Miraluka, her thoughts resting on the Padawan. She wondered almost idly if something more had given the venerable Jedi a manner of concern. She brushed the thought away, hers was a position of teaching, not fostering. She held a hand out to Larun with a smile. “I still have some more rounds to do to check on the younglings, but you are welcome to join me while Master Vorsa attends to her own business and I can answer any questions you might have and we’ll follow up with a practical lesson later in the day when the training rooms are mostly empty except for the older students.”
Miho looked at Vorsa, her eyes happy to do this bit of service for the Neti. “Would that fit your plans, Master Vorsa? She can see how life here is for a time and then we can spar a bit.”
The raven-haired woman stopped and thought for a moment. “I can’t very well call you little one, now can I? How are you called?”
Waza shuffled about in his classroom for the day, his defense of the dark arts class usually left him with several hours of meditation time as he rarely had students. Since Wenet had been promoted, her responsibilities had changed and she was occupied recently on other duties. As Waza settled in to begin his meditations, he saw Master Keibatsu and her gaggle of students in the hall. Watching the interaction and smiling as she shewed the children away.
Waza turned his attention away as another Jedi Master approached.
“Hey watch out!” A voice called out as the group of children walked down the corridors towards their breakfast. A moment later a small Kushiban appeared. Her nose wrinkled and her ears flattened in slight annoyance. She was carrying a book that she was supposed to return to the library before the younglings almost knocked her of her feet. She sighed and shook her head as she watched the children giggling down the hallway before continuing her own errand. “Well Wenet, why don’t you take a Padawan of your own” she mutterd to herself, “I’d rather face an undead Rancor” she added still talking to herself.
It was true, after her promotion everyone seemed to expect she would take a Padawan to train but Wenet didn’t feel ready. Truth was, she still felt she was a Padawan herself, inexperienced and lacking knowledge. It’s why she spend a lot of time reading, despite thinking it was very boring to do so. She’d rather be off galavanting the galaxy, learning in the field..
Vorsa bowed to Miho in acceptance and reached out to Larun through the Force, reassuring the young girl. Remember your training.
The Miraluka nodded and turned to her teacher for the day. “My name is Larun, Master Keibatsu, Larun Pamril.” They saw Vorsa excuse herself and walk down the corridors towards her ship, the Mediator, brown strands of woodland hair trailing in her wake.
Though she had been in the Jedi Praxeum many times, and even spent several years in school here when she was younger, Larun still reached out with the Force to sense every unfamiliar person around her. Miho could sense the apprehension in the young girl. She was taking in her environment, and the people a lot more than she wanted. Worry painted across Larun’s features as she recalled her training and controlled her power, balancing herself on her Master’s teachings.
There was power there, but also empathy, and overwhelming compassion: feelings that could overwhelm even Jedi Masters when controlled poorly, and this girl had trained many, many days without end just for as simple a moment as this — socialization, interacting with her fellow Jedi on an equal footing. It was not just that Vorsa wanted Larun to train with a saber or face a dangerous opponent, Miho understood, it was that the girl needed to find her limits without Vorsa there to help.
“I will follow your lead, Master,” Larun added as she snapped herself out of her inner struggle. “I’m eager to learn.”
The Human smiled gently and nodded at the Miraluka. “A pleasure to meet you, Larun. Let’s be on our way then, shall we?” With that, the small woman took off at a brisk, but leisurely pace, smiling at the different people milling about the hallways. She shook her head at the poor beleaguered Kushiban, who seemed to be forever overlooked by the other students but never the Masters.
A gesture. “That one is Wenet. An apt pupil and someone who wants nothing more than to explore the galaxy. Curious little thing and that curiosity will take her as far as she wills it.” A slight nod from the Padawan at her side. “Curiosity is a fine thing, of course. But, we must also be wary of letting it take us farther than we are truly ready to handle, hm?”
Miho nodded to Waza as they passed the classroom. The older man was beginning his meditations and nodded in return before closing his eyes. “I am sure you know most of the instructors already and no few of the students.” She stopped before one of the classrooms filled with young faces and stepped just inside the door. “Each one of them will become someone else one day, the fires of the future burning away all but the most basic vestiges of childhood and who they are now. Some will be tempered, some will be broken and reformed into something new. And then they, too, will go on to train others who will suffer the same fate.”
