Midvinter was lovely this time of year. It was good to visit Chrysa, she needed it, he needed it, and it gave Buster a playmate in Cooper. Connel enjoyed the time because he did not have to do anything but cook, and really wake up every morning. Connel cherished these moments of simplicity and connection, finding solace in the quiet rhythm of their days. It was a time to recharge, reflect, and enjoy the company of loved ones without the usual demands of daily life.
So why was he meditating? He hated meditating.
He couldn’t explain it, but there was a need for him to sit and meditate. He felt restless and distracted, yet something compelled him to sit in stillness, to quiet his mind. Perhaps it was the need to find balance amidst the simplicity of these days, to connect with himself in a way that cooking and waking up early couldn’t quite achieve.
However, this was his mother’s house, so there was no meditation chamber to go dark. He sat on the porch as he always did — but this time, the silence felt heavy. The air trembled faintly around Connel’s shoulders. There was no hum of serenity, only the whisper of his own breath against the mask lying dormant before him.
You used to call it beautiful. I still don’t see it.
A woman’s laugh — smooth, melodic, and utterly amused — echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
It was his mother, Chrysothemis who told him that it was because he looked at it like a wound instead of a mirror, with a “darling” thrown in.
He exhaled through his nose — sharp, weary.
It’s a wound. The galaxy keeps bleeding from it.
She smiled and sat next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Telling him how, “yet, it lives. Blood is life. Darkness is part of that flow”. There’s a dangerous kindness in her eyes. She went on and observed how he had been brooding. That little line between his eyes gives you away. She asked him what was going on, “Why does the Dark keep you awake at night?”
Connel sat there quietly for a moment, shaking his head a couple of times and letting out an exasperated sigh. Because I hate it. Because it’s still here. Because I can’t stop thinking about how he — how Father — gave everything, and it’s still here.
Chrysa knew all of this already, you could tell in her eyes, she said nothing, just sat there, and tilted her head sympathetically. She then asked if this disgusts him. He simply nodded, almost ashamed that he was disgracing his mother, a woman who was once herself a proponent of the Dark Side, a Sith Lord. Then he shook his head… and with a long sigh finally said I don’t know.
She laughed, not out of any emotion, but pride for her son and told him simply “You sound just like him”.
To which Connel glanced up — a flicker of confusion under iron restraint. I don’t mean to argue, Mother, but Father would never—
She knew that he wasn’t arguing, she was teaching him and he knew that. He was one for asking questions and trying to clarify, nothing will ever change and that to her was the best thing. “ —speak so bluntly about his feelings? Oh, he most certainly did. Just not out loud.”
She said with a smile reserved for only him. She told him how he had inherited both of their storms, even throwing in her pet name for him “love”. She reminded how Connel had inherited his silence, and her fire.
Places I go, people talk about him, ask me about him. He was an anchor, for many. It was as if for those many, that they had him to rely on. Now he’s gone, and— There wasn’t “defeat” or “sadness” or even “anxiety” in his tone, there was something else…
That is when she showed that she was his mother, knowing just what he was going to say before even he did. “—now you think it’s your turn to lift the weight?”
She leaned closer, rubbing against him like a cat might the leg of the one feeding them, or even one circling a candle flame.
Someone has to. It feels like everything is slipping away, and I can't do anything to stop it. It's frustrating to watch things fall apart when I know they could be better. I just wish there was a way to fix it all.
Then she asked him simply if while someone definitely will, did it have to be him alone? This is where he opened his mouth to protest, but she continued. “Your father carried what no one else could. That was his truth. Yours is different. You don’t owe the galaxy his kind of strength — you owe it yours.”
Then her tone sharpened — amused, but edged like a blade. “...And this hatred of the Dark Side — this righteous fury of yours — tell me, what are you really angry at? The Dark? Or the loss?” He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Then she smiled and put an arm over his shoulder and around his neck comforting. “Ah. There it is. You’re not disgusted with the Dark because it’s vile — you’re disgusted because it took him from you. Because it keeps taking. Because you think if you could just stamp it out completely, maybe you could have saved him.”
Then she leaned closer, voice lowering to something tender. “But you can’t destroy what is part of the Force. You can only understand it.”
That is when his gaze lifted — eyes hard, tired, searching. Understand it? Are you asking me to embrace it?
She sat there, amused. This wide eyed investigation of his, was the curiosity she loved about her son. “No, no, no. I said understand, not use. There’s a difference. To wield darkness is to let it own you. To understand it is to rob it of its mystery — and its power.”
That’s why you left it.
