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- Nov 27, 2005
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- #1
"The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones."
—William Shakespeare
Months AgoThe good is oft interred with their bones."
—William Shakespeare
It hadn’t been long since Jhon and Skhai were on Corellia, where he told her the truth about who Andraste and Lana were: that they were Skywalkers, one destined to be Darth Vader and the other destined to be Luke Skywalker. She took the news well; Skhai had her fair share of galactic secrets reaching back from the days before the Old Republic even existed, secrets Jhon began to learn while in the steps of Bhikkhu Bo. She would be the last person to judge him for withholding it from her, nor would she be someone who would be surprised to learn that there were great destinies in the galaxy again.
Jhon wasn’t in the right mind, not since being in the bowls of Coruscant beneath the Jedi Temple, when Kiro told him that Andraste had been crowned Empress of the Sith and married Darth Exodeus. That feeling of failure, knowing that it was his choice to flee Lehon with Lana that led to her falling further into darkness, twisted his soul like a slow-cutting knife. It took its time, as if to cut through ever cell, every fiber of skin, every bit of him one by one. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake, and probably never would.
For now, he remained here on Coruscant, in hiding in Skhai’s penthouse. The sun was setting over the city, and he watched it, just as always did when he was on this planet. Jhon was leaning forward against the railing on the balcony, out in plain view yet knowing that with all the quadrillions of beings on this world he had nothing to fear. No one could see him, even standing out on a balcony.