Kamjin sat in his office staring at his datapad. He was expecting a mission briefing that was now delayed. His stomach growled and he considered whether he’d have time to grab something from the commissary or if he’d end up missing the urgent communiqué.
BEEEEEP. The loud tone echoed through the cockpit of Narman Losa’s HWK-290 Light Freighter, drawing his attention away from his datapad, the most recent medical journal from Seitia Prime. He spun his seat around to face the viewport just as the ship exited hyperspace around the moon of Jedha. “Take the scenic route. I’ve never been here and I’d like to see what I’m up against in person.” He instructed the navigation system as it began to pivot down towards the surface.
The Arconan surveyed the crater, ruby eyes assessing the ruin of what had been known as the Holy City. The destruction wrought by the Death Star lay there for all to see, a scar forever carved into the face of the Pilgrim Moon. It is a stark reminder of what madness could be unleashed by those with power and ambitions of galactic dominance.
Speaking of… Mune’s eyes flicked down at the datapad. The parties’ names to join them stared back up to meet their gaze. Of the two, the Shistavanen recognized one Kamjin Lap’Lamiz—the Justicar of the Brotherhood and former Emperor of Scholae Palatinae. The intelligence officer recalled the man only from their interaction on Seraph when he aided in the rescuing of the former Palatinaean. Mune remembered nothing of their time in the clan, still, they looked forward to working with the older man again.
The other, Narman Losa, was a stranger to the Shistavanen, and not simply due to memory loss. Their data indicated the man was a member of Taldryan and a field medic. Perhaps they’d not have to act as the healer of the party, they slipped the datapad into their satchel before turning to meet the gaze of the forty-one-year-old Human. Their gaze flicked past to the ship that had delivered him to the planet’s surface, and back again. Salt-and-pepper gray hair, green eyes, tanned. It could only be the Human they had yet to meet. The Human did not seem of the mind to speak first.
“Narman Losa, I presume?”
“You are?” The Taldryan inquired of the stranger before him.
“Mune Cinteroph,” The Shista answered, though they had little doubt the Human read the same briefing they had and was well aware of their name.
“Has the Justicar arrived?”
“I have been here for some time,” Kamjin approached from the direction of the crater. “Excellent of you both to join me.”
Mune turned toward the man, “Lord Justicar, a pleasure.”
Kamjin eyed the Shistavanen, “How is your brother?”
“Driving his instructors to drink while simultaneously excelling in all his classes, putting their lessons to shame.” Mune arched a brow. He knew Kamjin was curious as to their memory situation but would not broach the subject in their current company. “Narman Losa, meet our esteemed Lord Justicar. Shall we?”
Their attention shifted to the crater below and began the trek into its maw. The ruins of the Holy City potentially held both danger and troves of knowledge, by no means in equal measure. The troves of knowledge are what drew them towards the buried past. A past nearly destroyed by the hubris of the Dark Side, not so long ago.
Narman eyed his temporary compatriots cautiously as they descended the treacherous crater wall. The climb was slow and precise, any slight misstep could be fatal. Mune led the group deftly between jagged outcroppings and past magma flows, their ruby eyes focused on the path ahead. The Doctor had worked on Shistavanen occasionally in the past, and he could tell that Mune’s fluffy white coat hid a deceptively lithe and agile body. A pair of lightsabers were holstered on the small of their back, partially concealed by the movement of their tail. The Arconan dropped down out of sight ahead of them, then poked their head back up and motioned to follow.
“There is a cave opening here. Come quickly.” Narman was still adjusting to working with Jedi, so he stepped to the side and allowed Kamjin to descend first. He wasn’t familiar with the Justicar but he carried himself like many of the veterans that Narman served with in his past. Perhaps if life had taken him on a different path they would have been good friends. Still, his attention was drawn to the lightsaber hilts positioned on either side of the Justicar’s belt. As he climbed down the rock face, he turned and made eye contact with Narman.
