Session export: COU Post-War Regroup and Collection Point

** Arboretum, ODN Solari **

The war was over. Finally. That thought kept occurring to Corinna, over and over again, along with a flood of emotions that might overwhelm her had she not learned to compartmentalize a little too effectively during her graduate studies. Despite the repetition, she didn’t quite believe it yet. Not in the place where belief actually mattered, anyway. That place beneath the intellect, past the tidy academic distance she kept from most things, within the flesh and spiritual center that made her who she was.

So, rather than trying to think her way into peace, she went looking for it where it could always be found: in the currents of the living Force.

It delighted her to learn that Clan Odan-Urr’s flagship housed an arboretum. Transplanted flitter trees and ferns swayed faintly under recycled air currents engineered to mimic a breeze, almost as if to greet the Zeltron as she entered. She left her boots in the durasteel corridor, a small ritual to mark the space (and allow her to feel the grounding influence of grass under her bare feet). Lightsabers, datapads, and robes all belonged out there.

In this oasis, she’d move her body. She’d reconnect to the Force. And maybe she’d meet another new clanmate with a similar temperament.

The Brotherhood’s war was not what she expected. Originally, she hadn’t intended to even come to their aid– but the Force had called for her, so she answered. The bird-like woman sat on the floor in one of the rooms with a good view outside. This one happened to be the massive galley/cafeteria for the ship. Her pure white eyes, framed by pitch black sclera, watched as the colors of hyperspace flew by. Hyperspace travel still made her nauseated, but she was getting better with it with every passing year.

The Big Empty was a strange place. “Galaxy” was the correct term, she had learned, but it felt reductionist. It didn’t do justice to how massive things were out here. How far away things were. How far away home was.

“T-minus 3 hours until we hit Kiastian space.” The voice over the loudspeaker was monotone, but didn’t carry any of the wavering voice notes of the Mon Calamari that piloted the ship. She wondered if it was one of the Odanites.

She had not anticipated the war to be so immense. There was fighting in the Big Empty with the Flying Boats. There was fighting on the ground, with the big metal vehicles. There was so much death. The Force had strained, pulled, cried. It cried, too, when the important person from the Council passed. It wept for him, for his life cut short, just as it wept for his friends and family. It called him home, but it still wept.

She had felt it as Odan-Urr made it’s way to the battlefield. It was a great loss.

The Omwati sighed and ran her hand along the length of the saber pike in her lap, letting her eyes close for just a moment. So many lives snuffed out, in vain. There would always be another “Collective”, another war, another person who rallied lives under their cause with charisma and empty lies. There was no end. To live is to suffer, to suffer is to live.

There had been a bit of chaos when Jon Silvon, Windos, Xantros had arrived on board. Scrambling the medic team as they brought with them one patient, and one body. The patient was the newly named Aedile of Sunrider, her skin sickly pale beneath bloodstained battle leather and her deep red curls. An oxygen mask was immediately placed over her nose and mouth while she was transferred to a gurney and whisked to the medbay, the exact extent of her condition yet unknown. The body was carefully laid out on a second gurney and covered with a sheet before it was slowly moved towards the medbay, there was zero need for rush for a dead man.

Windos kept pace with his Aedile’s gurney. “I still don’t understand why Command routed us to the Solari instead of The Sterile Field,” he grumbled to himself. “This is a warship. I’m probably going to have to fight a quartermaster just to get you fresh bacta.” He knew that wasn’t true, but at least on his own ship he would feel some measure of control over the situation. Control Windos desperately wanted as he considered these wounds his own fault.

The Miraluka looked down to Aurelis on the stretcher, “and don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re pumped full of painkillers, Phaelor,” he chided.

Windos sighed and stopped following the gurney as it crossed the threshold into the medbay. Exhaustion bleeding through his normally stern facade as the doors hissed closed. He turned and slowly made his way back to the other gurney, intent on finally paying his respects before resting… or trying to make himself useful.

