Ghosts

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The halls of the Grand temple were deathly silent as Cyril strode through the great archway at its entrance. Where Jedi Knights and their students had once learned, taught, and lived together remained only specters. Memories of a past that the former Archlord yearned for, but were long since gone. He could not remember a time before the Sith, but for some time, he had known peace.

Many of the Jedi living on Ession had fought and died on Kashyyk for the Republic. They were not remembered by their peers in the democratic galactic power. The only memorial they might ever receive would be on Ession, and with what remained of their comrades here.

Cyril would pay his respects soon enough.

He traveled through the temple quietly. There were still a few hundred individuals living within, going about their duties as they always had. One was [member="Linori Pryde"], a young woman he had met as a boy, and taken under his wing as a man. She had potential - potential that would only be tapped if she set aside her selfishness.

He nodded his hooded head here and there, offering cursory greetings to those that gave him any head. There was something wrong in the temple; an eerie air of danger just on the fringe of his senses. The Grand Council likely felt it too.

Cyril slipped his identi-chip into the elevator terminal just beneath the library, and began to ascend.

"There is no emotion. There is peace. You were reckless. Her feelings were not returned." He chided himself as the elevator arrived at the archives. The doors slid open, and Cyril, clad in the traditional leather and phrik plate of the Ession Knights stepped outward.

He pulled back his cowl, revealing sharp, uncorrupted blue eye, and a close shag of hair that would fit just fine on any military man. He extended his senses, and strode purposefully toward where he sensed the would-be Padawan.

 

[Linori Pryde]

Of all the Jedi roaming the grounds of the Temple, Linori was probably the least phased of them all. The air was full of discontent and worried padawans who could all sense that trouble was certainly on the horizon. But not Linori. Ever since being left within the confines of the Grand Temple it was a rarity for her attentions to be away from the Archives. She’d memorized hundreds of entries and spent her days learning histories and ancient warfare strategies, many of which she doubted would ever be of use to her.

Linori Pryde was no padawan learner. She had been brought here by her friend and acquaintance, Graxin, so that he may teach her to better control her feelings relating to the force. Visions plagued her, even during her long stay at the temple. But abruptly, her training had come to an end when Graxin had instructed her to stay and learn from the others just before his own departure. Things had changed dramatically, and for the longest time, Linori despised the Jedi for leaving her here. Stranded was the bet word for it. She had little interest to learn how to sword fight or learn the ways of the Jedi. But the few Jedi Knights left at the Temple insisted she at least try, even at her late age.

It was a very long, bitter few months, with little progress save for the bit of control she’d managed over her visions, her sway in Force around her, and the loads of information gained from the Grand Temple’s vast library. Linori sighs and presses her back against her chair, stacking yet another finished datacron on the dozen or so spread out at the table before her. The miraluka folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side, one leg crossed over the other. She wore simple jedi robes, none that degreed her stature of any sort. They had been kind enough to house her and cloth her for the duration of her stay in return for her bookkeeping knowledge and general help about the Temple. But it took little time for the Knights and other Masters to learn Linori had little interest in becoming a jedi herself.

Linori leans forward and frowns. In a way, she felt like an outcast, even among the welcome arms of the monk-like warriors. She had a gift, yes, but one that she feared to truly understand. As she rests her hand on the next datacron, a pull in the force makes her quickly turns around, gaze resting on a cloaked figure a few aisles down.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

[Corrin Tal'verda]

(wrong Char)

 

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It was hard to describe what he felt seeing the Miraluka again. A cocktail of mixed emotions swirled within him. He was pleased to see she was in one piece, perhaps even warmed that she had not left without telling him, but wary nonetheless. Their history was an odd case, and one that many would see as an unhealthy relationship. It was filled with violence and deceit, counterbalance by a grudging bond forged in the trials they shared.

Cyril had been far too pressing about those feelings. He's lost control of himself; been rash in his actions. It was only by sheer luck that Linori had not rebuked him.

His footfalls were quiet on the tiled floor. He weaved through the aisles without a word, a shadow slinking just beyond the vision of the librarians. He came to a halt aside the spot where Linori sat, not at all hesitant in his movements. He drew back his cowl, and the characteristic hum of cybernetics would break the din, coming pointedly from his right arm.

Bright blue eyes, rather than the corrupted amber hues Linori knew, gazed down on the Miraluka. His hair had been cut shorter than usual, and his skin was a shade paler than before. Regardless, the slight smile he flashed her was still wholly his own.

"It's Graxin, and I am not dead." He beamed down at her. "At least not yet."

His voice was entirely the same, albeit a bit gravely from lack of sleep. The evidence of his exhaustion was clear in the bags under his eyes and the slight gait of his walk. However, the smile he shone on Linori could have been a sun all on its own.

"I promised I would come back. Just needed to recover after being wounded."

[member="Linori Pryde"]

 

[Linori Pryde]

Linori stumbles from her chair and backs up into the table. It was the usual reaction between the pair, and she could swear she almost always ended up hitting something. Be it Graxin or a stationary object. The miraluka tugs at her jedi robes and folds her hands together. Did she bow? Salute? Without having to glance to the side, she could see a padawan bow respectfully as she passed, and Linori quickly decided to do the same.

