Xian Xiao
Elementalist
Xian had expected Coruscant to feel different.
Six years was a long time. Governments had changed. Republic banners had given way to Sith insignias, clone patrols had been replaced by new uniforms, and another generation had grown up believing the city had always looked this way. On paper, it was a different world.
Yet as they descended into one of the countless common levels, she found herself recognizing it almost immediately.
Not the storefronts. Those had changed. Not the signs or the faces moving through the streets. Those were different, too. It was the rhythm that hadn't changed. The constant murmur of conversation spilling from open cafés. The distant rumble of speeders weaving through traffic overhead. The smell of street food mixed with ozone and rain that never quite reached the lower levels. Coruscant still sounded like Coruscant.
She stepped out onto the duracrete walkway and instinctively turned down a side street. Muscle memory carried her as much as memory itself. She knew which alleys stayed busy after dark, which markets sold decent food without emptying your wallet, and which shortcuts avoided the worst crowds. The buildings had aged, businesses had come and gone, but the bones of the neighborhood remained exactly where she'd left them.
It should have felt strange returning to a place now ruled by the Sith. Instead, it felt familiar. Perhaps that was the strangest part of all.
She had spent more of her life here than anywhere else. Before the Jedi. Before Bastion. Before she had met Jerrik, Xuko, Veyran, or even Rellik. These streets had been home long before they had become occupied territory. Whatever flag flew over the Senate District was so far removed from the concerns of people living down here that daily life simply adapted, as it always had. Shopkeepers still opened their doors every morning. Children still chased one another through narrow passages. Street musicians still played for loose credits from hurried commuters.
Coruscant endured.
A faint smile crossed Xian's face as she glanced down another familiar avenue. There had been nights she had wandered these streets with nowhere particular to go, days spent weaving through markets, evenings returning to the orphanage carrying whatever small treasures she'd managed to find. They weren't especially happy memories, nor especially sad ones. They were simply hers.
Oddly enough, this was one of the few places in the galaxy where she didn't feel like she had to look over her shoulder.
Not because it was safe. Because it was home.
Varin Mortifer
Six years was a long time. Governments had changed. Republic banners had given way to Sith insignias, clone patrols had been replaced by new uniforms, and another generation had grown up believing the city had always looked this way. On paper, it was a different world.
Yet as they descended into one of the countless common levels, she found herself recognizing it almost immediately.
Not the storefronts. Those had changed. Not the signs or the faces moving through the streets. Those were different, too. It was the rhythm that hadn't changed. The constant murmur of conversation spilling from open cafés. The distant rumble of speeders weaving through traffic overhead. The smell of street food mixed with ozone and rain that never quite reached the lower levels. Coruscant still sounded like Coruscant.
She stepped out onto the duracrete walkway and instinctively turned down a side street. Muscle memory carried her as much as memory itself. She knew which alleys stayed busy after dark, which markets sold decent food without emptying your wallet, and which shortcuts avoided the worst crowds. The buildings had aged, businesses had come and gone, but the bones of the neighborhood remained exactly where she'd left them.
It should have felt strange returning to a place now ruled by the Sith. Instead, it felt familiar. Perhaps that was the strangest part of all.
She had spent more of her life here than anywhere else. Before the Jedi. Before Bastion. Before she had met Jerrik, Xuko, Veyran, or even Rellik. These streets had been home long before they had become occupied territory. Whatever flag flew over the Senate District was so far removed from the concerns of people living down here that daily life simply adapted, as it always had. Shopkeepers still opened their doors every morning. Children still chased one another through narrow passages. Street musicians still played for loose credits from hurried commuters.
Coruscant endured.
A faint smile crossed Xian's face as she glanced down another familiar avenue. There had been nights she had wandered these streets with nowhere particular to go, days spent weaving through markets, evenings returning to the orphanage carrying whatever small treasures she'd managed to find. They weren't especially happy memories, nor especially sad ones. They were simply hers.
Oddly enough, this was one of the few places in the galaxy where she didn't feel like she had to look over her shoulder.
Not because it was safe. Because it was home.
Varin Mortifer