Aure to her credit, flashed Windos a goofy painkiller-fuelled smile,“ I look forward to your lecture.” before she disappeared behind the medbay doors, Of course talking caused her to cough and that sent the medics into a tizzy because of the blood sprinkling the inside of the oxygen mask.

Edgar left the bridge of the Solari staring at a datapad trying to make sense of the informtation, but just couldn’t. The war drained him he was proud of the Clan and his House but he felt tired and just wanted to put it all behind him for a few hours. There will be a lot to do once he got back to Solyiat and before that all kicked off the well seasoned Quaestor put the datapad in his pockect and started walking toward the on board garden. His new Aedile said she might go check it out and it’s was one of Edgars favorite places to go and hide from meetings and the other councilors.

The aftermath of battle was often the same. Nikora Rhan had long found that following the horror and glory of battle, there was an odd absence. That moment where adrenaline and sheer fury finally gives way and it takes the body some time to catch up. This time it was taking longer then usual for it to catch up, even with the post-combat euphoria of the other Templars surrounding her. It had taken some time for her to find an excuse to depart from them, hailing their honoured dead as much as those slain among the Collective. The drinking had given way to old songs by the time she left, in this particular case an old ballad from Strokera’s coastlines.

Rhan did not envy them. You fought and you won, or you fought and you died. It was a simple matter of surviving and making the other side suffer, then leaving to fight another day. The beauty in such a viewpoint was its simplicy, but this time the joy of combat and the challenge had been tinged by something else.

Rhan had moved through the Collective like a storm, her power shorting out cybernetics, ripping metal from the bodies of cyborgs and then cutting through their comrades like a hurricane of jagged steel. Others had been ripped asunder by lightning, or met their end as Stormherald carved them open like a joint of Dewback at a feast. And in all of it something besides joy had carried her. A desire for revenge, a desire for annihilation. A desire to make them suffer for all they had done, to her Clan, her friends, and her apprentice. That first tempting whisper of the Dark Side. Only a fool would ever consider the Jensaarai to have found perfect balance, and every battle made them stand on the edge of that abyss. Now she needed quiet to think.

With her armour plating still scorched midnight from the fires of combat, Rhan had seen more than one crewman turn and avoid her as she stalked through the ship. An understandable choice under most circumstances, as its ornate help and plating carried the visage of a deep water leviathan and with it the aspect of a Sith. Rhan had even welcomed it, giving some opportunity to think even as she moved in search of somewhere secluded. Yet when she came upon the grove, typical of most Mon Calamari ships, she slowed upon seeing the other figure waiting there.

“Sorry,” she held up a gauntleted hand in apology. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

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Corinna had just rolled her body upright again when she heard someone else addressing her. She jumped, not at the noise but the sudden sight of Dark Age Sith Armor.

“I’m sorry, you startled me,” she said. “You’re not intruding at all.”

Though exhausted mentally and spiritually from the events of the war, she felt the armor’s Dark Side power. The sharp, unsettling sensation hit her teeth and jaw, almost as though she’d bitten foil. Still, she grinned; despite her membership in the Brotherhood, she didn’t come across things like that every day. And it set her scholar’s mind ablaze.

“That’s a really neat set of armor,” she said, stepping to the side and motioning for Rhan to enter before she did.

Windos traced his path through the Solari from the medbay back to the hangar where he and his team had been dropped off, hoping to catch the other gurney en-route to its destination. The corridors were empty, however, so the exhausted Miraluka descended into the quiet chill of the ship’s morgue alone.

After a quick conversation with the droid attendant, Windos found the stasis pod holding Lieutenant Colonel Zebina Arad. Windos hadn’t known the soldier before their mission together, but the man had held the line and died with honor.

“You did your job, soldier,” Windos murmured, resting a hand on the metallic pod. “I’ll find your family. And if there’s no one left… you’ll get a proper Jedi send-off. You earned that much.”

A female silhouette stood motionless within the shadows of the morgue. She had remained there in silence after assisting with the task of accounting for each of the fallen, and even preparing some of their lifeless bodies for such a thing. A black silk cloak, lightly tattered at the ends, draped over her to conceal the form fitting white latex nurse uniform underneath. The shadow of a hood was enough to cast a dark shadow over her features, to hide the paleness of her pulseless skin and the unnatural blood red hue of her eyes.

