Character
The Force whispers, but not always in words.
He had changed from the man he was when he left his home on Arkania. The galaxy spun ever onward in relentless orbit and one had to adapt quickly or be flattened by its indifference - caught beneath the weight of empires, wars, and ideas not your own.
Kallan had learned that very lesson early.
The force stirred within him like quiet storm, untrained and unclaimed. The Jedi had rules while the Sith had chains and he wanted neither. He had found the Jensaarai and though they had not been what he was expecting, he found comfort in the commonality they shared. Fragments of understanding in a galaxy of contradiction.
Still.
He did not find a home with the Order on Susefvi. But, the meeting had not been in vain. It had given him something far more valuable - hope.
They had gifted him with a crystal that had once belonged to a member of their order that found death in defence of their home. They did not offer him the saber that housed the crystal, but rather offered him only knowledge of where he could find parts to create his own.
Bracca.
It had once been a battlefield in the days of the Clone Wars and even during oppression of the Galactic Empire. The planet had become a graveyard in orbit - littered with the husks of shattered cruisers and star destroyers. Echoes of legacies that had long since been crushed under weight of the Galaxy.
The world had become something of a destination for scavengers and scrappers, credits ripe for the picking in the ever increasing collection of starships - a testament to the brutality and reality of the Galaxy. He had been guided here at the words of the Jensaarai, but it was no longer their words that he had to rely on but himself.
The Force Whispers, but not always in Words, as he moved himself across the twisted frames of derelict warships. Echoes touched the edges of his thoughts - faint sensations that told him that he was not alone. Others were here, hunting through the Salvage for reasons of their own.
He was still limited - less skilled than even a new Jedi Padawan, but he had learned to listen. To feel.
The Force did not shout. It stirred gently, like a ripple through ash.
Thunder rolled overhead, vibrating through the carcass of the Star Destroyer he now explored. A jagged bolt of lightning split the sky, and moments later, the rain began. It was soft at first, then steady, pouring through every crevice and crack in the ruined ship. The sound was strangely peaceful. Rain on durasteel - a lullaby for the souls that may still linger.
Beneath his armorweave cloak, his hand tightened around the crystal. He paused and opened his mind to the gentle rhythm of the Force, crystal pulsing ever so slightly in his connection.
He was close.
Bracca | Open
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