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- #1
Jhon stirred beneath the warm comfort of a soft blanket, his head nestled up against a feathery pillow in complete relaxation. Still somewhat asleep, he smiled at the feel of it, a rejuvenating rest the likes of which he had not had for a very long time. Between his journey in Imperial space and his return to the spartan environment of the Tythonian Jedi Temple, before the battle that ravaged the planet, creature comforts were not known to him for over a year. That was the Jedi way, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy something better when the opportunity presented itself.
But that was the question he had now, as he slowly opened his eyes to the sights of an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place. Where was he? How did he get here? Something about it felt pure and safe, like it was a home, but he did not know why. The Force was strong here, with a tinge of ancient knowledge, but what or why that meant anything wasn’t clear. All he knew was that the last thing he remembered, he was with Ebberla -- the same thing that happened when he lost most of his memories from his time in Imperial space.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was drugging me,” he quipped aloud, though there was no one around to hear it.
The old Jedi Master slowly rose from the bed, sliding his legs over the side to stand up, but as he moved his leg he felt a sharp, debilitating pain. He clenched his teeth and resisted the impulse to cry out, still not knowing who or what was around this place. He looked around for something to help him stand, and he noticed a cane that someone left him leaning up against the bed stand. Whoever was here, they were trying to help him, at least somewhat.
Standing up was a struggle. He put all the pressure of his weight against the cane so he could rise to his feet, keeping as much pressure off of his injured leg as possible. Tyrn Lightell did more damage than Jhon thought; he would have expected to be healed completely by now, assuming the people in this place actually did use the Force. Perhaps it was his old age, and the weariness of war combined with whatever it was that Andraste was doing on Coruscant.
Coruscant… Jhon could feel it in the Force. The planet was still there, but not as it once was. So many were dead; life itself was nearly killed during that battle, however long ago it was now. The Force felt different, like it was wounded. That wound had a name. That wound was an Empress who now sat upon a throne made of skull and bone, on the once bright light that served as the capital of peace and democracy in this galaxy. It was a throne that would have to be broken one day.
That’s when Jhon noticed something on the table on the far side of the room. It was a holo-photo, one he had not seen for many years, of him and a young girl smiling outside the gates of the Sage Halls of Empress Teta. That girl, with her long brown hair and the red flower in her hand, was Andraste; pure, innocent, as he chose to remember her. Wherever Jhon was now, they brought him here for a reason. This was no ordinary room, it was his room. But why?
He left this room, looking for someone who might be around, but he found nothing, only the faint noise of a child giggling somewhere deeper in the complex. The sound was eerie, like a ghost, but he pressed onward, limping his way with his cane towards the sound. The halls themselves were cold, made of stone with new metals placed atop them for support. Some passageways were sealed, likely damaged from whatever snowy landscape he assumed this building was in. It still felt ancient, like he was in the footsteps of history.
That became clearer once he entered an antechamber that looked to be the center of the complex. It was circular, with chairs circled around it towards a center gathering place. It reminded him of the Jedi Council chambers, like this was a place where important matters were discussed or lessons were taught. It was much like a place the Jedi would build, but not entirely Jedi. It was something different, something even more ancient-looking than the Jedi he had ever known.
All around him, he saw inscriptions written in an ancient language, the same language he had seen in some pages of the journal that Skhai gave him, from when they followed in the footsteps of Bhikku Bo. Along with the language were numerous hieroglyphics. One of the most prominent was that of a tall human figure, covered in a long robe and standing beneath a ship descending towards the surface. The man sat in Jedi-like meditation, appearing wise and deeply profound.
Beside that drawing, however, was an even more important one, of the very same man. He stood alone, adorned in the armor once used by the Je’daii of Tython during the Force Wars. A halo was drawn above his head, with that same ancient language along with it, but with the ancient words were a translation. It was a name, a name that made his heart skip a beat, that made him sweat in anxiety even despite the frigid temperatures of this place. It was the name Calid Baatch of Alderaan, a name he had heard before from the descendent of this man... from his friend.
“Skhai…”
But that was the question he had now, as he slowly opened his eyes to the sights of an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar place. Where was he? How did he get here? Something about it felt pure and safe, like it was a home, but he did not know why. The Force was strong here, with a tinge of ancient knowledge, but what or why that meant anything wasn’t clear. All he knew was that the last thing he remembered, he was with Ebberla -- the same thing that happened when he lost most of his memories from his time in Imperial space.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was drugging me,” he quipped aloud, though there was no one around to hear it.
The old Jedi Master slowly rose from the bed, sliding his legs over the side to stand up, but as he moved his leg he felt a sharp, debilitating pain. He clenched his teeth and resisted the impulse to cry out, still not knowing who or what was around this place. He looked around for something to help him stand, and he noticed a cane that someone left him leaning up against the bed stand. Whoever was here, they were trying to help him, at least somewhat.
Standing up was a struggle. He put all the pressure of his weight against the cane so he could rise to his feet, keeping as much pressure off of his injured leg as possible. Tyrn Lightell did more damage than Jhon thought; he would have expected to be healed completely by now, assuming the people in this place actually did use the Force. Perhaps it was his old age, and the weariness of war combined with whatever it was that Andraste was doing on Coruscant.
Coruscant… Jhon could feel it in the Force. The planet was still there, but not as it once was. So many were dead; life itself was nearly killed during that battle, however long ago it was now. The Force felt different, like it was wounded. That wound had a name. That wound was an Empress who now sat upon a throne made of skull and bone, on the once bright light that served as the capital of peace and democracy in this galaxy. It was a throne that would have to be broken one day.
That’s when Jhon noticed something on the table on the far side of the room. It was a holo-photo, one he had not seen for many years, of him and a young girl smiling outside the gates of the Sage Halls of Empress Teta. That girl, with her long brown hair and the red flower in her hand, was Andraste; pure, innocent, as he chose to remember her. Wherever Jhon was now, they brought him here for a reason. This was no ordinary room, it was his room. But why?
He left this room, looking for someone who might be around, but he found nothing, only the faint noise of a child giggling somewhere deeper in the complex. The sound was eerie, like a ghost, but he pressed onward, limping his way with his cane towards the sound. The halls themselves were cold, made of stone with new metals placed atop them for support. Some passageways were sealed, likely damaged from whatever snowy landscape he assumed this building was in. It still felt ancient, like he was in the footsteps of history.
That became clearer once he entered an antechamber that looked to be the center of the complex. It was circular, with chairs circled around it towards a center gathering place. It reminded him of the Jedi Council chambers, like this was a place where important matters were discussed or lessons were taught. It was much like a place the Jedi would build, but not entirely Jedi. It was something different, something even more ancient-looking than the Jedi he had ever known.
All around him, he saw inscriptions written in an ancient language, the same language he had seen in some pages of the journal that Skhai gave him, from when they followed in the footsteps of Bhikku Bo. Along with the language were numerous hieroglyphics. One of the most prominent was that of a tall human figure, covered in a long robe and standing beneath a ship descending towards the surface. The man sat in Jedi-like meditation, appearing wise and deeply profound.
Beside that drawing, however, was an even more important one, of the very same man. He stood alone, adorned in the armor once used by the Je’daii of Tython during the Force Wars. A halo was drawn above his head, with that same ancient language along with it, but with the ancient words were a translation. It was a name, a name that made his heart skip a beat, that made him sweat in anxiety even despite the frigid temperatures of this place. It was the name Calid Baatch of Alderaan, a name he had heard before from the descendent of this man... from his friend.
“Skhai…”