For the time being, she had been enjoying the stillness of the morgue, even as another entered. Velira remained silent as he voiced his sentiments, though listened to them in curiosity from the shadows.

“I have seen too many leave this galaxy through the years, without a single soul to bid them farewell… You honor him well…” Her voice finally whispered from the shadows of the morgue.

“Tell me, Jedi…” Velira continued slowly, as her gaze rested on him from where she stood. “Does mortality sharpen each moment, knowing each may be your last? Or does it simply teach you to grieve before the end has even arrived?”

Eeno was also there in the morgue. Three members of his squadron lying dead having given their lives to the war. “When will it end?” Eeno asked to no one in particular, “Three wars and hundreds of men dead when will the fighting end?”

“Thanks, it’s kept me alive so far,” Rhan said, offering a genuine smile in return. It took her a few moments to recognise that the other woman was unarmed and dressed largely in lightweight garb, likely part of some meditation effort. With a hiss of atmospherics, Rhan removed the kraken helm of her own plating and allowed her tendrils to slink free from the armoured slots along its length. Rolling her neck as she adjusted to the lack of armoured constraint, the Nautolan reached out with the Force, lifting the helmet into the air. A gesture sent it, Stormherald, and her other weapons out into the corridor.

“I won’t interrupt you if you don’t want to talk. I was just looking for somewhere quiet to gather my thoughts,” Rhan answered, not willing to step past her without permission. It was only then that it dawned upon Rhan she hadn’t seen this Jedi before. Clan Odan-Urr had no shortage of Zeltrons within its ranks, but her blue verging upon black hair and rounded features brought no prior memories to the forefront of her mind.

“Nikora Rhan,” she said in greeting, “nice to meet you.”

“Ahh. Apologies, I didn’t see either of you here. I’m… in a galaxy of my own at the moment” Windos mused.

He thought for a while on Velira’s question, rhetoric as it may have been, before facing her to answer. “Neither,” Windos finally replied, “mortality is simply the perimeter we operate within.”

He looked back toward Arad’s pod, though his Force sight remained acutely aware of the others positions now that he wasn’t completely distracted by his grief. “It doesn’t sharpen the moment. It dictates the terms of the mission. And grieving before the end arrives is a luxury a we cannot afford. If you spend your time mourning the living, you hesitate when they need you to keep them on their feet.”

Windos let his hand fall away from the pod. “The weight of mortality doesn’t teach you to grieve early. It just teaches you the absolute cost of failure. I honor him because he paid that cost so others wouldn’t have to. The rest is just sentimentality.”

The Bar

Tisto, as had become tradition for him, had found his way to the nearest canteen with a bar. No one was serving so he leapt over the counter and started looking through the drinks. His shoulders felt heavy as he grabbed some spicebrew and poured himself a glass.

“Frak,” he muttered, taking a swig of the drink. “That was exhausting.”

For hours, Celevon Werd'a had aimlessly wandered the corridors that made up the Solari, hood down and the Mandalorian helm tucked beneath his cybernetic arm. After any kind of conflict, it took hours to days to regain his center and finally be able to relax.

Worse was the suspicious and surprised looks he garnered, as many still expected him to be within a cell of the Fang on Solyiat. The Seeker had spent nearly nine months awaiting some form of questioning beyond what had initially occurred when he had been brought in. That was ignoring the fact that he’d escaped twice, returned to his home briefly, then given himself into the custody of the High Councilor.

When a trial didn’t seem to be coming anytime soon, his good behavior and promise to the Jensaarai to not attempt escape had him moved to a locked tower. There, he’d taken on projects to aid in the continuous upgrades and habitation of the ancient fortress.

Then he had finally received a visitor, though not for the reasons he suspected.