The small woman smiled at Larun and shrugged. “Perhaps I see it differently than the others ever will. But, I think it is a nice imagery. The future is the hammer, the present the anvil and the past is the slag left behind as we become something beautiful.”
She laughed softly and covered her mouth as the students and instructor turned towards her. “Do not mind us, children. Simply lost in my own thoughts. Study hard for us, yes?”
A chorus of voices followed the woman and Padawan from the room. “Whoops.” She said with a devious little smile. “I try not to disrupt the lessons any more than I must.”
Though the woman seemed to carry the status of Master, her idle roaming seemed to be more in line with someone who never set foot in one with the intent to teach. Miho smiled as she continued her rambling journey. “So tell me, Larun. Where did Master Vorsa find you? Were you a wild child that she simply could not refuse? As great and powerful as she is, I’m sure it is easy to feel yourself trapped beneath the weight even her shadow can cast, hm?”
An exuberant flood of students would rush the hallways, their excited shouts and conversations carried throughout the vaulted ceilings, a reminder of the joys of youth. The light for which Odan-Urr fought. A gentle tapping followed after them, while shouts down the hall ahead of them in the courtyard began telling the children to form up and inspect their lightsabers.
An overly intricate cane, in truth the newly appointed High Councilor’s saberpike, prodded the back of Mihoshi’s knee as the man brought himself up to pace with his own wayward student and Vorsa’s newest Padawan, a thin smile played on the half-Arkanian’s face as he made eye contact with the pair, his silver and green eyes investigating them for but a moment before he spoke.
“When did you become so contemplative, Mihoshi? Voicing your thoughts is very much unlike you.” He spoke, half in jest, leaning against his cane as he walked in pace with them.
He had tended to the younglings moments earlier, having just relinquished them to one of the weapons masters whereupon they flooded the hall. His tangle of argent hair tied behind him in a loose bun, he tilted his head to the side causing curls to fall loose, as he addressed Larun.
His eyes focused on the young Miralukan woman, her freckles, and the intricate face covering. His smile beamed a little brighter.
“So, Vorsa has left you in charge of her young one, then, Miho?”
Mihoshi laughed softly at her master and shrugged. “Perhaps I am being a bit philosophical this morning, Master Haku.” She gestured to Larun and nodded slightly. “Larun has been left to study with me for the day while Master Vorsa attends to business at the Palace. She asked me to face her Padawan with the red to give her understanding of it.”
The smaller woman kept pace with the half-Arkanian easily - or perhaps it was the other way around - as she continued her journey. “I was not expecting to find you until this afternoon, Master Haku. You are supposed to be teaching classes all morning.”
Masahiro grinned as the sound of his saberpike clacked against the tiles as they walked. “Some days I think you know my schedule better than I do, Miho. No, I let them out early. Children are only children once.”
Miho raised an eyebrow at her Master with a grin. “And now who is being uncharacteristic, Master? Usually you only show such kindness to the older students. What was it you said about the younglings? That they need more focus in their lives?”
Under the trees, outside of the temple, was an unique pair of a Firrerreo and a Narglatch. The Firrerreo’s belly looked odd as if there was something stuffed underneath the robes.
“Now, wait-hold up- Bafforr!” Lulaire groaned as she tried to pushed Bafforr, her shoulder ran into Baffor’s shoulder with another thunk.
Bafforr didn’t move an inch. Lulaire sighed as she straightened herself and patted her friend on the shoulder.
“A'right, a'right. Fine. Ya can stay right on here.” Bafforr closed it’s eyes, pleased to stay in the shade in the grassy mountains. It was a change of climate from Selen. Lulaire was going to walk away from Bafforr until she felt something holding her robes and keeping her back. She turned to look at Bafforr.
“Hey now, what got in ya- oh.” Lulaire went to Bafforr’s side and started to unhook the saddle and removed it to place it on the grass by the Narglatch. Bafforr then plopped onto it’s side and started to roll on the grass. Lulaire smiled at her companion before she started to make her way to the elegant temple.
