Private Clouds of Witness

[Sela Basran]

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SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
LANDING PLATFORM
0926 HOURS LOCAL
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Winter had not yet turned severe, for which Sela Basran was grateful as she stood on the landing platform at Shiraya's Sanctuary. It meant that her cloak was sufficient -- barely -- to protect against a few minutes of cold while she waited. Nonetheless, although it was morning, great dark clouds had settled low over the area, making the morning overcast. "There's going to be weather," Sela observed, although there was no one near enough to hear her. The team of technicians and controllers that handled the traffic on the platform were far enough away that the ramblings of a middle-aged-pushing-elderly woman would be of no notice.

And, as if her words made it so, flurries of snow began fluttering from those low, dark clouds. Sela smiled faintly. She had never seen snow on her homeworld. It didn't get cold enough in her hometown, and her family had never been wealthy enough to visit the resorts in the poles, where snow occasionally did fall. She remembered her first experience with the stuff. Sela must have been about eleven, and she had followed her Jedi Master to an outer rim world on a relief mission. She had watched about a dozen children her own age -- children, not Padawans, and thus free to engage in frolic and frivolity -- ball it up and throw it at each other. It didn't seem to hurt; what looked like white rocks exploded in a festive puff of powder when it hit a shoulder, a chest, a hip.

The sound of laughter from nearby took Sela's attention, and she half-turned. In the distance, in a formerly green plain off the landing platform, a handful of Padawans were marveling at the snowfall, pointing, laughing, occasionally catching a snowflake on the tongue. Padawan are children, too, here, Sela thought with an internal smile. One wonders how different things would be if all Force orders had such an approach.

She turned her attention back to the pad in time to see the crew chief striding up to her. "Master Basran," he said courteously. "The ship you flagged has been cleared for final approach. It should be arriving on schedule." A beat. "Aren't you cold?"

"Freezing," Sela answered, her words at odds with her relentlessly cheerful tone. "But I think these old bones can stand it for a few minutes more to greet an old student." Sela had a strong opinion on meeting old students, new students, old friends and visitors as they arrived. More than just keeping their feet on the path -- and out of trouble -- it was an opportunity to remind them, and herself, that they were people first, even before they were whatever brought them here. A little chat about the journey, an inquiry about family, and a chance to catch up before settling down to whatever business brought a body to the Sanctuary was not just the humane thing to do.

It could be very illuminating, too.

Delphis Argoli
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[Delphis Argoli]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
LANDING PLATFORM
0930 HOURS LOCAL​

The Z-95's landing gear kissed the platform with a soft hiss, engines winding down to a low whine before silence settled. Delphis Argoli popped the canopy, cold air rushing in like a slap. He stood slowly, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, and let the familiar scent of snow and winter wash over him. The blanket of snow covered the world with a white sheet, placed it in a tranquil sleep so that nature could recover and wake up again in spring. Such was the cycle of the Force and rest was something Delphis could use. The mission on that forsaken Outer Rim world had left him bone-tired - weeks of triage tents, herbal brews, and the quiet despair of refugees.

The work was far from done, actually it had barely begun but something in the Living Force had urged him home, and here he was. Even Delphis could not understand why but he had to trust into the Force to lead the way even if his decision to leave had raised eyebrows and suspicions among the other Jedi, the doctors and last but not least the refugees he had nursed back to health.

Compared to his assignment Shiraya´s Sanctury was just that - a paradise of peace, tranquility and luxury covered in white.

Until he felt the tingle, the prickle, something familiar, warm, comforting and stinging at the same time like a good joke cracked at his expense, a dry laughter warm and mischievous at the same time

It was an annoyance in the Force, something he had not felt in a long time, since….

She stood on the landing platform wrapped in a cloak to protect her against the chilling wind, magnifying glass tangling before her chest like always. Her hair had escaped its bun in a few more rebellious strands than usual.

… since the last time he had been scrutinized under the magnifying glass of Sela Basran, the Inquisitor, his last esteemed teacher and now a master of the Jedi Order. At her age and position she should have stayed inside with a hot tea pot.

If Delphis ever needed proof that th Living Force had a sense of humor, here it was.