She shrugged a little. Explaining how she chose his father over the Dark Side. She in him what she did not see in the Dark Side. She told Connel how Caltin had taught him how the Light was the harder path, the more difficult, and challenging life, a power that those who chased the Dark Side could never understand. She was there to remind Connel how the Dark Side was the easier lie.
She touched his face, cupping his cheek. “You don’t need to be him, Connel. You already carry him in everything you do. What the galaxy needs now isn’t another Caltin Vanagor. It needs you.
The hybrid. The one who can see both sides and still stand in the middle without falling.”
He closed his eyes, his voice breaking slightly. Then what am I supposed to do with what’s left?
Then she told him simply to study it. To question it. To find out why it disgusted him. Only then will he know what it really is. She told him, in a motherly voice, how when he did… he’ll finally stop reacting like his father’s son, not that it is a bad thing, and start living as his own man.
The air hummed again — the faint scent of perfume, the warmth of her presence, all in an all encompassing embrace between the two, and a whisper in his ear. “I’m proud of you, my child. Not for hating the Dark… but for daring to look at it without blinking. That’s how the Light survives. I will help you however I can, with names, with locations.” She still had something to give.
She had a lunch date with a few friends, he could have come if he wanted to, he was welcome, but Connel did not want to intrude, besides, they probably would talk only to and about him, so he stayed. He meditated a little longer, she would give him the locations, the names of ones to approach, she gave him all he would need. It was just a matter of beginning the trek.
The galaxy sleeps, but I do not.
The stars move, and still, I sit among their silence.
I have listened to the voices of the Light, and I have heard the whispers of the Dark — both arguing over who owns the truth. They are both wrong.
The Force is not a battlefield.
It is a breath. A current. A storm.
It does not divide itself into Light and Dark — we do that, because we are afraid to face the whole of it.
But I am done being afraid.
The Dark Side feeds on fear. The Light Side flees from it.
But I — I stand in it.
I stare into the abyss until it blinks first.
I will learn what hides behind the anger, what trembles behind the mercy, what lies beneath the Force itself when the names fall away.
If I must walk a thousand worlds, if I must meditate upon the bones of fallen temples and the ghosts of forgotten wars — I will.
I will learn what my father never had time to name, and what my mother once mistook for freedom.
I will learn until there is nothing left to possibly fear, nothing left to hate, and nothing left to hide from.
The Force is not Light. It is not Dark.
It is truth.
And I.am.done. running from it.
So hear me, galaxy — if I have to search every corner of you, I will find what the Force truly is.
Not what it was, not what they said it should be, but what it is.
No more fear.
No more denial.
Only understanding.
That is my path.
So why was he meditating? He hated meditating.
He couldn’t explain it, but there was a need for him to sit and meditate. He felt restless and distracted, yet something compelled him to sit in stillness, to quiet his mind. Perhaps it was the need to find balance amidst the simplicity of these days, to connect with himself in a way that cooking and waking up early couldn’t quite achieve.
However, this was his mother’s house, so there was no meditation chamber to go dark. He sat on the porch as he always did — but this time, the silence felt heavy. The air trembled faintly around Connel’s shoulders. There was no hum of serenity, only the whisper of his own breath against the mask lying dormant before him.
You used to call it beautiful. I still don’t see it.
A woman’s laugh — smooth, melodic, and utterly amused — echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once.
It was his mother, Chrysothemis who told him that it was because he looked at it like a wound instead of a mirror, with a “darling” thrown in.
He exhaled through his nose — sharp, weary.
It’s a wound. The galaxy keeps bleeding from it.
She smiled and sat next to him, a hand on his shoulder. Telling him how, “yet, it lives. Blood is life. Darkness is part of that flow”. There’s a dangerous kindness in her eyes. She went on and observed how he had been brooding. That little line between his eyes gives you away. She asked him what was going on, “Why does the Dark keep you awake at night?”
Connel sat there quietly for a moment, shaking his head a couple of times and letting out an exasperated sigh. Because I hate it. Because it’s still here. Because I can’t stop thinking about how he — how Father — gave everything, and it’s still here.
Chrysa knew all of this already, you could tell in her eyes, she said nothing, just sat there, and tilted her head sympathetically. She then asked if this disgusts him. He simply nodded, almost ashamed that he was disgracing his mother, a woman who was once herself a proponent of the Dark Side, a Sith Lord. Then he shook his head… and with a long sigh finally said I don’t know.
She laughed, not out of any emotion, but pride for her son and told him simply “You sound just like him”.
To which Connel glanced up — a flicker of confusion under iron restraint. I don’t mean to argue, Mother, but Father would never—
She knew that he wasn’t arguing, she was teaching him and he knew that. He was one for asking questions and trying to clarify, nothing will ever change and that to her was the best thing. “ —speak so bluntly about his feelings? Oh, he most certainly did. Just not out loud.”