Meanwhile..
Still muttering to herself, Wenet walked down the corridors. She was on her way to the library still. But as she passed one of the class rooms she noticed Waza. Instead of going to library she decided to greet the old man as it had been quite some time since they last spoke..
Wenet cleared her throat to get his attention. “Greetings” she said trying to sound more like Knight and less like a padawan. It didn’t last long, as she immediately let out her usual awkward giggle. “I hope I’m not interrupting”
Outside of the Temple, in one of the outdoor sparring areas, a demonstration was underway for the advanced students in the art of lightsaber combat. The previous part had been over almost as soon as it had begun, with the male wielding his weapon in a saberstaff configuration to disrupt the actions of the two females.
The second iteration took much longer, as the part-Sephi and Pantoran couple seemed much more in sync with one another, forcing the Shaevalian-Umbaran on the defensive. Whenever Celevon’s stance shifted, Ruana’s bo-staff intercepted one of his viridian blades. As he moved to release the blade lock, Artemis moved in with her beskad, leaving her father with little choice but to dodge or block.
The deadly dance continued, shifting back and forth until all three stepped back as one, ending the match.
The part-Sephi resisted the urge to smirk as she sheathed her sword, a glance sweeping over the attendees. “Who can tell us the difference between the two sparring matches?” When one of the Padawans in a light gray robe tentatively raised a hand, Artemis nodded to them.
“The form he was using?”
“You’re not wrong, but that was only part of it. My father tends to use Vaapad, Soresu and the techniques of Sokan,” the Vanguard gave a slight smile and a nod, before gesturing toward another who was even slower to raise their own hand.
“I-In the first bout, the two of you weren’t working together. Master Werd'a took advantage of that and the environment, making it where the two of you were fighting each other just as much as you were dueling with him.”
“That is correct,” Celevon agreed, gesturing toward his daughter and daughter-in-law respectively. “When facing multiple opponents at once, their own actions can be used against them when they’re not accustomed to fighting together. Ruana and Artemis, however, have been a team for many years, which you saw showcased in the second sparring match.”
The Pantoran continued where Celevon left off without missing a beat. “Over time, you learn to anticipate each other’s movements, becoming as one without the use of the Force. Without the years of all three of us training together, we would have never considered sparring with live weapons.”
Another raised a hand, voicing a question before they could be called upon. “How much were the three of you holding back?”
“A lot. This was a demonstration, after all,” Artemis freely admitted.
“None of us actively used the Force or our other weaponry,” the Adept continued, holding up his conversion-hilt lightsaber with both hands before separating the saberstaff into a pair of identical hilts with a twist of both hands. “I also kept to one configuration of my lightsaber.”
“It takes years of practice and dedication to get to the point that we are at,” Ruana explained, spotting the dejected looks that several of the attendees sported. “While I may be highly skilled with a variety of more or less conventional weapons, my own Force abilities are… minimal, to say the very least.”
“And neither of us typically utilize a lightsaber, as you no doubt noticed,” Artemis finished, gesturing between herself and her wife.
“Perhaps the last few years have softened me just a little. Having such a strict student, reminding me that life, in fact, needs to be lived, not controlled, and who serves as a guidepost to show me that no matter how far into the darkness one has been submerged, the light still exists.” Masahiro said as he shrugged and investigated the intricate details throughout his saberpike.
He waved his left hand and gathered back the fabric of his robe sleeve, investigating his wrist link for a moment, his student really had been atop his schedule, better than he had. A small smile crept on his face as the fact that Mihoshi had been the one to arrange this week’s curriculum dawned upon him, and he shook his head, loose gossamer-thin hairs falling afore his eyes as he turned to face her, directly. She had come far in such a short time, order suited her, purpose, reason.