"Master Basran," Delphis greeted her, "what a pleasant surprise. I really did not expect you here…"

Sela Basran

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
LANDING PLATFORM
​

Sela allowed her presence in the Force to extend -- not seeking, not grasping, simply expanding -- and brush against the once-familiar knot of existence that was Delphis Argoli. It was still a little familiar; if someone's personality changed so fundamentally, that was usually a portent of much bigger things to be concerned about. But as life changed, it tended to add to a person just as certainly as it tended to, in lucky or careful people, sand things away. For those less fortunate, the sanding could be a cleaving, or a gouging, or a coring.

Master Basran didn't sense a cleaving, a gouging, or a coring in Delphis' presence, but it was early doors, and she was merely present. Not probing. Part of her wanted to add not yet, but it was an uncharitable impulse.

She sensed recognition in him, and something more, but then he was there. "I could say the same for you, Knight Argoli," Sela said pleasantly. "The opportunity is... relatively rare, these days, to reacquaint myself with faces from the old days." A tremor in her presence in the Force conveyed an unspoken grief. The scattering of the New Jedi Order following the capture and conquest of the Coruscant Temple, Sela's former home, and the catastrophic battle at Atrisia, had brought with it the certain knowledge that former friends and colleagues, former students and younglings, would have become one with the Force. "I'm always pleased to add another tally mark to the list of those still here after the horrors of Coruscant and Atrisia and the rest of the war."

She folded her hands into the opposite sleeves of her cloak and she half-turned toward the entrance to the Sanctuary, as if suggesting they start to begin, though she waited for him. "When I saw your name on the manifest, I had to say hello, and I figured while I'm here I might as well make myself useful. What brings you to Naboo, Delphis? Is there anything with which I can offer assistance? I won't pretend to carry a lot of influence here, but I do know my way around, if that would be of use."

There it was. Sela Basran could suppress her natural curiosity only so far, it seemed, but here she at least rationalized that her curiosity was also a function of being polite.

Delphis Argoli

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[Delphis Argoli]

For a brief moment Delphis felt his own sarcasm well up when he wondered if Master Basran had grown soft at her old age to wrap her probing into politeness all of a sudden. He regretted that notion almost immediately.

The fall of the New Jedi Order had left them all at a loss and the master had far more farewells to say than Delphis. He could feel the Force itself around her like a warm comforting blanket. But blankets could only keep wounds warm, not heal them.

The pain leaked out or rather trickled out even with someone so skilled in the ways of the Jedi as Sela Basran. She was no droid after all and underneath the inquisitor armor wounds old and new still hurt. Even festered perhaps... That was one other mission Delphis had not yet completed. It´s an awkward thing if master and padawan care too much and understand each other too well while they were incapable to admit it.

"I felt Coruscant and Atrisia in the Force," Delphis nodded solemnly, "Later I heard about it from a tramp freighter captain more than I ever cared to know."

He signed deeply, "There is no death, there is the Force and while true this will only help us in the long run when we have all passed on into the energy field. Jedi and politics never belonged together. We belong to the Force not to any government."

Delphis drew his own cloak tighter around himself as suddenly the cold bit into his flesh, "Still, one thing is for sure. After winterm spring comes again. It is inevitable. We just have to wait it out. To be honest I do not know why I came back here from the Oter Rim epidemic. Something called me back and I learned to follow these hunches."

He looked at Sela with a tilted head and lopsided smile "I was once taught that the Force always invites us to make choices and then see if they were right. Care to join me, master? I have a tea recipe you do not know yet. I tell you about it and aout everything else you may want to know."

Sela Basran

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
LANDING PLATFORM
​

A twinkle entered Sela's eye as she favored her former Padawan with a genuine smile. "You have grown very philosophical for being so young," she said, with the kind of privilege reserved for someone who was, in fact, basically elderly. "I do hope that's partially my fault."