High Councilor Mihoshi Keibatsu had laid out what had occurred in the time he’d been locked up and that all hands were needed to face the Collective once more. In lieu of prison time, he would be in service to the Clan as a form of community service, only paid what a Staff Sergeant in their military would receive for combat. And, upon the end of the War, he would wear a tracker and be placed on house arrest — limited to the island he lived on in the Pokora Island chain, outside of when he was called upon to provide his services to the Clan — for at least a year.

Needless to say, he’d accepted the offered conditional release.

Now, however, his biggest concern was the ship he was on. After escaping a doomed ship on a damaged escape pod and crash-landing on a planet as a preteen, Celevon had never been comfortable on any space-faring vessel.

The Force Disciple needed a distraction. A way to relax and wind down.

A sign that pointed to the Arboretum would do.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran turned in the indicated direction, his feet moved in a staccato rhythm as he kept his eyes peeled to follow the orienting signs.

HK-72 had been left behind in the crew quarters he had been offered in low-power mode, both to recharge and serve as guard duty. Though, if Celevon were being completely honest, it was mostly to keep the gladiator droid out of trouble.

The Seeker spotted the sign that led into the Arboretum and turned. The door slid open upon his approach and he was struck by the natural scents of foliage and trees.

He already felt his shoulders relaxing as he stepped in and the doors closed behind him.

In the medbay Aurelis was further sedated, Windos’ first aid went far in preventing the woman from bleeding out but cause a little hampering because the treatments now had to be cleaned out. Scans had show that the largest wound, the abdominal puncture had nicked the lowest portion of her left lung, and caused a minor laceration to her liver. She must have used up her luck for the year though because it had missed everything else.

They placed her in a kolto tank with medicated air to assist with her lung, where she would remain for awhile until her lung healed and there was no risk of reopening.

The war was over. They’d won. The words swam around the young Zeltron’s mind on repeat like a broken record. She couldn’t believe it. It had been long fought.

She offered her aid in the medical bay, performing scans, and tending to the wounded until she was confident in the workload that the remaining team could handle it. She took her long overdue break, slowly walking around the ship. The war was over. She shook her head as she took a deep breath. The haunting memories a breath away from the surface.

She wanted a comfort from home – some tea, and an opportunity to look over the death roll.

She made her way to the cafe, ordered a hot cup of tea, and sat down with her compad. Exhaustion lined her features, as she skimmed the list of names. Her face reflected harshly when she saw Uji’s at the top of the list. She didn’t know him long, but they had fought together. She’d mourn him. She’d mourn them all.

Arsaces found herself in an isolated area of the medical bay, away from the usual noise and chaos from a ship returning from a war; a war she had paid genuinely no attention and given how inmersed she had gotten in her current experiments it seemed to have ended fairly quickly.

Needless to say that had caused her to loose time patching up numerous patients of varying levels of hurt. The work was tedious and abundant and in her rather expert opinion it was a waste of her talents, because after all. Why work for the few when you could work for the many?

Now however she could finally continue with her endless tinkering and experimentation.

“I just need to get some bloody inspiration to start working.”

The scientist thougth as she huffed in annoyance while staring at the sterile white clouring of the bay.

“Mind if I join you?” Esen has been too lost in thought to notice Teikhos Ta'var slip up to her table, ridiculous cape or not. The older Jedi was, as usual, serene and smiling slightly. There was no sign of any wear and tear from the Hovertank Incident outside the Oligard Estate.

“I’ve been meaning to check on you, but things have been, well.” He shrugged apologetically. “Hectic.”

Her gaze flicked up, before quickly standing offering her hand out in greeting.

“To what do I owe the honor?” She smiled politely, nodding at the hectic comment. This was her first war and her usual organized demeanor was a bit frayed.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you for your healing.”

“Honor?” he chuckled. “I’ll have to remind my daughter my visits are an honor. But seriously, how are you? I know you didn’t have it easy down there.”

“I’m…” She didn’t know. This was her first war and it weighed heavily on her. She wasn’t sure if her friends were alive, she wasn’t sure if Remalia lived. She wasn’t sure of how badly hit the clan and the Brotherhood of a whole was. She hasn’t had time to collect and organize her thoughts.