She bows her head, her upper face wrapped in tight, white bandages. She struggled to pull what memories she could from past visions, ones that had graced her dreams in his absence. There were so many, though few proved useful. Linori slowly rises, gaze studying the jedi master.

“Its..Cyril now, isn’t it? Or is that some sort of relative?”

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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"Cyril is my birth name, and I've decided to go by it...not that you need to stop calling me Graxin."

He ran a hand through his short brown hair, and lofted a brow as she bowed. Respect was not the sort of thing they tended to show one another. It was always veiled threats and fear, then replaced by familiarity and, perhaps, something more.

The question of whether that lingering sentiment still held weight. It did in Cyril's heart, like a heavy stone lodged in the pit of his chest. He wanted nothing more to embrace the woman, to show her how he had yearned for her throughout the many conflicts with the One Sith, but that was inappropriate. It was unbecoming of a Jedi Master, and there was no promise his feelings were truly returned.

"You've grown." He said quietly, bright blue eyes drifting over Linori's form. "Not physically, just...I don't know the word for it."

He folded his arms behind his back, exposing the long hilt of Darth Vulcanus's lightsaber. With the grace of one long practiced in the art of keeping out of the way, Cyril walked through the aisle. His gloved fingers trailed over the leather backs of the books filed carefully into the shelves. The scent of ancient pages and mahogany wood drew him away from the here and now, memories of Naboo and the time spent there sprouting up in his mind.

"I hope you've enjoyed the library. It's one of the few places on the outer rim with real books." Say it. "I missed you."

He tilted his head to glance over his shoulder at Linori. With a subtle push, the Padawans nearby quietly dispersed. Cyril retrieved one of the books from the shelf, popping the latch to open the ancient tome. Dust flew outward and made him scrunch his nose, and then he laughed.

"Your control of the force has grown, but you haven't joined us. I can understand why not " Slowly, he turned to face her. He reached down to remove the black leather of his glove. The garment came away with a slight tug, and the soft blue glow of the holo books in the next aisle reflected off of his hand.

Where once there had been muscle and sinew tied together by flesh, now only the bone remained. Around it, a metal casing had been built. It was solid durasteel, and it spread up toward his forearm and beyond his sleeve.

"The war isn't over, but Ession can't fight anymore. We spilt too much blood protecting Kashyyk and Naboo." He began to walk toward her, each footfall like a thunderclap in the quite aisle. "Did you hear about what happened across the galaxy?"


[member="Linori Pryde"]

 

[Linori Pryde]

“I heard and I saw,” she whispers, gesturing to her facial wraps. Linori had never fully contained these visions, nor if she knew it was possible. But with training, they had become clearer and less taxing on her body. The miraluka takes a step back, eyeing Cyril’s appearance. How long had it been now? A year? Regardless, he looks vastly different from when she had last seen him. Her own appearance remained the same, save for the padawan robes cladding her body.

“But I am unsure what was real and what was not. I saw much of the battle on Kashyyk, including many of the lives lost from Jedi who originated from this temple. Your padawan. I..do not know why, but I have many visions of him. Perhaps they were false?”

Linori scrunches her nose and folds her hands behind her back, trying to keep appropriate. She did little to notice his affections for her, though she was quite aware of what had lapsed between the pair. Her gaze remained on Cyril despite her lack of eyes.

“He is the brown-haired fellow, yes? With the beard..? And a young girl, fair of hair. Um…”

She starts to fumble, and she reaches up to touch her forehead. It was a lot to recall at once, but many of the visions came flooding back, yearning to spill forth from her mouth. She quickly shakes her head, trying to dismiss the images.

“It shouldn’t matter. Whatever I saw, surely you have already experienced, or seen. Otherwise, my visions are simply..wrong, as they normally are.”

It was then she realized she couldn’t feel the other life forces about them. The other Jedis and padawans seemed to have left the library floor upon Cyril’s dismissal, and at Linori’s core, she yearned to join them. She looks off to the side, gazing towards one of the large windows that looked out into the deep forests. Rarely had she left the Jedi Temple to venture across the planet, especially alone. Linori was many things, but a fighter was definitely not one of them.

[member="Cyril Grayson"]

 

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"The girl would be my sister. The man with the beard...yes, that's Armand. He left the Order." The Jedi Master breathed a heavy sigh, and strode toward Linori. His gait was a cautionary one, as if he were afraid the floor beneath their feet would shatter with a heavy step. A moment's hesitation stopped him short a few paces from the Miraluka, and there he remained.

Linori scared him. The ability to see time shifting alone was...certainly something. Cyril could not comprehend it. For some time, he'd observed old texts from a race known as the Cephalons, aliens that lived outside the eddies of time. They saw the galaxy in an entirely different light; rather than a constant, time for them was a variable that they could manipulate. It was somewhat similar for seers, but lacking such abilities left him at a significant disadvantage.

And he only really wanted to try and understand it to help the girl.

"Did you learn anything important while I was away?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

That was when he felt it. An eddy in the force, like a gunshot in a quiet forest. Something had broken two levels below, and the other masters were moving to deal with it. Confident that they could handle whatever it was, Cyril ignored the issue.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to Lin." He added quickly. "Could take you with me."


[member="Linori Pryde"]