“We instill in the younglings order, we ward their minds away from the decay and deception of the Dark Side, but, I’ve grown to believe something that my predecessors could, or perhaps would, not. Something I would see these children learn if I were to give them anything. ‘Attachment’, itself, is not some grand key to the Dark Side, nor are ‘emotions.’ Neither is the existence of the Darkness within The Force some outside boogeyman with which the children must always contend. The Jedi once acknowledged the Dark Side for what it is, that it is a natural force, which occurs of its own accord as much as through those who choose to channel it, that such things were not to be feared, but to be respected, because their appearance and actions were a part of The Balance, and that our part in maintaining the Balance was not to destroy all Darkness as we find it but, instead, to usher an end to the conflict that necessitated its existence. Our compatriots in the Galactic Republic, some Sixty Years ago found out that attempting to exist by blinding Light, snuffing out all semblance of Darkness, and denying its potential return had dire consequences.” He sighed and tapped his cane pensively.
“We are our biggest threats. Mindfulness is our aegis. Understanding our emotions and knowing that one day we must be ready to let go when life has run its course, when others have chosen to part their ways from ours, or when the winds blow and set us on a separate course. Our own mind, our decisions, and choosing to use the Dark Side of The Force, over existing alongside it. Eventually, they will know of evil and corruption. They will know where others choose to use the Dark Side, where they afflict, corrupt, and destroy, and where their role is to protect the innocent, but, before we thrust that responsibility on them? They need to know what emotions, happiness, joy, and sorrow are, and how to express them… Healthily. Let today be harsh for those of us who understand why it must be harsh, so that the youth can be raised to better resist what broke so many of us.” His smile, somewhat faded, remained sincere as he placed his hand on Mihoshi’s shoulder.
“We’ve all things to atone for, things we’ve regretted. The Dark Side has tempted even the best of us and many of the scions whom our orders are named for. Knowing and accepting this is how we keep ourselves from falling, my student. How we make sure those who come after are better prepared than those who came before, without losing their sense of self.”
Miho smiled at her teacher warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners once again. “That is correct as always, Master Haku. It seems that both of us are being philosophical today. Try not to warp your students senses like you do everyone else’s.”
She gestured to Larun with a smile and went to lead her down a different hallway. “You get to class. We’ll see how things are at the outdoor practice areas now, I think.”
A flash of exasperation from the man caused the small woman to laugh softly and shake her head. If left to his own devices, she knew that Masahiro would inevitably follow her around, picking her brain about different interactions between students, teachers and even the visitors. He enjoyed her sometimes abrupt view of people and things, but today he had his own business and she hers.
Miho shook her head slightly, catching the attention of the padawan beside her. “Is something the matter, Master Keibatsu?”
The Kyatarn blinked at Larun a couple of times before se responded. “No, Larun. Nothing at all. Just…” She gestured over her shoulder in the direction they had left Masahiro in. “He is a good man and his motivations are great. As a teacher and a mentor, he has been instrumental in bringing me back to the Order. He just gets a little funny at times.”
“I do not think I understand, Master Keibatsu.” Larun began softly.
“Hm? Oh, he is just a little odd, Larun. We all are in our own ways, I think.”
A little later, the two women found themselves standing near the practice courts. Celevon and his daughters had just finished giving an exhibition and were further explaining everything. Other courts held younglings with training sabers, other still held rank and file soldiers of the Order practicing hand to hand combat. “You see, Larun. The one thing to remember about the Order is we are never actually alone.”
She gestures towards Celevon and his children. “Relationships still matter if we but treat them with the respect they rightfully deserve.”
The sadness was in her voice again, but she kept speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. “The older Order demanded adherence to a code they felt kept the members of the Order safe from temptation. Friendships had to be rigorously maintained out of a kind of fear that it might turn into something more.”
She gestured at the Pantoran and the Sephi. “Those two seem stronger for it, hm? Of course, there is the problem that one will outlive the other. This could be a problem, it could not. So long as we understand and accept that every life must end in its own time, we can be freed from the anger that it brings for the most part.”
Mihoshi fell silent, watching the practice courts with an intense violet gaze. “It is when something happens outside of our understanding that we lash out. That we risk everything we are, we will be, we could be. The horrors of the unknown are what can drive us to our knees, Larun.”
The Miraluka tilted her head, politely allowing the woman to speak. The Kyataran nodded slightly to herself. On the whole, Miho enjoyed the quiet company Larun provided. She felt as though her words were drops in a bucket. The Miraluka took in everything said and felt around her. She seemed a little distracted at times, but that wasn’t anything the Kyataran felt to be concerned about.