“–holding on.” She said with a somber smile.

“Would you like anything?” She said gesturing to the cafe, “I’m about due for a refill.”

“The patients are over there,” Arnid Vus said to the woman he did not recognize. He pointed at the more busy parts of the bay, “They don’t trust me but they seemed to trust you.” He quieted his own mind. It threatened to again play the events of the past days and bring again his grief. “You seem confused are you off your shift?”

“Yes, just finished a rather long and boring one.” The woman with the mistmached eyes replied as said orbs quickly scanned and assessed the Arkanian in front of her; they lingered momentarily at the various cybernetics the man possessed.

“Your cybernetics, they are fine work.” Arsaces said as she ignored the first part of the newcomer’s words as it was usual of her.

She disliked wasting time in boring things.

“Are they standards models or of your own design?”

“Parts are my own others are other people’s designs. I did the leg, not much of the arm though. I was thinking of adding a SCOMP link to it.”

The dark haired woman nodded along as she listened to what the Arkanian had to say.

“That would be far more efficient than having to have an astromech follow you around.” Following a brief silence Arsaces hummed in reply. “Mayhaps you could try and incorporate the tool appendages to make it even more versatile.”

“That is a very good idea. I’ll have to do that. Oh, sorry, introductions, I am Arnid Vus who are you?”

Arsaces simply gave a nod at the reception of her idea, it was not the most brilliant one but she knew how deceptively elusive the most simple of thougths could be; It happened to her many a time.

“I am Arsaces Kallisto, medic and novitiate.”

“Sure,” he said, following the young medic’s lead.

“They didn’t happen to test you for Force sensitivity when you signed up, did they?”

The two of them meandered to the counter, placed their orders and waited for the barista to make the drinks.

“Hmm. No don’t think so. I wasn’t showing any signs so I opted out of it.” Her drink appeared, and she took a small sip.

“How are you fairing from the war?”

After the door to the Arboretum closed behind him, Celevon extended his senses and detected two individuals deeper within. One of whom had become familiar to him over the years.

However, he didn’t want to interrupt them and went off to the side, by a cluster of trees. The Seeker put down his helm and took a seat, before he reached into the Envoy Essentials bag at his side. Due to how organized it was by design, with internal slots and pouches, it took only moments to find what he was after.

A single ration pack was removed and placed before him, followed by a thermos that was three-quarters full of caf. The final item was a small, nerf-wool towel which Celevon unfolded and placed in front of him.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran opened the thermos and filled the lid with the steaming, dark liquid before it was re-capped and placed aside. The lid that doubled as a cup was put on the corner of the towel before the Force Disciple turned his attention to the ration pack and opened it over the towel, curious to see what contents this one held.

Celevon smiled slightly as he read the labels of the packets. One small pouch held an electrolyte solution that was intended to be mixed with water, which he placed back into the Essentials Kit. The food items were in three pouches: Peppered Bantha Steak Jerky, an enriched piece of bread and a snack pack of mixed chocolate-coated nuts and dried fruit.

After he took and released a deep breath of the natural scents, the Corellian native started in on his small meal.

“What drove you to join the medical corps?” Arnid asked curious about how things in this clan Odan Urr worked.

“Many a thing.” Arsaces said as she stretched lazily like pampered loth-cat. However, despite her body language she took a good moment to give an answer, for it was indeed a good question.

“Curiosity, obviously that is left unsaid and the feeling and thrill of solving a good medical case.”

Using the force she pulled a scalpel towards her delicate hand and proceeded to use it as a baton for her lecture.

“But really it was my dissatisfaction with the current state of the universe, and the moment I discovered I was forced to sensitive it showed me the path to solve everything that is wrong and everything that may be wrong.”

Her Lilac eye seemed to shine as she spoke, the sterile white lights giving a glint of both madness and brilliance.

“If the force can be studied and harnessed for medical sciences then no longer shall we be thralls for death!”