She gestured toward the door explicitly now, leading him toward it. "I'm not sure I agree," Sela allowed herself, gently, to stake a claim. There were so few interesting arguments these days, that it almost didn't matter if she disagreed or not. The chance to keep herself sharp was not to be missed. "The more I see, the more I think politics is in everything. It is not just in Senate chambers. Not even just in Jedi Council meetings, either, though I know we would all like to pretend it is not there at all. Politics is about people, and until we can untangle ourselves from the greatest attachment of them all -- caring, perhaps too much -- about people as individuals and as an abstraction -- the people, my people, our people -- we will find politics growing everywhere like a weed. The way a Padawan negotiates with his mentor. The way a Master either negotiates back -- or uses his authority to force his way. The way a Knight contends with a difficult attachment. All, one might credibly say, politics."


She waved the door to the Sanctuary open and the pair were buffeted briefly by warmth radiating from within, something for which Sela Basran was glad. His words -- that spring would come as sure as day followed night -- had particular significance in that chill. "Spoken like a Healer who has truly answered to call," Sela said generously as she lowered her hood as they stepped into the corridor. The Jedi of this enclave were in the middle of morning lessons, so the corridor didn't bustle as much as it sometimes did. "I am pleased you came, though," she allowed. "It may seem all very provincial here. Naboo, how quaint. But I do read the reports, and your name is a bright spot. You are doing excellent work in the Outer Rim. A selfish part of me hoped that you might do something sensible. Work at a training academy hospital, or else run a low-risk clinic somewhere that I would not have to worry about you." A faint smile there, something that said she was remembering not just her Padawan but a history from long before. "But you are what you are, Delphis. In the end I would not change you. Have you news? Has there been any development on finding any sort of -- inoculation against this new plague?" She spoke the words almost like a prayer -- a prayer that, if answered, might soon see the astronomical numbers of sick and dying in the Outer Rim drop.

As they spoke, she guided him through the halls. Arriving on a hunch meant, at least, that she was not distracting him from his business. That was helpful. As they arrived to the door of her quarters -- a little office and personal library she used for tutoring and research and the occasional tearoom for a student that needed a little more, adjoining a small, slightly cluttered bedroom -- she looked over her shoulder dubiously. "A tea recipe that I do not know?" she asked. "I am tempted to say that if a tea recipe is not in my archives, it does not exist, but that smacks of hubris. I am always willing to learn."

She keyed the door open and gestured for him to enter, then set about to prepare her teamaking facilities. It was serious business.

Delphis Argoli

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[Delphis Argoli]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS​

Delphis paused at the threshold, letting his former master's words settle over him like the fresh snow outside—gentle, yet capable of accumulating into something weighty if left undisturbed. "You make a fair point about politics, Master Basran," he said at last, his voice soft but steady. "Even here, in this quiet conversation, we're negotiating—ideas, boundaries, truths. But I wasn't speaking of those small, human dances. I meant the grander game: the one where entire planets become pawns, and a million lives are traded for less than a single credit. The politics of empires and kings."

He exhaled slowly, the sound carrying a hint of weariness. "Through the Living Force, we glimpse what feels right, what feels true. Perhaps our role is to bear witness to that greater truth... not to bind ourselves as servants to any senate or crown." A faint, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. "Or maybe I'm simply too naïve, still believing such clarity comes without cost or struggle.." His eyes drifted across the space - her temporary haven within the Sanctuary. The study and workspace gleamed with meticulous order: datapads aligned, flimsi stacks neat, shelves of holocrons and texts arranged with scholarly precision. Yet the adjoining bedroom told a different story—softly rumpled blankets, a forgotten shawl draped over a chair, a half-read volume propped open on the nightstand. It was a quiet testament to the layered complexity of any living soul. Or perhaps, Delphis thought with private amusement, he was merely seeking absolution for his own habitual chaos. He eased his worn backpack to the floor and carefully retrieved a small bundle wrapped in soft cotton and weathered leather.

"On the world I just left," he explained, unwrapping it to reveal slender, dark-brown roots knotted like ancient fingers, "the natives harvest something they call Gimbiro root. It thrives in the warm, mist-shrouded lowlands -bitter and fiercely spicy, almost punishing to the tongue. Most off-worlders can't bear it."