She led the way through the practice yards, quietly explaining her thoughts to the young woman, stopping to observe those around her. She corrected younglings on proper etiquette when interacting with one of the Masters, showed simple steps to help one wheezing padawan to build up their wind, showed another older student a better way of gripping their lightsaber for practice and for duelling. All this, the small woman did with a smile and seemingly without a single care.
Waza Looked up at the voice coming from the doorway, He bolted to his feet and sprinted to the door.
“There you are. It is amazing to see you, how are you adjusting to knighthood? Have you had many adventures? What have you been doing? So many questions, my apologies. I’ve missed our training days.” Waza was happy to see his friend return to the academy, his solitude was broken and he felt a weight lifted from him. He had not realized how isolated he had become in a building full of people. Leadership has changed and new beings were everywhere but he did not know many of them. The few new friends he has made kept him rooted to this home. If not for the chance of seeing them again he would have move on again.
“It seems I have no students again today, I can shut my class down and we could go do something. What do you say? What is this tome of knowledge you are lugging around?”
Waza inquired as he shut off the lights to the empty classroom and joined Wenet in the hall.
“You sure are happy to see me” Wenet chuckled after she saw how the old man practically jumped up and rushed to meet her at the door. “Has the council neglected you in my absence?” She added with a smile when he was done with his list of questions.
“I’ve have nothing else to do, part from returning this” she lifted the book “to the library. And you know how they get if you don’t return books on time..” Wenet said watching Waza lock up the classroom. “Oh I know!” The old man laughed “than I shall join you to the library and we can see what we’ll do after” he continued and motioned to her to lead the way. “Sounds like a good plan” she said and began to walk. “You still haven’t told me what you’ve been reading” Waza asked as they made their way down the hall. By now it had gone quiet, the classrooms were empty as the students went on their lunch break. “This? A bit of light reading” Wenet said with smirk, “it’s about Sith territory’s, significant locations across the galaxy” Wenet continued. “You’re studying the Sith now?” Waza was surprised but at the time not all, Wenet was curious after all. “Well, mainly looking into places to visit, explore some ancient ruins filled with mystery, tombraiding it’s right up my alley”
“Sounds like you’re bored. Haven’t the Master’s send you on missions?” Waza inquired as they reached the lifts. “More errands than actual missions really” Wenet sighed, she missed adventure
As the ‘official’ demonstration was over and the collection of Masters with their Padawans, Knights and the occasional Equite had begun a discussion amongst themselves, the former assassin made himself scarce before any of them could bring up the pair of Sith Daggers strapped to his lower back.
All that would bring up was possible drama and a pointless argument. Or an unsolicited ‘warning’ about the dangers of dark artifacts.
Celevon was well aware of the stares that followed him from the members in attendance that recognized him as the former Councilor of War that had been imprisoned after a duel with Gui Sol — the now former High Councilor — who had attempted to arrest the Shaevalian-Umbaran, suspecting him of being the one who had trained Sith Commander Arcturus. A duel that had ended with Sol requiring cybernetic replacements for his severed right arm and both legs below the knee.
Even despite having been proven innocent of his involvement with an enemy of the Vatali Empire, there were those that continued to distrust him for not having surrendered himself peacefully. And that was in addition to his known Mastery of Sith Alchemy, amongst other practices. It was for his extensively knowledge of and known usage of the dark side of the Force that he had fallen under suspicion to begin with, and it had only grown with time.
He felt a tendril of telepathic energy and smiled as he received his daughter’s message that they would meet up later at home on Solyiat.
The Blade Master continued to wander the training grounds, silently observing the training of younglings and Padawans. Celevon took note of a vaguely familiar Human woman interacting with the very same students he was observing, as well as the young Miraluka that seemed to be accompanying her.
Even the Human’s presence in the Force felt familiar, though it was not a signature he recognized, even as it stood out powerfully amongst the students the woman was assisting.
