Private A Moment of Peace

[Heinrich Faust]

Veynos Qeyl

Location: the Faust estate, Ession

Things had been strange on Ession, as of late. Despite Thelar's efforts to further his father's vision, the planet had never been quite the same since the Crusade imploded in on itself. The Sith had retaken some of the worlds previously under Ashlan control, and the others had grown distant. What was once a united region of space was left fractured, broken. Even Heinrich, who had dedicated so much of his life to the movement, had hoped to distance himself from the fighting. He even managed to do so... for a time...

Then the news came...

Tython was a nightmare. Heinrich still often dreamt of the chaos, of the fracturing threads of reality that Darth Solipsis had wrought upon the world. He kept thinking of the brave souls that died defending the planet. Legend after legend, each giving their all to stop the Sith'ari's made schemes. So many great souls... extinguished. And for a moment, it seemed like it was all worth it. Yet, the Dark Lord was back... and with his return, any semblance of peace was taken from the former Grand Marshal.

The war had not come to Ession. At least, not yet, though Heinrich knew that sooner or later, his former vile master would set his sights on the world. Solipsis had too much history there. Too much investment, even if he may attempt to disregard it. The man's roots ran deep on Ession, and Heinrich could only do what he could to prepare his fellow knights for whatever may come.

He wandered into his personal library, his mind dancing across the myriad of possibilities that the future held for him and those he sought to protect. So much enthralled was he by such omens of darkness, that he almost bumped into Veynos.

"Apologies, Veynos."

The young man was an intriguing individual, especially for his age. He had known much of the turmoil of the Tingel Arm, and yet had found time to balance his martial preparation with academics. In some ways, he reminded Heinrich of himself, at least before all of the tragedy had befallen him in his youth.

"It seems I find you here more and more, as of late. Tell me, is it knowledge you seek, or guidance?"

Heinrich did his best attempt at a reassuring smile, though years of constant conflict seemed perpetually stained upon his face. Veynos had so much potential, and while Heinrich had used that to give him cause to personally train the young man, there was also a lingering sense of protectiveness. Nothing was wrong with being inquisitive, but Heinrich knew all too well that balance was eternally important when journeying into the more cavernous parts of research... especially for one so gifted in the Force.

​

 

[Veynos Qeyl]

​

The leather-bound book rested heavily on the pyramid A-frame that crowned the reading desk in Heinrich’s study. Though the room bore the marks of his master’s scholarship, it had become Veynos’ domain, where he alone sifted through books and dataslates of gathered knowledge. His fingers lingered on the vellum, the cool surface brushing against his skin as he turned the page. The sweet weight of fatigue began to tug at his eyes, the long hours of study taking their toll, yet he read on, having missed supper, enraptured by the details the book yielded.

He swallowed, the air cool in the carefully regulated chamber. Every trace of moisture was drawn out with clinical precision, ensuring the preservation of the fragile organic materials within. The volumes in this wing of the library had been ordered under Veynos’ direction, the academic staff fetching whatever he requested from the deeper archives. They laboured tirelessly to cross-reference his findings, even unearthing hints of entries previously unrecorded. It was good work, he told himself. It was important work.

The account before him dated from sometime around five hundred ABY, perhaps as late as five hundred and fifty. It had been written by hand despite the digital technologies already in wide use for centuries, suggesting either a society clinging to older practices or one that valued the permanence of personal testimony over records that might be altered. There was a righteousness to that choice, Veynos thought, whenever he encountered such writings.

This one, though anonymous, bore the marks of a Sith hand. The tone, the cadence, the weight of emotion carried through each phrase. Jedi could be emotive in their discourse, that was true, but this was different, more visceral. More dangerous.

He had taken up his own notes beside the tome, using a thin sheet of treated paper and a stylus that burned micro layers of carbon into its surface. He preferred this method; it made him feel more scholarly. This session read as follows:

Emotion is the beginning.
—But beginnings are not ends. Without reason, the start wanders nowhere.

Through passion the heart awakens, and through awakening the will takes form.
—The heart misleads. Frenzy ruins will.

From will comes power, and through power the self is unbound.
—Unbound, or chained to hunger. Temperance missing. Another shackle.

To feel is to live, and to live is to rise beyond stillness.
—Stillness is not death. Stillness listens, knows. Fire burns too fast alone.

Restrain not the fire within, for in its flame lies freedom.
—Unrestrained fire devours. Freedom is in the hearth, not the blaze.

He looked at the last notes he had written, a slight cramp forming in his right hand. He thought of his mother when writing such things. She had often spoken of the blaze that burned within.

He sighed, regulating his breath a little as the faintest ache of emotion filled his chest and throat.

No. That wasn’t appropriate for now.

His master’s entrance broke his reverie, a sense of embarrassment passing over him as though he had been caught undressed. In some ways, he was, mentally laid bare in his study. Heinrich entered with an odd haze about him, nearly colliding with the central chair where Veynos sat.

He rose at once, deferring to his master. Despite giving the best of his teenage years to Heinrich’s instruction, Veynos had never shed the eccentricities of courtesy. When bidden, he sat again, answering with a wry attempt to frame his discovery.

“De’llan writes in his Poetics of the Force that very question, master: to attain guidance is to have knowledge. Without it, one is blinded.”

He let his thumb brush the raised ink on the parchment, the dust of ages still unbroken.

“My work is concluding at a pace, thanks to these rescued pieces from Tython. That we managed to recover them before this Dark Emperor set his forces upon the world is a small mercy.” He glanced up at Heinrich.

“We have begun cataloguing them. Some passages here are mentioned in other texts long presumed lost. Why they were hidden on Tython I cannot fathom. Knowledge such as this should be shared with all.”

His gaze returned to the manuscripts.

“It illuminates the conflicting nature of the Light. Perhaps that, in itself, answers my question.”

He paused, then looked back at Heinrich.

“What troubles you, master?”

​