He cradled the roots gently, as though they were fragile relics. "But for those who can, it kindles a deep, steady warmth—in body and spirit alike. The locals brew it for fever, fatigue, even grief. Steeped properly, it becomes a tea that's... invigorating. A gentle fire, you might say." Delphis glanced toward her cherished tea station -kettles polished, canisters labeled in her precise hand, strainers and cups arranged like instruments in a healer's kit. He would sooner duel a Sith blindfolded than lay a finger on it uninvited.

With a respectful bow he met her inquisitive eyes.

"I'd planned to brew a cup or two for myself, to chase away the journey's chill. But it would be my genuine honor to prepare a small ceremony for you, Master—if you'll allow it. Let me introduce you to the quiet burn of Gimbiro root."

His tone carried no presumption, only quiet sincerity—and perhaps the faintest spark of mischief, the same one that had once earned him extra meditation cycles as a Padawan. "It might just make a worthy addition to your collection of recipes."

Sela Basran

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS
​

A wry smile crossed Sela's lips and she spread her hands. "A fair point and well made, Delphis. I am one to be carried away by semantics, as you will no doubt recall. But precision in language is for negotiating and for teaching and for reasoning. Not visiting." There was more to explore in what he said, a general disillusionment with the idea of Jedi serving lower-case-m masters like governments. The New Jedi Order and its role in the Galactic Alliance's sundering would put that burr under the shirt of anyone with the sense the Force gave a nerf -- if they weren't too wearied by the galaxy once more ripping itself apart to spare the time and effort to think about it.

She shrugged out of her cloak and hung it from the peg near the door, and offered to take Delphis' if he so chose. Beneath was something between Jedi robes and what might have been the daywear of a minor noblewoman if not for its unfashionable concession to her penchant for earth tones and the wide leather belt from which hung her lightsaber. It was not a fancy contraption, not as aesthetically pleasing as some others she had seen in this enclave, but it fit her hand perfectly. Its simplicity seemed fitting for a woman who prioritized reason and diplomacy over violence. Few in these halls had the occasion to have seen what that vivid green blade could achieve when reason and diplomacy failed.

Delphis was one.

His description of the tea was equal parts intriguing and worrying. She allowed her brow to furrow with some concern. "Bitter. Punishing to the tongue," she repeated, a little mirth in her voice. "Oh, I understand. This is -- revenge." Sela raised her hands and then gestured broadly towards the tea station. "It will be well-deserved, no doubt. Please, by all means. Everything should be there, but if not, simply name it and I can fetch it."

As a concession to having company, Master Basran did not take off her shoes. She went to her desk and checked her terminal briefly, looking for some update or another, but not finding it. Its absence was a punctuation mark; something about it almost sobered Sela. Not that the pleasantness went out of her, but it was buttressed by something more now that the two were sequestered and she was not distracted: a hard-won fondness.

She strolled over to her former Padawan, hands folded behind her back, looking very much like the curious auntie they both knew she was not, and watched unobtrusively as he set to the task. "Jokes aside, Delphis," she began, her voice low and heartfelt. "It does me good to see you. And I would be honored, truly, to take part. You are kind to think of me."

Delphis Argoli

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[Delphis Argoli]

]SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS

Delphis' smile was a blend of quiet flattery and warm generosity, the kind that carried a history of shared trials and unspoken understanding.​

"You shouldn't be surprised, Master," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I think of you more often than you might realize. And no, it's not revenge I have in mind. You guided me to knighthood - a task I know wasn't always easy. I tested your patience in ways I'm not always proud of. Some memories bring a grin, others... well, they still sting a bit."

He shrugged off his sturdy brown cloak, revealing the simple, worn attire beneath. His tan cotton tunic and trousers were unadorned, practical for the field, and bore the faint fraying of countless missions. They hung on his frame with a quiet testament to hardship—smudged with traces of dirt and wear from kneeling in mud to tend wounds or ease a dying soul's passage into the Force. His lightsaber hilt, clipped to his belt, was equally weathered, its metal dulled by grit and time, lacking the polished sheen of ceremonial weapons.

In stark contrast, the items he carried with care stood out: the small bundle of Gimbiro root, wrapped tenderly in cotton, and the leather case protecting his flute, its polished brass buckle gleaming under a protective wax coating, shielding the instrument from the galaxy's harsh elements.