Still, even despite the lingering sense that he recognized the female on some level, there was no reason to extend his senses further or deeper. Not to mention that it would be horribly rude to get a read on someone for no reason, much less to satisfy his idle curiosity.
An exuberant whoop and a shouted warning drew Celevon’s attention away from his silent observations. The Blade Master spun in place, a glint of something shining in the sunlight flying toward him triggering long-honed battle instincts. His hand snaked out, catching the hilt of a training lightsaber before his gaze fell upon a blushing and mortified Padawan.
Before the young Twi'lek could voice an apology, the Shaevalian-Umbaran gave the lad a soft smile and spoke up in a teasing manner. “I’m used to weapons going flying in training areas. Or my daughter flinging various objects my way when I get on her nerves.”
He approached the Padawan and held out the hilt by the emitter, giving a nod and continued smile at the stammered thanks as the training weapon was accepted. “Why don’t you show me your stance and grip?”
The Twi'lek bowed his head before he stepped back and fell into a classic duelist’s ready stance. Celevon slowly circled the Padawan, taking in how the lad shifted his own position to keep facing the Adept before nodding.
“Widen your stance by pulling your left foot back a half-step; this will help in maintaining your balance and center of gravity,” the former assassin instructed, watching as the Twi'lek did so. “You should loosen your grip with your ring and pinky finger; it will help you maintain precision in your flourishes and ripostes. Too tight of a grip and your opponent will disarm you every time with enough kinetic energy behind the attack.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You’re welcome,” Celevon smiled, giving the lad a respectful bow before he departed the circle where the two had been sparring.
Wenet and Waza entered the lift, headed to the academy library.
“We never really got to give my new ship a proper run, you care to go with me? I don’t know where just yet.. We can stop by the office and see if they have anything brewing or a mission we can get into.”
Waza pondered a moment, “We could just head out to the unknown regions and go find some of these places you’ve been studying.”
Wenet looked up at the old man. “Yeah we can do that I think, its one thing to read it but another to go see these places and interact with history and the force. See I’m getting into the whole Jedi thing. Maybe we can spar again. I’ve been practicing.”
A familiar voice would appear behind Masahiro, its owner otherwise silent in her movement.
“Hello again, High Councilor. I have returned, although only briefly.”
Sonyo came to a stop just beside the half-Arkanian, her arms clasped together into the sleeves of her tattered robe. Her other attire likewise looked worse for wear, like she hadn’t polished or replaced anything in some time. The maroon color of her chestplate was dull and scuffed, showing the plastisteel below.
Golden-brown eyes took a once over of the Jedi Master, halting briefly for a moment at his newfound cane. Seeing him with it once could have indicated exhaustion or injury, but to he seen with it twice? The wheels turned in her head— She didn’t have it marked in her head that Masahiro had any sort of disibility. She’d have to search the archives for medical communications she might have missed during her travels.
“Spending a day with the students?” She inquired, her eyes moving to look at Masahiro’s face once more.
Miho continued to walk through the grounds, not so much with a purpose or intentional direction but seemingly to drift along currents only she could feel. Everything and everyone around her just another piece in an intricate dance to her. Or maybe pieces and pawns to be moved at her whim. She stopped beside one training mat that had several younglings practicing their first steps along the forms, her violet eyes intent and watching.
“I rather enjoy watching the younglings learn.” She said softly to Larun. “The life we have chosen isn’t an easy one even if we do get to share the burden.”
The youngsters moved shakily from one movement to the next, their feet unsure, their swings hesitant. She smiled softly and stepped into the ring, quietly showing the movements of feet and hands to each struggling child. Emotions darker than the ink of blackest night swirled around the young Master. Each one circling like a shark ready to devour her at a moments notice. Unaware as she seemed, Miho also had a molten core of blinding light at her center. The warmth of love and acceptance. The finality of emotions dedicated to protecting the weaker by any means necessary even if she was viewed as a villain. That knowledge dimmed the light within her a little, but knowing that each of these children, all of her precious ones, would be safe was another brick to hold back the swirling dark. She looked at Larun, sensing on some level that padawan knew her thoughts and smiled at her. It wouldn’t be long now until she pulled the Miraluka into a ring just like this one and showed her the truth of that darkness.
