Public a lonely seat

[Kael Varnok]

Kael sat at the edge of the plaza, a half-finished cup of caf warming his hands as the evening crowd drifted past. Vendors packed their wares, children laughed in the distance, and music spilled faintly from a cantina nearby. Life surrounded him, vibrant and unending, yet he felt as though he stood apart from it—watching through glass.


He tried to relax, shoulders loosening, eyes following the flow of people. For once, he wanted to let the noise drown out the constant vigilance, to simply exist. But the Force carried every movement to him, every flicker of intent, every shadow brushing against the light. His hand twitched near his belt, betraying the tension he wanted to bury.


As his gaze settled on the empty chair across from him, he wondered if someone might sit. Just a conversation, a reminder he wasn't adrift. The thought almost made him smile.

"Fool."


The word was sharp, cold, curling up from the back of his mind. Not spoken aloud—never aloud—but it filled his chest all the same.


"You will always sit alone. You were never meant to belong here. Not among them."


Kael's jaw tightened, and he lowered his eyes to his drink. For a heartbeat, his reflection seemed to twist, pupils narrowing to slits—then the image steadied, his own face staring back.


He let out a long, controlled breath. "Just one night," he murmured, voice low, as though bargaining with himself.


Still, the seat across from him remained empty.

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"May I join you?"

Kasmion sat down without waiting for an answer. He set his cane aside, his caf cup down, and rubbed his knees.

"You look wound about as tight as any young man I've met lately. Lovely place to unwind."

He gestured broadly at the large plaza and took a sip of his caf. He wasn't looking at the plaza, he was looking across the table at Kael Varnok , wondering what level of threat or opportunity he might be.

"Or find the agency and self-direction to make tension obsolete, of course."

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's eyes flicked up, sharp at first, then softened when he realized the man wasn't a threat. Not immediately, anyway. He let his hand fall away from the rim of the table, though his posture remained taut.

"You didn't wait for an answer," he said evenly, though there was no real bite to it. His gaze lingered on the cane, then the caf, then finally on the stranger's face. "But… it seems I wasn't good at saying no either."

For a moment, Kael leaned back, trying to take in the plaza as casually as Kasmion had gestured. The attempt didn't hold—his eyes swept every corner, every shifting figure, every shadow.

"Lovely place," Kael echoed at last, his voice low, the words a little hollow. "Though I've never found it easy to unwind. Not here. Not anywhere."

"Because you can't."


The whisper slithered through his thoughts, quiet, cruel. "You will always carry it with you."

His jaw tightened, and he forced a small, almost apologetic smile across the table. "But I suppose you already noticed that."

Kasmion Duum

 

[Kasmion Duum]

Kasmion shrugged easily and stayed relaxed. You had to stay relaxed around people like this, he'd found. "Friend, I'm a well-trained telepath. I felt two and saw one and none of you seemed to be having a good time of it, within the limits of my ability to sense. What are you, some sort of compound lifeform? Not to make a habit of being peremptory. Putting all the cards on the table, you might say."

Directness had often served him well. Indirectness never had, and regardless of its utility or inutility it was often beneath him.

Kael Varnok

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's fingers tightened around his cup, the heat pressing against his palm. His eyes narrowed slightly, weighing Kasmion's words as if they were blades being tested for balance.

"A telepath," he said at last, the word carrying both wariness and a thread of respect. "That explains the… certainty." He shifted in his seat, the faintest flicker of unease crossing his features.

Then, without warning, the other voice surged—rasping, cold, but clearer than before, as though given permission to exist in the open.

"Compound lifeform? Hardly. I am no parasite, no alien growth. Just a voice carved from fracture. A disorder given teeth. Nothing more."

Kael's breath caught, his jaw locking tight as though to cage the words, but he knew the telepath had heard them. His gaze dropped to the tabletop, shame and anger mingling in the furrow of his brow.


When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, steadier—his own. "You weren't wrong about one thing. None of us are having a good time of it."

Kasmion Duum

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"I see. Thank you for the explanation."

Kasmion sipped his caf and turned slightly in his chair to watch the people in the plaza. There was a fountain surmounted by a simple monument and some of the plaza's children were playing freely in the water. It was evening.

"I've heard it said that outcomes can be worse the tighter someone clings to their mental illnesses and considers them a facet of identity. Many painful situations are temporary. What would you like to be accomplishing? What work would you like to be doing?"

That last part was a loaded question.

Kael Varnok

 

[Kael Varnok]

The question hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Kael's eyes followed Kasmion's glance toward the fountain, the children's laughter carrying across the plaza like echoes from another life. His lips pressed into a thin line.