“I have heard others speak like that before. I hope for your sake that you are nothing like them.” Arnid said, remembering those in the collective who believed the opposite, the most mad believing ending the Force would end death and suffering. ‘A ditch on both sides, but this side is hopefully less genocidal,’ he thought.

“Oh?” She said with curiosity as her head tilted to the side in curiosity, her gaze loosing slightly the mad stupor it previously displayed.

“Well as I intended to usher an better world, let us hope not.”

Arsaces said as her mind ran wild with the possibilities of a perfect world; where brilliance was standard and knowledge was not for sale and used for the common good.

What a world that would be!

“Do you have any current projects?” Arnid asked.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran returned the snack of chocolate-covered nuts and dried fruit to the messenger bag. Then he refilled the lid/cup of the thermos with another steaming fill of caf, which he cradled in his hands.

The only way Celevon would be able to relax more was if he had access to a musical instrument.

Teikhos paused for a moment. “It gets easier,” he admitted. “It shouldn’t, but it does. I fought them on Nancora, at Meridian, on Arx. This was easier.” He took his tea and started back towards the table.

“Anyway, the reason I asked. Normally, I’m pretty limited in how much I can connect to people during battle meditation. I could do more with Doon than Carmen, for example. But I clicked with you like we’d been doing it for years.”

She knew it was customary to celebrate the victorious dead in times like this. Or at least she believed that was normally the case. In the minds of most soldiers, warriors, and even a few Jedi, their thoughts had been on those lost in past battles or had not lived to see the war’s end. Tinged with sorrow and even guilt, their euphoria was a maelstrom of conflicted emotions.

Sirra had left them to their own devices after the invasion’s end, caught up in her own memories. Running a hand through her hair she thought back on prior battles, or even her first encounter with the enemy cyborgs - A metallic hand pinning her head against the ferrocrete dirt, trying to force a slave collar about her neck. A feeling of blunted amusement, then alarm once the killing started. Later events had been simpler, more even in any fights. Actual battles, rather than a surprise ambush in the undercity.

Yet for all of that, for all she had hoped to see the end of them, Sirra felt nothing. No satisfaction, nor even a sense of peace. Just a note that their old foe was dead and now they were moving on. She could have felt pride in that moment, in having moved beyond them Instead it was oddly disconcerting, as if she could not take joy in a hard won victory.

It was only upon sensing a familiar mind that Sirra paused in her cold self-reflection, half-smiling as she detected Celevon’s thoughts and his usual more tangible priorities. Without bothering to reveal herself, Sirra reached out, querying which instrument he was seeking.

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She noted his words, how he answered passively. She knew this more than most, and she was never one to pry. Just offer support when needed. The war seemed to weigh on everyone, and it’ll take time to recover mentally and physically.

She nodded in simple understanding. Following back to the table, listening to his words intently. Her hands snuggly cupped her mug of tea, as she mulled over the words. Tapping the handle with her thumb as she thought.

“Hmm. That is interesting. Have you ever had this happen with any other non force sensitive?” Her thoughts raced through all the data and dossiers she has sealed away in the vault of her mind, trying to think of any studies similar to this that she’s read.

The Seeker’s own small smile grew as he felt the familiar mental touch of his adopted daughter. He didn’t bother to look around or try to sense her, as the Kiffar’s own skills had grown tremendously since they had first met.

Hell, with her own telepathic ability, Sirra could easily be on another planet entirely. Even before undergoing training, Telepathy had been the Stormwalker’s primary means of communication.

Celevon reached back through the pathway forged between them and sent an image of himself, playing a hallikset.

A single pulse of acknowledgement answered his thoughts followed by silence. A few short minutes passed then Sirra appeared next to him, hallikset of somewhat questionable quality held in one hand. Although fully stringed and clearly well tuned, large sections of the instrument’s coating had been well worn or dented in places.

Sirra set it down next to him, passing on a memory of leaving a few hundred credits as recompense, along with a written note promising to return it later on to its owner. One who, after some searching, she had made sure was alive and well rather than among the dead.