“Like what you see?” Kamjin shot a wink and a sly smile at the Doctor before disappearing past the edge of the cliff. Narman reluctantly followed.
As the three fated companions ended their descendent they activated their glowrods and took in the shocking surroundings. Having expected nothing more than sheer rock walls and piles of rubble from the slag remains of this dying planet they were instead greeted by rows of neatly arranged storage units.
While most of the artifacts were shattered and broken there were shelves upon shelves of holocrons blinking infrequently as their power faded. The Kyber crystals within slowly beating to oblivion. Ripped remains of scrolls and loose torn paper were arranged with similar fragments that may have once been a completed work.
Charred tapestries, shattered pottery, and untold mechanical treasures. All this and more stretched out before them.
Kamjin let out a low whistle as he picked up a holocron. The dull blue light shone brighter in his hand before recognizing the corruptive soul of a Sith. For those of them familiar with the Force they felt the disappointing sigh of failure as the box went dark forever. Kamjin tossed it aside.
“Hey! Who are you? What have you done?” a voice screamed from the darkness. An old male Weequay was shuffling towards them, supported by a dusty bent cane. He took one look at the Justicar and made a religious sign over his heart. “The Empire…the Sith. No. No,” he took half a step back. “Haven’t you done enough here?”
“We’re taking all of this,” Kamjin said. Mune, cautiously reached for his weapons.
“No. You can’t. This is all that’s left. All the eons of Force religions that held this place holy. I’ve spent a lifetime eeking out what remains. After what you did. After the Death Star!”
In a flash, Kamjin’s blood red blade was sticking through the man’s heart. “The Empire’s battle station did what it was forced to do by the terrorists that had polluted this planet.” Kamjin sneered, memories of his own planet being destroyed by those terrorists that had infiltrated the Empire’s battle station reflected in his yellow/red eyes.
“Mune, Narman, call for an extraction unit to arrive.”
It happened quicker than Mune could think… and they could think frighteningly quickly with their sharp mind. They stared at the vibrant red blade that protruded from the man’s chest and followed it to the hilt that rested in the hand of the Brotherhood’s Justicar. Their eyes flicked towards Kamjin’s face, to yellow-red eyes.
Narman, too, seemed at a loss so rather than speak, he placed the call as ordered.
The room, bathed in the glow of the red lightsaber, once more fell dark with gloom. The man crumbled to the floor in a heap. The Weequay silenced, forever. Mune’s eyes drifted to where he lay, unbreathing, unfeeling, his light snuffed out. What was the purpose of his slaying? He was faced with three experienced representatives of the Brotherhood. They stared at the cauterized hole in the man’s chest. He was gone, well beyond saving, well beyond the best healer’s ability to heal. Hackles rising, their eyes snapped to Kamjin’s face, meeting his unbothered gaze.
“Why… He was no threat to us. Certainly, I could have talked him around to see reason,” From start to finish, the Shistavanen’s voice lowered into a bass growl. “Slaying the man serves us no purpose and makes us no more than murderers and thieves.”
Kamjin turned his eyes on the younger Force-user and the weight of his stare was enough to make any lesser being flinch. The Shistavanen did not. “We’ve only a singular purpose here, Cinteroph. Niceties are a waste of time—the time I’d rather spend attending to my own business.”
Narman cleared his throat, “I’ve received confirmation, extraction is inbound on our signal.”
Mune brushed past the once Emperor. They knelt, drawing the broken Weequay from the dust-laden floor and dragged him out. He asked neither man for their aid. When Kamjin and Narman returned to the surface sometime later, they came across a dirt-smudged Shistavanen placing a final few stones upon a barrow that could only be the Weequay’s resting place. The Arcanist went about their project in solemn silence.
“Your sentimentality is weakness, you know.”
Mune sighed, rising, they brushed the dust from their knees and pulled their jacket back on. They rested a hand on the grave for a moment before turning toward the others. Alms away, the shuttle came in for its landing.
“I will remember…” Mune’s gentle whisper was drowned out by their ride.
It was time to go.