(Meditation Chamber, Enterprise Station — late cycle)
The room was silent save for the hum of the Force. Flows and ebbs in the Force rolled around the station, and the Chamber, into and out of the one who was channeling it. The only one on the Enterprise who could.
Connel sat cross-legged, palms open on his knees, the mask resting on the floor before him. His breath was even, but the storm behind his closed eyes was not. This was not his normal “I can’t meditate to save my life” moment, there was something else. Something that was truly monopolizing his thoughts, ever since Master Matsu Ike helped him with his issues with his implants and the effects on his body.
It was the Dark Side.
He had seen too much of what the Dark did. It did not tempt him — it disgusted him. Its arrogance, its indulgence, its ease. “The easy way out.” The coward’s road paved with shortcuts and self-justification. Soft hum of repulsorlifts under the station’s hull. Connel sat in meditation; breathing even, brow creased. The Force around him was turbulent — not wild, but frustrated. A storm under glass.
The Dark is lazy, he murmured under his breath. Children playing with matches.
And yet, even as he said it, a spark of bitterness flickered in his chest.
He hated that they still existed. He hated that they had to.
He hated that he had to be the one who faced them.
His jaw clenched. The hum in the room deepened, the shadows bending at the edges of his meditation circle. And then, through that resonance, a voice came — low, calm, solid as the stone of Tython.
Easy, son.
Connel’s eyes opened. There was no blinding light, maybe a glowing blue, at best, no apparition of robes or halos — just a figure standing where no one had been before. Broad, quiet, with that same unshakable calm that once filled entire battlefields with courage.
Caltin Vanagor.
Connel looked up, and saw the Force Ghost. He knew what this was, but still could not comprehend. You’re not here.
With his trademark half-smile, Caltin just stood there. I never left.
For a long time, neither spoke. The silence between them was the kind only family could hold — heavy, honest, sacred.
I can’t stand them. The ones who fall, the ones who choose to. They talk about freedom, but it’s just surrender. I don’t hate them because they’re powerful. I hate them because they think it’s courage to take the easy way out.
That’s the trick, isn’t it? The Dark makes easy sound brave, and hard sound foolish. But that’s the test. The Light was never meant to be easy. It’s meant to be right. That’s what I’ve always admired about you, son, you've always seen things as they are. The Dark isn’t strength. It’s surrender. It’s laziness wrapped in lightning.
Then why does it always feel like they’re winning? Why do we keep having to fight the same war?
There’s a pause. When Caltin spoke again, his tone was both memory and confession.
Because power is easier to sell than peace.
Because cruelty gets louder applause than courage.
… And because too many mistake patience for weakness.
(He stepped from the light, or perhaps was the light.)
There were times, Connel… times I cut loose. You’ve heard the stories — some true, most not. When I stood against the Sith, I didn’t hold back to spare them. I held back to spare myself. Always feeling like I was in a galaxy made of cardboard.
You could’ve killed them all.
I almost did, and for a moment — one moment — I understood them. The thrill. The clarity of destruction. I saw why they call it freedom. But it isn’t freedom. It’s absence, the real weakness.
When I felt that power rise, I also felt the mirror crack.
(He looked at Connel the way a mountain looks at its reflection — with pride and sorrow entwined.)
That’s when I remembered who I was. And maybe, just reminded them, if ill of us they speak… that we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak.
(Long silence.)
You could have been a Sith Lord.
I could’ve been one of the greatest of them. And that’s exactly why I never was. It’s easy to break. Easy to hate. Easy to take what you want and call it destiny.
But I wouldn’t have been able to look at myself in the mirror afterward. That’s the only hell I ever feared — looking and not recognizing the man staring back.
(The hum of the chamber deepened, like the Force itself leaning closer.)
You walk a harder path than I ever did. You fight in silence, alone in the dark, doing what many in the Order were at times too proud to ask or even too blind to see at times. There’s no shame in their actions, but there is none in yours either. That’s your war, and it’s noble. But don’t forget what makes you different.
He gestured to the mask resting before Connel.
That thing isn’t armor. It’s a mirror. It doesn’t hide who you are — it shows you who you’ve chosen to be. You wear it not to bury the man, but to honor him.
Connel bowed his head. The mask rose gently through the air, turning once in the glow. Connel exhaled, the anger in him simmering to quiet coals.
So, why am I here?
Probably because of me.
With his ever present smirk, he tilted his head. Nothing gets by you…
Connel chuckled at the realization of what he said. Over Atrisia… this fool of a Sith… he called me “More machine than man”... and then I had to visit Master Ike about it… but these implants were giving me problems. Anyway I’m dealing with the effects, but she gave me an injection in the spine and now I’m all “enhanced”... and trying to find the balance. All it is doing is drawing me back to the way I am feeling now… and angry that I am…
I get that.
Great talk…
A sigh, and another smirk as he “stepped” closer. You’ve carried the shield long enough to know this: It’s alright to be angry, if it doesn’t define you. Anger’s a tool — not a home. Direct it at those who’d hurt others, not at yourself. Let it move you, not consume you.
”Be the Guardian.”
And the Shadow. (He nodded toward the mask.) Guard the light. Terrorize the dark. That’s the way you’ve chosen — your way. You walk in shadow not because you’ve fallen, but because someone has to carry the light through it. Be the Guardian when you must defend. Be the Shadow when you must strike. That’s balance, son. The kind that’s earned, not inherited.
Connel looked down at the mask — his mask — and saw the faint reflection of his father’s face in the visor. When he lifted it, the reflection vanished, but the feeling remained. You don’t have to fear the darkness, Connel. Just remember who you are when you walk through it. It’s alright to be angry if it doesn’t define you. You don’t owe the galaxy peace. You owe it your strength. The difference is why you fight. Now go remind them — the Light still bites back.
The light in the chamber dimmed, like a breath being drawn back into the stars. Quietly, while doing so, he said softly. I do this because it’s right. Because it’s hard. I can still look at myself.
As he faded, Caltin left one final piece of advice. ...And that’s why you’ll never be lost.
The mask clicked into place. The hum of the room softened to silence. When he stood, the man was gone...
... but the Sentinel remained.