Although admittedly curious and more than a little amused at the Kiffar’s antics, Celevon didn’t bother to ask or comment, but sent a feeling of thanks as he chuckled aloud. Even with the credits, he knew from experience that the mystery of the disappearing and reappearing instrument would cause no end of frustration and annoyance to the actual owner.

The Shaevalian-Umbaran picked up the instrument and, after he tested the tuning, began to play an aimless, almost haunting melody.

The acoustics of the room containing the Arboretum carried the sound of the hallikset’s played notes fairly well, even despite the foliage and trees. There was a long pause, then the Seeker continued, this melody more hopeful as Celevon’s fingers danced across the frets.

“I am working in the potential use of force healing to make the process of implanting cybernetics far less stressful to the body.”

Arsaces said with equal measures of pride and bubbling curiosity, for it was a very important matter.

Miho sat in the small sparsely furnished quarters she had taken on the ship and knelt in the center of the room. As always, yet another conflict had to be resolved by the gathered clans.

Peace was never an option.

The loss of life from both sides was catastrophic. Scores of dead would take some time to get accurate tallies of. Their own losses had been thankfully few from what she had gathered.

Peace is never an option.

The small woman’s heart lay within her chest, weighed down by the loss of everything. The conflict began years ago and this had been the bloody conclusion. The years of apprehension suffered by the clans of the Brotherhood. The years of rage held by those forces loyal to Rath until the very end.

Peace is nothing but the hope of the hopeless.

Violet eyes opened and regarded the small room around her with a sigh.

“You have to make your own happy endings.”

It was all so senseless. She was done fighting other people’s wars. Done fighting for causes she didn’t support. It was time for a change. It was time to make peace a reality.

To find her happy endings.

A soft smile touched her lips as she looked around the room again. “I really need to start staying in places with better furniture.”

Velira had offered only a slight dip of her head as Windos spoke, something close to understanding lingering within the depths of her gaze. Without another word, she had slipped back into the shadows of the morgue and faded into them.

Velira moved through the ship in silence, passing along the winding and steel plated corridors, until she arrived somewhere all too familiar.

It was the place where their first formal meeting had been held. Where the Consul had uncovered Velira’s true nature… and had chosen, instead, to offer her a place to stay. A place to belong among those who fought alongside one another, and the chance for a new start within her centuries of borrowed life.

A pale, almost luminescent glow tinted the Anzat’s skin. Velira was indeed freshly and plentifully fed from the war, the life essence of Kendra Icasta still flowing through her. She entered soundlessly, hovering a few feet behind the small Consul’s shoulder, close to the shadows with a scroll lightly held within one of her gloved hands.

“Better furniture?” Velira’s smooth voice echoed softly from the edge of the room, as her red gaze settled upon Mihoshi in an almost knowing look. “You speak almost as though you intend to leave, Madam Consul… In any case, I have something for you.”

The Kyataran looked pver her shoulder at Velira, giving the taller woman a quick nod in greeting. “Velira. How good to see you again.”

She turned away and shrugged. “I think I will be taking several journeys I have been putting off for some time now. My brother wants me to come home for a time to be reintroduced to our people.”

A look of apprehension crossed her young face as she looked through the small exterior window of the quarters into the blackness of space. “The years lost between us are vastly different. For him, he hasn’t seen me in almost thirty years. For me, only a dozen years at most. I can still draw our parents faces from memory.”

She turned back to Velira and smile gently. “I would almost ask that you take those memories away, but I rather like having them. You said you had something for me?”

Velira’s crimson gaze remained fixed upon Miho for the moment, studying the younger woman’s reflection against the darkness beyond the small exterior window. “Ah… So you will indeed be leaving then…” There was no accusation in her words, only that of a quiet sense of understanding. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the viewport, to the endless dark beyond it.

“Time is a curious thing, is it not? How it passes from one life to the next… How cruelly, in some cases.” She tilted her head slightly in thought. “For some, thirty years may be a lifetime. For others, only a brief absence. And for beings such as myself…” A faint, humorless smile slowly curved across Velira’s lips. “Each century has often marked the beginning of an entirely new life. A new name, a new place of hiding, a new carefully crafted existence… To continue concealing the truth of what I am.”