"If it's revenge I'm after, Master, then we'll suffer together," he continued with a playful glint in his eyes. "I'll join you for a cup of Gimbiro root, if you'll have me. It's best savored pure, no other herbs to mask its bite. Just hot water and a little patience—five minutes will do, though ten is ideal. And yes, I called the root a 'she.' I've taken to giving medicinal herbs personalities, genders even. It's more than just their chemical properties to me now; it's a connection, a kind of respect." Delphis reached for a polished silver teapot from Sela's meticulously arranged station, his movements careful, almost reverent, as if handling a relic.

He glanced at his former teacher, the twinkle in his gaze sharpening with a hint of mischief. "But I suspect that little quirk hasn't slipped past your sharp observation, has it? You've always had a way of seeing straight through the surface."

His tone held a warmth that danced on the edge of nostalgia, a nod to the countless lessons and subtle reprimands that had shaped him under her watchful eye. As he prepared the kettle, the faint clink of metal against metal filled the quiet space, a grounding sound amidst the weight of their shared past and the unspoken questions that lingered between them.

Sela Basran

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS
​

"Of course you must join me," Sela said, as if she had taken it as a given that he would, and was embarrassed that he felt he had to ask. She walked around him to the small cabinet that held a collection of mismatched cups, from humble earthenware to fine bone china. She selected two of the former -- one with an attractive green glaze, the other a deep sapphire -- and set them next to the teapot for Delphis to use when he had finished brewing the Gimbiro. At his reference to the gender of the root, Sela's eyebrows lifted a little. "I -- no, I had not," she confessed, color rising in her cheeks. She gave a self-deprecating chuckle and steepled her hands together at her waist. "You know, they say it is the attention to detail that goes first when one gets old."

She watched the proceedings with interest, dark brown eyes soft and curious as ever. "If you will indulge me, Delphis -- do you give them a gender, a personality? Or is it something you intuit from their characteristics? I'd never thought of it before -- I do not, I think, have the imagination for it." It was not an indictment of herself, exactly. Each to his own strength, and Sela knew hers.

"But as a thought experiment," Sela began, and pulled open the wall-mounted cabinet in which she stored her teas, pointing in turn as she described them. "Well. Nethiran Leatherleaf is... robust. Strong, if brewed properly. Highly caffeinated. Needs a healthy dose of sugar to go down smooth. Masculine -- do you think? And the Galidraani Frostbay is -- elegant, and fragrant, and only slightly punishing. Feminine?"

She tucked her hands into opposing sleeves and decided to call a halt before she started to sound like a magazine quiz: If You Were A Tea, What Kind Of Tea Would You Be? even if that sounded like a quiz she would be interested interrogating. Sela shook her head and smiled despite herself.

"Forgive me for pressing. I wonder whether I will be able to once I try it -- err, her -- and possibly scald my tongue," Sela said gently. "But... are you well, Delphis? Your work in the Outer Rim epidemic has been mentioned in the dispatches, as it were, but it speaks not at all of your own condition. It can be challenging, I do not doubt, that kind of work. I am not a healer myself beyond what most Jedi pick up along the way, but I have worked in similar settings. Relief work, you know the type. It takes a toll. Are you... bearing up?"

Delphis Argoli​

 

[Delphis Argoli]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY

MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS​

Delphis moved with unhurried grace as he prepared the tea, each motion deliberate and measured. Slowness was woven into the ritual itself - a quiet prerequisite for any ceremony meant to soothe the spirit. Rush the process, and you risked infusing it with the very tension you sought to release.

He found himself smiling inwardly at Master Basran's gentle, meticulous probing. Some things, it seemed, remained constant in a single lifetime.

"From what I've learned," he replied, eyes on the kettle as boiling water enveloped the knotted roots, "the herbs reveal who they are to you. And that identity can shift, like water finding new paths." Steam curled upward, carrying the first sharp, peppery notes of the Gimbiro into the air. "Robust and strong? That fits many a farmer's wife out on the Fringe - women who've cradled fevered children one morning and traded blaster fire with Imperial raiders the next. Yet I've also watched elegant, fragrant con artists gamble away fortunes at sabacc tables with reckless charm, or seen polished society women demand constant care while carrying on affairs under the nose of their local moon."