And then the voice roared.

"What do we want?" it spat, venom hot enough to sear Kael's thoughts. "We want to see it all burn. To watch the galaxy choke on the same ashes it fed us. To see justice written in fire, not words."

Kael's fingers curled against the table, shoulders stiffening. His breath hitched once, but he forced it steady, jaw set against the storm in his head. He blinked, lifting his gaze back to Kasmion.

"That isn't me," he said firmly, voice even. He let a slow exhale bleed off the tension in his chest. "Despite… the outbursts. Despite the history. I don't want fire. I don't want ruin." His eyes softened, just enough to show the exhaustion behind them.

"I only want to be seen as human. Even if I have to fight him… every moment… to keep it that way."

Kasmion Duum

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"Bah. Human is overrated." Kasmion chuckled into his caf and rather wished he'd ordered some baked goods to go with it. He anticipated a busy evening and might not get to eat until late.

"I come from the Scar Worlds. Both my homeworlds were destroyed to one extent or another. My great teacher was a fanatic and I had to weigh his voice against my own and carve my own way forward. Compromise became my tool, but not my only tool. Control. Total self-determination.

"Nobody is guaranteed to be seen as they wish to be seen. But if you accomplish something your chances are better. When people are telling stories of you in five years, what stories do you want those to be? What mark do you want to make?"

Kael Varnok

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's jaw tightened as Kasmion spoke, each word landing like a hammer against a carefully constructed calm. He leaned back slightly, but the air around him seemed to shiver as the other voice stirred, tasting the conversation like a predator circling its prey.

His pupils narrowed suddenly, slitting like twin knives in amber, and the temperature of his gaze shifted. The other side pushed forward, leaning closer to the table, voice low, resonant, laced with shadows.

"Stories?" it rasped, a sound that was almost Kael's, but not entirely. "Let them speak of fire and blood, of the weak crushed beneath the weight of justice. Let the galaxy remember what happens when they cross me… or fail to act."

Kael's hand twitched, the movement betraying the calm he tried to hold. Then, almost violently, he forced himself back into control, pupils widening, shoulders dropping. His voice softened, steady and resolute, though the memory of that surge lingered in his chest.

"No," he said firmly, eyes meeting Kasmion's once more. "I don't want fear or ruin to define me. If there are stories to be told, I want them to be about choice, about resilience. About someone who… despite what lurks inside, still tries to do right."

 

[Kasmion Duum]

"How?" said Kasmion. "Specifically l, how? What kind of actions seem right and desirable to you? Are there any areas where your two sides' priorities overlap? That might take some pressure off."

Suddenly blasterfire rang out across the plaza. Locals of every age and description surged away screaming. It appeared to be some kind of pirate or looter raid, a blunt instrument. Kasmion set aside his cup and got up with his cane, already thinking. The rushing crowd parted around him.

"Or not, as the case may be. Are you armed?"

Kael Varnok

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's head snapped toward the sudden chaos, senses igniting. The plaza blurred as he processed movement, sound, and intention at once. Instinct took over, and his hands went to the hilts of his curved sabers. One pupil narrowed into a slit, amber light burning brighter for a heartbeat before returning to near-human shape—an echo of the other presence stirring, hungry for action.

"I am," he said calmly, though every muscle was coiled, ready. The calm in his voice belied the storm in his chest. "Always."

He rose, cloak shifting around his shoulders, eyes scanning the fleeing crowd and the blaster flashes. The split whispered at the edges of his mind, urging him to strike with precision and ruthlessness—but Kael forced it down, letting only focus guide his movements.

"Stay close," he added to Kasmion, glancing to see if the telepath had prepared himself. "Keep out of the line of fire if you can. We handle this—together."

Kasmion Duum

 

[Kasmion Duum]

This angle showed Kasmion Kael Varnok 's lightsabers, which certainly added an interesting wrinkle, not to mention context for all that had come before. He decided to stay only relatively close. Lightsabers were nasty business, a cruel weapon.

"I'll help clear the plaza for thirty seconds," he said, "then assist you with the raiders."

The locals were no fools: they were already well on their way to the former goal. From here at the edge, Kasmion spotted stragglers. He'd been afraid they'd be those less capable of independent movement, but the locals were collaborative and care was being taken, elders and children helped along. The stragglers were mostly the indignant, and he got an eye on them and applied the arts of the Shamers. Shame couldn't create good behaviour, but it could attenuate unwanted behaviours, and he attenuated this moment precisely, made them cowards for a moment, just long enough to get them running.