Her attention returned to Miho. At Miho’s mention of having those memories taken, Velira’s expression shifted. A knowing smirk curved across her lips at the implication, amused and sharp in equal measure. “A most tempting offer indeed,” she said smoothly. “I am kidding, of course.”

Her voice grew more gentle after a moment, as did the look within her crimson gaze. “Your memories are what make you… you, Madam Consul. Painful though some may be, they are yours, and I would not take them from you.” For a moment, Velira let the words hang between them before she seemed to remember the purpose of her visit. Her posture shifted, composed once more. “Ah, yes. The gift.”

Velira carefully withdrew the bound scroll. She held it delicately in both hands, before unrolling and presenting it to Miho. As the parchment unfurled, it revealed a carefully hand painted portrait, one that was crafted with both care and precision. Rich pigments from across the galaxy had been worked into the piece, giving it a sense of depth that caught even the dim light of the quarters. Miho stood at the center of the composition, donning her signature green hat, her expression sharpened into a look of unmistakable focus.

“I painted this before the war,” Velira began slowly. “You kept my secret for all these years. More than that, you offered me a place within Odan Urr, despite knowing what I am… You saw the truth of my nature and chose not to turn me away.”

Something softer entered her expression then, if only for a moment as she gazed at the other woman. “That is something I have never forgotten.”

Velira took one step forward, just enough to place the artwork within Miho’s hands. “And if these journeys bring you even a measure of peace after all you have given in service to others, then I am glad for it. You have more than earned the right to seek something for yourself, Mihoshi. And I wish you nothing but peace, for the remainder of your life, if this is the last we are to see one another.”

Miho accepted the portrait with a soft smile and looked up into the red eyes of Velira. “Everyone should always be given a chance, Velira. What we are isn’t always as important as who we are.”

She looked down at the still of herself and nodded. “We can always become more than what. Always become something new, someone better. Even those like us.”

Violet eyes lifted back to Velira’s face and the Kyataran gave a sly wink. “Besides, most people are too stuffy anyway. You at least know how to have fun.”

On an entirely different level than her adopted brother, Cassiopeia Werd'la knelt in a state of dedicated meditation. She had finished cleaning all of the internal components of both lightsabers that made up the compound-hilt, which could be connected into double-bladed weapon with a longer hilt.

Whilst she had foregone the hood and left her masque on the ship during the final battles, the Sentinel wore the distinctive armor of a Jedi Temple Guard; this was not without reason. She was one of the Guards of the Jedi Praxeum, but had been called upon to serve in the final strike at the twisted heart of the Collective.

Now, however, the masque hung from her utility belt as the citrine Barab Ore crystals hovered before the Sephi, left arm held up before her.

So deep was her concentration and focus that each individual piece rapidly flew up from the pillow on the floor in front of her before the full weapon reassembled in mid-air. It spoke to the decades of experience the woman had with it in how deftly each component slid together.

Emerald eyes snapped open as Cassiopeia slowly exhaled.

The silence of the personal quarters assigned to the Sentinel was shattered as both blades erupted from either side, a blazing, pale yellow that illuminated the small room. In mere moments, the stronger than typical heat generated by this specific crystal material reached the Temple Guard.

Her extended hand twitched just slightly before the hilt smacked into her palm. Just as smoothly, Cassiopeia’s off-hand came up and twisted, separating the saberstaff into two individual weapons. She flicked both thumb-switches simultaneously, which extinguished the plasma blades.

As she gracefully stood, the Sephi returned the weapons to the saberstaff configuration with a small smile. It was then hooked to her belt with the deftness that came with such familiarity.

As Cassiopeia had remained in these quarters since their Odan-Urr’s recall, it was time for fresh air and companionship.

“Nope,” Teikhos said. “Trained Jedi and my kids, who will be there soon enough.” He rummaged around in his robes and eventually withdrew a pazaak deck. “Mind trying something?”