He secured the silver lid with care, sealing in the brewing heat as the scent deepened—spicy, almost defiant, with an undercurrent of warmth.

"As you've likely gathered, medical relief work is exhausting," Delphis continued, his voice steady but laced with quiet gravity. "Rarely amusing. Yet refusing to do it feels far more dangerous—morally indefensible. The toil itself doesn't erode you so much as the conditions that demand it. Still... the Living Force reveals such beauty amid the wonder. No one promised it would be easy."

He turned to face her fully, grey eyes meeting hers with open sincerity.

"Your concern means a great deal, truly. I'm managing, though some days it's a nearer thing than others. This is the path I chose with eyes wide open, the responsibility I've accepted as a Jedi. I wouldn't trade it for any safer life."

Delphis lifted the lid briefly, releasing a fresh wave of aromatic steam, then poured the rich, amber liquid into the waiting cups - first hers, then his own. The color was deep and inviting, like liquid sunset.He offered one to her with a slight bow of his head.

"To old teachers, new roots, and whatever the Force brings next," he said softly, raising his cup in quiet toast. "May it warm us both."

Sela Basran

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS
​

Delphis' words reminded his former mentor that history did not usually repeat itself, but it did rhyme. His words were not the same as the ones used by a clinic healer Sela had once known, but they were close enough that something in her chest throbbed dully. Not so much an old, healed over scar as the memory of one faded so long ago she could hardly remember the particulars of how she had been injured in the first place.

"Spoken like a man who has found his calling, and knows it, too," Sela said with a smile. "I know of many who would pay great sums to be so assured of their life's work. I was one of them at several points along my journey."

She let the sentiment settle and accepted the teacup gratefully from her former student. The steam was fragrant, spicy -- just this side of offensive, really, but there was something quite special about it. "Mm," she murmured, nodding thoughtfully. "And to the next generation of Jedi, in all their certain glory." Sela lifted her cup to return the toast and then lifted the cup to her lips to take a wary but open-minded sip.

It was almost punishing -- there wasn't another word for it. It was the kind of thing, Sela thought, you had to make a conscious decision to enjoy. Like black jelly beans. Or beer. If it took you off guard it would be a punch in the mouth. Going in with open eyes she anticipated the spice, the pepper, the bite and she was prepared to bite it right back.

"That's something quite unique," Sela said, her voice brimming with a kind of enthusiasm that, according to most who knew her, only tea could really inspire in her. It wasn't quite true, but it was close enough. "Where did you say it -- she -- came from?"

Delphis Argoli​

 

[Delphis Argoli]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S QUARTERS ​

There it was again, A ripple in the Force, politely disguised and professionally hidden through mastery of the Force and the concept that vulnerability equaled weakness. Being a cliff in the tide seemed easier than showing the cracks in the stone even to those who cared. Especially to those who cared because care was an unhealthy attachment.

Yes, Delphis was guilty of such attachment and even he, the healer had not found a cure for it. He didn´t want to find one.

His words had struck a chord in Master Basran, a chord she´d rather left untouched. Delphis had always been good at striking it sometimes with intent, sometimes without, sometimes with subtey, sometimes without.

Today it had just happened. Blame it on the time they had spent separated. Maybe he had forgotten things. Maybe he had never been good at mincing words. Or maybe he still felt strongly about his former teacher's wounds and that they silently festered under the scar tissue.

The Jedi considered pain one road to the dark side of the Force. Now Delphis did not view the dark side the same way most Jedi did and as a healer and doctor he respected pain as a warning sign that something was wrong.

You take away the pain by fixing what is wrong. If the patient allowed it.

He had been there with Master Basran and it had not gone well for either of them. Sometimes words were a surplus. The connection between what Master Basran called two knots in the Force and what Delphis called two souls was sometimes all that was needed

And sometimes it was all you got when one knot – one soul – was stubborn and highly skilled in the energy that all things in existence emanated.

"The world is called New Solaest on the borders of explored space, settled around two centuries ago. You are forgiven if you never heard of it. How is the tea, master?"

Sela Basran