The numbers on the control panel next to the doors changed quickly as the lift zoomed down. After a short ride the cabin slowed down and eventually stopped. Outside they could hear voices of students, that became louder as the doors opened into junction of corridors. Wenet stepped outside and went to the corridor straight ahead, zigzagging her way between the legs of the students that had gathered.
Waza, who was a lot bigger than her, didn’t have a problem getting through the crowd waiting students. They closer they got to the library the more quiet it got. Waza could see from Wenet’s furr that she was feeling a lot more relaxed when they entered the large library.
“I’ll just hand this back and then we can think of where we will go” the Kushiban was beaming with excitement. “I’ll wait for you at that holo table ” Waza said. While Wenet dashed off, Waza took a moment to check out possible places to go to.
The High Councilor’s thoughts lingered on his student as she departed. The Dark held to her, cloying, entrenched, but like Pandora’s Box, the light of hope remained somewhere deep within her, and clawed through the Dark to protect the children.
That, Masahiro thought to himself, is what I’m fighting for. The hope within all of us, destruction leads to a very rough road, but, it also breeds creation.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, as one of the Masters who had established themselves in the Dajorra System approached him, Sonyo, an on-and-off again acquaintance through the Temple and routine friendly face when dealing with the Arconans. News of his promotion had already reached Dajorra without an official announcement, not that it bothered him overmuch.
“Master Rue, you afford me too much respect, even still. I’m nothing more than a humble servant to The Force, but, yes, I spend many more days with the younglings now than before. Making sure they’re getting their education, training the youngest directly, helping with the more, fraught students.” The half-Arkanian nodded as he spoke, before he tapped his cane and looked toward Waza and Wenet as they loaded into the elevator.
“Just as much, however, I patrol these halls to check in on mu instructors. How they’re faring, what is changing each day.”
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After handing the book back, Wenet returned to Waza. By now he was standing at one of the holo tables and had opened a map of the galaxy. All the territories were highlighted with different colours.
Seeing the map excited Wenet. There were so many worlds she wanted to visit. “well? Found anything good?” she asked as she hopped onto the table. The small Kushiban was now standing at the centre of the holographic galaxy, surrounded by tiny planets. Her eyes shimmering with excitement she looked around “you’ve seen more of the galaxy than I have, what places would you reccomend?” Wenet asked curiously..
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Sonyo listened intently, only seeming to curl inwards minutely at the “Master” title tacked onto her name. She was no Master, not truely– or at least she was not at the level of most of the other Masters who counted themselves as her peers. Once Masahiro had finished speaking, she pulled one hand out of her robe, fingers slightly longer than that of a Human’s with carefully pedicured nailes, and gestured for him to follow her down the halls.
“That is good of you to do. Instructors are often just taller, slightly more seasoned students, after all.” The Pantoran hybrid returned her hands back to their original position as the pair walked.
“I have found a brief respite from Dajorra. I hear whispers of yet another of their "False” Gods in the shadows, though this entity is yet to show their face. The locals, the Arconans are very… tense around me. Likely since I do not attempt to hide my identity as a Jedi of Urr from them. The mistrust in that organization runs so deep, so insiduous, that I wonder if that is why The Force draws me to them so incessantly. And yet I flow in and out of their space, as a good wanderer does.“
“The Arconans can be tense around anyone from outside of their fraternal order. They are protective and secretive people who are well-versed in keeping their secrets. They’re allies of ours through formal treatise, twice over, however, that still has not opened all diplomatic doors between us regularly. I’ve, at times, found myself at odds with their ways, and they with mine. Our former Councilor of War once was a member of theirs and we know full well how much I butt heads with Wulfram, the beskar-clad bastard.” The Jedi High Councilor sighed as he nodded with her report on the state of Dajorra.
“The false gods, I recall Wulfram’s reports on them when He, Gui, and the 2nd Fleet went to provide aid against the same. They were ancient Sith, were they not? Who had been deceiving the local populace into believing the acts of The Force were deific powers?” He asked, gesturing throughout as if to punctuate the various turns of the conversation.
“Gods, what pretension.”
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