A cold breeze carried powdery snow into the room where the destinies of three Jedi interweaved. Piles of white covered the slanted roof beyond the opened window of the third floor at Hirata Estate already.
Bernard slid the window panel closed. The wood brushed smoothly over the carved grooves of the windowsill, and locked in place with a quiet click. Within the room, candles breathed their relief, brightening against the night’s shade as the wind from outside abated.
“Sit,” Inosuke Ashina invited.
Bernard returned to his seat, opposite the estate’s lord. He nodded a silent request to their third guest, Kyric Karis, who stood wordless, leaning against the wall, besides the other window.
“Thank you, Lord Ashina. It was as much an honour as it was a surprise to receive your invitation,” Bernard said.
“Inosuke is fine, Bernard,” the Lord replied. He poured tea from a modest vessel. “I saw the condemnations you posted on the Jedi Temple. Did it elicit the reaction you expected?”
Bernard exhaled, accepting the offered cup, then spoke.
“In truth, no. It is disheartening to know the Jedi no longer hold the same spirit to oppose the Dark as they once did. But I still hold out hope they may see reason.”
“Your optimism will betray you. I have come to know better than to expect a forged sword to bend,” Inosuke’s firmness betrayed no doubts.
Bernard’s gaze fell to the steam rising from his cup. Deep down he resonated with the sentiment more than he wanted to admit.
“I see no other way forward but to hope, Inosuke. The Sith still stand unopposed, Ryv’s murderer walks the galaxy once more, and we Jedi have lost our ancestral home to the enemy.”
From the corner of his eye, Bernard observed Kyric as he spoke Ryv’s name. It was his father's sacrifice that had been diluted by the imprudence of the Order he once called home.
Kyric’s expression sharpened. It held an intensity that made a greater impact than his unassuming presence might have suggested at first glance. The boy already resembled his father in more ways than his appearance.
“As it stands, the New Jedi Order remains the only force poised to oppose the advancing darkness,” Bernard continued, returning his attention to Inosuke.
Inosuke shook his head. “On the other side of this mountain stands an army of nearly ten thousand, devoted to Ashla’s will. Ishida Ashina commands a formidable host of roughly one hundred Jedi.” A vague gesture indicated the door from which Bernard had entered the Hirata Estate. “Surely you saw the score of exiles housed here?”
“They are gifted with the Force,” Bernard replied.
Inosuke had amassed a greater following of warriors than Bernard had thought possible within a galaxy so wrapped up in the sprawl of the Galactic Alliance.
“This army you have gathered, it is a useful tool, even at its size,” he continued, all-white eyes narrowing by margins. “I sense you have designs already set in motion, Inosuke.”
“Not yet,” Inosuke confessed. “That is why I brought you here. There are still missing pieces in multitudes, but your actions at the temple caught my attention. I need your mind, and your sword.”
An army of thousands loyal to the Light, more than a hundred Jedi disillusioned with the lack of tangible action against the Sith, and a Lord to whom they were bound. The pieces assembled into a formidable weapon, yet it was Bernard’s blade that had still been missing.
“Your words intrigue me, as have your letters. We are of one mind on what must be done,” Bernard spoke and set down the cup.
Reclamation, and a stance to weed out the Sith proactively, rather than to observe from the comfort of high council chambers. These principles Bernard could follow.
His eyes rested a moment on the son of the late Sword of the Jedi. His presence among the Jedi at the estate spoke a more convincing argument for the Lord than the numbers he proclaimed.
“I will aid you in moulding what yet stands unfinished, Inosuke. Tell me, do you have paper and ink?”
A minuscule smirk broke the signature Ashina stolidness. Inosuke turned to Kyric, “Issue the call.”
Bernard slid the window panel closed. The wood brushed smoothly over the carved grooves of the windowsill, and locked in place with a quiet click. Within the room, candles breathed their relief, brightening against the night’s shade as the wind from outside abated.
“Sit,” Inosuke Ashina invited.
Bernard returned to his seat, opposite the estate’s lord. He nodded a silent request to their third guest, Kyric Karis, who stood wordless, leaning against the wall, besides the other window.
“Thank you, Lord Ashina. It was as much an honour as it was a surprise to receive your invitation,” Bernard said.
“Inosuke is fine, Bernard,” the Lord replied. He poured tea from a modest vessel. “I saw the condemnations you posted on the Jedi Temple. Did it elicit the reaction you expected?”
Bernard exhaled, accepting the offered cup, then spoke.
“In truth, no. It is disheartening to know the Jedi no longer hold the same spirit to oppose the Dark as they once did. But I still hold out hope they may see reason.”
“Your optimism will betray you. I have come to know better than to expect a forged sword to bend,” Inosuke’s firmness betrayed no doubts.
Bernard’s gaze fell to the steam rising from his cup. Deep down he resonated with the sentiment more than he wanted to admit.
“I see no other way forward but to hope, Inosuke. The Sith still stand unopposed, Ryv’s murderer walks the galaxy once more, and we Jedi have lost our ancestral home to the enemy.”
From the corner of his eye, Bernard observed Kyric as he spoke Ryv’s name. It was his father's sacrifice that had been diluted by the imprudence of the Order he once called home.
Kyric’s expression sharpened. It held an intensity that made a greater impact than his unassuming presence might have suggested at first glance. The boy already resembled his father in more ways than his appearance.
“As it stands, the New Jedi Order remains the only force poised to oppose the advancing darkness,” Bernard continued, returning his attention to Inosuke.
Inosuke shook his head. “On the other side of this mountain stands an army of nearly ten thousand, devoted to Ashla’s will. Ishida Ashina commands a formidable host of roughly one hundred Jedi.” A vague gesture indicated the door from which Bernard had entered the Hirata Estate. “Surely you saw the score of exiles housed here?”
“They are gifted with the Force,” Bernard replied.
Inosuke had amassed a greater following of warriors than Bernard had thought possible within a galaxy so wrapped up in the sprawl of the Galactic Alliance.
“This army you have gathered, it is a useful tool, even at its size,” he continued, all-white eyes narrowing by margins. “I sense you have designs already set in motion, Inosuke.”
“Not yet,” Inosuke confessed. “That is why I brought you here. There are still missing pieces in multitudes, but your actions at the temple caught my attention. I need your mind, and your sword.”
An army of thousands loyal to the Light, more than a hundred Jedi disillusioned with the lack of tangible action against the Sith, and a Lord to whom they were bound. The pieces assembled into a formidable weapon, yet it was Bernard’s blade that had still been missing.
“Your words intrigue me, as have your letters. We are of one mind on what must be done,” Bernard spoke and set down the cup.
Reclamation, and a stance to weed out the Sith proactively, rather than to observe from the comfort of high council chambers. These principles Bernard could follow.
His eyes rested a moment on the son of the late Sword of the Jedi. His presence among the Jedi at the estate spoke a more convincing argument for the Lord than the numbers he proclaimed.
“I will aid you in moulding what yet stands unfinished, Inosuke. Tell me, do you have paper and ink?”
A minuscule smirk broke the signature Ashina stolidness. Inosuke turned to Kyric, “Issue the call.”
