Phantom Pains
Tython Jedi Temple
A small trickle flowed between moss-laden stones, carrying away sticks and dirt as it went. Cale watched the newly liberated brook he’d made with the shift of a stone grow with a satisfied smile. He didn’t look as old as he was, or as old as he felt. Eighty. He was eighty. Three days ago Marek S’hadar, a Jedi Master with more to his name than Cale could’ve ever imagined, and his twin brother had become one with the living force. It was to be expected, humans lived short lives in the grand scheme of things, and Jedi often lived shorter ones. That his brother had made it as long as he had was more surprising than anything.
It hurt, teachings be damned. It was agony, but more than simple loss beset him there in the lush forest. Cale’s body was younger than his mind, he’d spent so long trapped outside of time and inside sealed pods that he lagged far behind his brother. He wondered if that was only on the outside and that he might collapse someday soon as his brother had. Death didn’t frighten him on its own, it was part of the journey, but the reality of his life’s strange path left him with so many questions.
Could a soul die before the body?
No, he decided that something of that sort wasn’t possible, or else he’d have died all those years ago under a waving crimson banner, wielding swords of the same shade. He’d done so much since then, lost plenty, gained more, and the road ahead would doubtlessly be more of the same.
The stream met its larger sibling, the trickle binding itself to the flowing water he stood beside, planted firmly on its banks. The Jedi Master longed for his absent arm in that moment, wishing it were there so he could fold both over his chest, but instead, the one remaining hung at his side. He needed a stim. He’d needed a stim for a month, but for whatever reason, the temple seemed all too eager to lose his order of them every time. It’d been funny the first time, but now it pushed him close to emotions he was meant to have sworn off.
He took in a breath and turned his eyes to the rest of the world around him. He wasn’t like the others who were in the wrong time. It wasn’t as though he’d come into some galaxy entirely unlike the one he’d left behind. The places were the same, he’d played at this stream as a boy with the other younglings, slept in mostly the same halls, and walked these same woods. It was the people that were different, different faces in place of the ones he’d known. They were all dead, like Marek. It was just him now.
Cale hadn’t felt so alone in a long time.