Private Doubt Comes In

[Bernard]

​

"First comes the day
Then comes the night.
After the darkness
Shines through the light.
The difference, they say,
Is only made right
By resolving the gray
Through refined Jedi sight."
— Journal of the Whills, 7:477​

Bernard parried the training droid's attack with a high defence. Sparks flew as their blades clashed. The impact was enough to push Bernard down on his knees. Instantly, the droid recovered from the swing and switched the angle of its next assault to come from the side, where Bernard was wide open. The Jedi's wrists throbbed with pain from repeated parries and he breathed hard. Barely tracking the blade with tired eyes, he managed a weak guard to protect himself, but the droid's blade broke through that defence without difficulty.

It crashed into Bernard's side and sizzled where its energy field flashed against his ribs, sending a shock through his body that made his muscles seize up in tension. He let out a cry through grit teeth, and when the droid retrieved its blade, he collapsed onto his side with a thud. The training blade he held slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

For the last hour, he'd attempted to overcome the droid. The training grounds of the Coruscant temple had some of the best artificial teachers in the galaxy. He'd deliberately picked a Knight's training regime, one of the more intense programmes, which adjusted the droid's speed to that of a Hawk-Bat and made it hit like an angry Savrip. The resulting duels were mostly one-sided five-minute bouts that left Bernard out of breath and collapsed on the training hall's floor, methodically dismantled by the stronger foe.

He tested moving one arm out from under his side, but was met with stinging pain and resolved to lay there for a while. The cost of exertion was settling in his bones. A dull ache coursed through his body whenever he gasped in the air, stinging where the droid's blade had made its last impact on every intake. He got the feeling he wouldn't be moving for a while. Gritting his teeth, he rolled over onto his back but was met with immediate regret when his head hit the floor too hard.

He grimaced.

"Shavit."

Aaran Tafo​

 

[Aaran Tafo]

His mood was sour as of late.

Restless sleep does that to a person. The dreams were getting worse again. Vivid memories flashing in his mind. Startling him awake in a cold sweat. Hands desperately clawing at his bedside table to search for a light switch. His panicked mind needing a moment to remember that the darkness surrounding him was due to his impediment, not is environment.

There was still a period of adjustment needed for his condition. He could fake the confidence well enough. The Force provided for him in day-to-day life. He knew how to channel it to act as a substitute for his eyes. He could sharpen his own senses to the point where he could operate semi-normally. It was only during quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts that he could take a moment to realise that his sight was gone.

For an explorer, the idea of not being able to take in new sights was a disturbing one to say the least. All he had with him ws his memories of what had seen. And while he could still travel if he so wished. A great deal of wonder and excitement had been lost along with his vision.

But he could not change the past. Accepting his loss and moving forward was the best path. But knowing that intellectually and accepting it emotionally were two very different things. Thankfully, his control over his state was enough that many could not tell just how badly things boiled under the surface. In some ways, he was grateful he had not bumped into Ryv for a while. His friend's empathic prowess would be able to pick up on his disgruntlement.

But for now, he could keep it in until he could deal with it properly. He simply needed more time to adjust. And what better way to get his mind off it with some training?

Unfortunately, it seemed that one of his usual training rooms was already occupied. By a vaguely familiar presence. Cold, sharp, clear and focused. He had a sharp intake of breath. Bernard. The last of his first friends from Peace. One that he had not met since his return to the Core. To say his emotions were currently mixed was an understatement.

On one hand, He was glad to find one of his friends to be physically intact. On the other hand, he found himself gripped with a confusing burst of anger. He read the reports, he heard what happened.

Lannik Dawnstar, his friend, was murdered by Bernard's hand. Apparently, the older Jedi forgave the Arkanian from beyond the grave. But that still did little to quell the tinge of resentment in his heart. The pain of loss was hard to shake off.

"Bernard." He said, his tone clipped, cool, calm as he made his way into the training room. Head cocking to the side. "I.... am glad to see you well." He finally said, moving to stand over the Arkanian.

"How have you been?"

 

[Bernard]

"Bernard. I.... am glad to see you well," the voice came from behind Bernard. He considered straining his head, but determined to be decidedly on the side of not doing so. The lingering ache had cast the winning vote.

"How have you been?" The same voice asked, this time closer. It took a few moments for Bernard's thoughts to coalesce into a tangible recollection of who it belonged to. The voice of the man he associated with it was usually a lot more cheerful, upbeat. This time it was almost reminiscent of Bernard's own from several years back, on Peace. Cold and empty. That didn't sit well with him, but he tried not to let that lessen the lift it gave his mood.

"Aaran," he muttered between laboured breaths and a choking cough, "it's nice ... to see you well," he coughed again. "Sorry, ... sparring partner ... took the wind out of me."

He shifted, throwing his weight to one side up to flip himself over, propped up by his elbows, and looked up at his old friend.

The Guardian was as tall as he'd ever been, going by the intactness of his legs. He still carried a lightsabre, which meant he hadn't forsaken the Jedi, as many others had. That was good. Bernard knew few Jedi who embodied the ideals of the Code as well as the Guardian who stood here now.

Bernard tried to lift himself off the ground, but his muscles ached and gave out. He collapsed back onto the floor with a grunt.

"Would you ... uh ... help me out. I appear to be unable to stand," he said and stretched out his hand towards the Guardian. There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

Aaran Tafo ​