She said with a smile reserved for only him. She told him how he had inherited both of their storms, even throwing in her pet name for him “love”. She reminded how Connel had inherited his silence, and her fire.
Places I go, people talk about him, ask me about him. He was an anchor, for many. It was as if for those many, that they had him to rely on. Now he’s gone, and— There wasn’t “defeat” or “sadness” or even “anxiety” in his tone, there was something else…
That is when she showed that she was his mother, knowing just what he was going to say before even he did. “—now you think it’s your turn to lift the weight?”
She leaned closer, rubbing against him like a cat might the leg of the one feeding them, or even one circling a candle flame.
Someone has to. It feels like everything is slipping away, and I can't do anything to stop it. It's frustrating to watch things fall apart when I know they could be better. I just wish there was a way to fix it all.
Then she asked him simply if while someone definitely will, did it have to be him alone? This is where he opened his mouth to protest, but she continued. “Your father carried what no one else could. That was his truth. Yours is different. You don’t owe the galaxy his kind of strength — you owe it yours.”
Then her tone sharpened — amused, but edged like a blade. “...And this hatred of the Dark Side — this righteous fury of yours — tell me, what are you really angry at? The Dark? Or the loss?” He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
Then she smiled and put an arm over his shoulder and around his neck comforting. “Ah. There it is. You’re not disgusted with the Dark because it’s vile — you’re disgusted because it took him from you. Because it keeps taking. Because you think if you could just stamp it out completely, maybe you could have saved him.”
Then she leaned closer, voice lowering to something tender. “But you can’t destroy what is part of the Force. You can only understand it.”
That is when his gaze lifted — eyes hard, tired, searching. Understand it? Are you asking me to embrace it?
She sat there, amused. This wide eyed investigation of his, was the curiosity she loved about her son. “No, no, no. I said understand, not use. There’s a difference. To wield darkness is to let it own you. To understand it is to rob it of its mystery — and its power.”
That’s why you left it.
She shrugged a little. Explaining how she chose his father over the Dark Side. She in him what she did not see in the Dark Side. She told Connel how Caltin had taught him how the Light was the harder path, the more difficult, and challenging life, a power that those who chased the Dark Side could never understand. She was there to remind Connel how the Dark Side was the easier lie.
She touched his face, cupping his cheek. “You don’t need to be him, Connel. You already carry him in everything you do. What the galaxy needs now isn’t another Caltin Vanagor. It needs you.
The hybrid. The one who can see both sides and still stand in the middle without falling.”
He closed his eyes, his voice breaking slightly. Then what am I supposed to do with what’s left?
Then she told him simply to study it. To question it. To find out why it disgusted him. Only then will he know what it really is. She told him, in a motherly voice, how when he did… he’ll finally stop reacting like his father’s son, not that it is a bad thing, and start living as his own man.
The air hummed again — the faint scent of perfume, the warmth of her presence, all in an all encompassing embrace between the two, and a whisper in his ear. “I’m proud of you, my child. Not for hating the Dark… but for daring to look at it without blinking. That’s how the Light survives. I will help you however I can, with names, with locations.” She still had something to give.
She had a lunch date with a few friends, he could have come if he wanted to, he was welcome, but Connel did not want to intrude, besides, they probably would talk only to and about him, so he stayed. He meditated a little longer, she would give him the locations, the names of ones to approach, she gave him all he would need. It was just a matter of beginning the trek.
The galaxy sleeps, but I do not.
The stars move, and still, I sit among their silence.
I have listened to the voices of the Light, and I have heard the whispers of the Dark — both arguing over who owns the truth. They are both wrong.
The Force is not a battlefield.
It is a breath. A current. A storm.
It does not divide itself into Light and Dark — we do that, because we are afraid to face the whole of it.
But I am done being afraid.
The Dark Side feeds on fear. The Light Side flees from it.
But I — I stand in it.
I stare into the abyss until it blinks first.
I will learn what hides behind the anger, what trembles behind the mercy, what lies beneath the Force itself when the names fall away.
If I must walk a thousand worlds, if I must meditate upon the bones of fallen temples and the ghosts of forgotten wars — I will.
I will learn what my father never had time to name, and what my mother once mistook for freedom.
I will learn until there is nothing left to possibly fear, nothing left to hate, and nothing left to hide from.
The Force is not Light. It is not Dark.
It is truth.
And I.am.done. running from it.
So hear me, galaxy — if I have to search every corner of you, I will find what the Force truly is.
Not what it was, not what they said it should be, but what it is.
No more fear.
No more denial.
Only understanding.
That is my path.
