Aleidis Zrgaat
Young soul from an older generation.
It'd been awhile since Aleidis had visited Datar.
She'd been a Jedi. She'd been training the Padawans in basic survival and first aid, teaching them how to cook on an open fire and bed down in the trees. It felt like a lifetime ago - Aleidis had been a different girl, then. She was older, now. Almost noticeably so, externally. Internally, the difference between then and now was like night and day. Child and adult.
Or Jedi and Sith, for that matter.
But there were still some things she could enjoy. Aleidis stepped off of the small, private shuttle she'd taken to her home planet, enjoying the feeling of cool grass beneath her bare toes and the relief that Datar's light gravity provided on her slender form. She loved to be out of her stuffy veda cloth robes, comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt. Casual clothing was a rare treat, something to be savored - almost as much as the massive, cloud-scraping trees of her homeworld were. The endless forests of Datar, shrouded in eternal dusk, were a rare stop for just about anybody who wasn't a slaver... and the slavers had had some difficulty getting to the planet, thanks to the influence of a Ghostling Chancellor.
She was stronger, now. Emotionally. As a Jedi, Aleidis had been quick to assume the best and quicker still to forgive. Leading the manifold peoples of the Republic had tempered her optimism. It'd taken that enduring diamond of faith in her soul and sharpened it to a razor's edge. Some might call it maturity, and they'd likely be right. Aleidis didn't see it, but it was fairly obvious to those close to her that a good deal of the unyielding joy and compassion had been trimmed away by anxiety and cynicism.
Even if Aleidis Ijet would never truly be a cynic.
Aleidis stepped nimbly away from the shuttle and stepped over some gnarled roots as thick around as her waist - pointed feet making little sound in Datar's fecund soil. They were high up, and it was colder here - peering down the mountain, Aleidis could see the village she'd grown up in twinkling down in the treetops a few kilometers away - no more than fifteen huts, perched atop the trees. A couple dozen lives, like a billion others. Somewhere down there, her father was likely blowing out a candle and bedding down for the night, his wife passed nearly a decade ago and his daughter gone off to the jedi long enough ago that he'd be hard-pressed to recognize her if he saw her in person. Tomorrow, he'd wake up with the sun and begin hunting, just like any other day. That the only blood relation he had left in the universe was less than a mile walk away was something he wouldn't know. It was better that way.
She could walk down this hill and be home by morning. Ghostling children were trained to be able to find their way home in the darkest nights from a very young age, after all. She could climb up little hand-holds leading up to the village from the ground, sneak in the thatch door, and wake Jobar Ijet with breakfast and a smile. Only a handful of souls in the Galaxy had any idea that Datar existed, or that the Chancellor was from there. Even fewer would be able to find her. She could disappear, and live a simple life of gathering herbs and trapping rabbits, of tending her father's morose nature.
Shifting thick hair away from slightly pointed ears, Aleidis took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Home was home, regardless of bittersweet feelings, but Datar hadn't been her home for most of her life, now. Coruscant was home. She'd left here at six years old, and now she was weeks away from seventeen. Most of her cognizant memories had nothing at all to do with the place. Sad, but that was life. Her life. Datar was the planet her body was made for, but she belonged to the planet no more than her lungs belonged to the air.
But gosh, it was a pretty view. Je'Gan would understand if she took a few minutes to soak in her feelings and appreciate being home while he dragged his aged behind around the Oneiromancer, getting ready. They had some time, here. She had time away from work, he had time away from the order, and when he'd recommended they take this trip, she'd jumped at the chance. Perhaps it was training? Perhaps Je'Gan was ensuring his heir didn't stress herself into an early gave? (As if that were something he needed to worry about.) Whatever the reason, she could scarcely refuse him. Je'Gan Olra'en had been as constant an influence in her life as Boolon Murr - at times more, sometimes less - but his presence had never really gone away.
Heck, she still wore that orange Tsil crystal around her neck. Just in case. It's weight was familiar, comforting, like a father's steadying hand on her shoulder.
She'd been a Jedi. She'd been training the Padawans in basic survival and first aid, teaching them how to cook on an open fire and bed down in the trees. It felt like a lifetime ago - Aleidis had been a different girl, then. She was older, now. Almost noticeably so, externally. Internally, the difference between then and now was like night and day. Child and adult.
Or Jedi and Sith, for that matter.
But there were still some things she could enjoy. Aleidis stepped off of the small, private shuttle she'd taken to her home planet, enjoying the feeling of cool grass beneath her bare toes and the relief that Datar's light gravity provided on her slender form. She loved to be out of her stuffy veda cloth robes, comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt. Casual clothing was a rare treat, something to be savored - almost as much as the massive, cloud-scraping trees of her homeworld were. The endless forests of Datar, shrouded in eternal dusk, were a rare stop for just about anybody who wasn't a slaver... and the slavers had had some difficulty getting to the planet, thanks to the influence of a Ghostling Chancellor.
She was stronger, now. Emotionally. As a Jedi, Aleidis had been quick to assume the best and quicker still to forgive. Leading the manifold peoples of the Republic had tempered her optimism. It'd taken that enduring diamond of faith in her soul and sharpened it to a razor's edge. Some might call it maturity, and they'd likely be right. Aleidis didn't see it, but it was fairly obvious to those close to her that a good deal of the unyielding joy and compassion had been trimmed away by anxiety and cynicism.
Even if Aleidis Ijet would never truly be a cynic.
Aleidis stepped nimbly away from the shuttle and stepped over some gnarled roots as thick around as her waist - pointed feet making little sound in Datar's fecund soil. They were high up, and it was colder here - peering down the mountain, Aleidis could see the village she'd grown up in twinkling down in the treetops a few kilometers away - no more than fifteen huts, perched atop the trees. A couple dozen lives, like a billion others. Somewhere down there, her father was likely blowing out a candle and bedding down for the night, his wife passed nearly a decade ago and his daughter gone off to the jedi long enough ago that he'd be hard-pressed to recognize her if he saw her in person. Tomorrow, he'd wake up with the sun and begin hunting, just like any other day. That the only blood relation he had left in the universe was less than a mile walk away was something he wouldn't know. It was better that way.
She could walk down this hill and be home by morning. Ghostling children were trained to be able to find their way home in the darkest nights from a very young age, after all. She could climb up little hand-holds leading up to the village from the ground, sneak in the thatch door, and wake Jobar Ijet with breakfast and a smile. Only a handful of souls in the Galaxy had any idea that Datar existed, or that the Chancellor was from there. Even fewer would be able to find her. She could disappear, and live a simple life of gathering herbs and trapping rabbits, of tending her father's morose nature.
Shifting thick hair away from slightly pointed ears, Aleidis took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Home was home, regardless of bittersweet feelings, but Datar hadn't been her home for most of her life, now. Coruscant was home. She'd left here at six years old, and now she was weeks away from seventeen. Most of her cognizant memories had nothing at all to do with the place. Sad, but that was life. Her life. Datar was the planet her body was made for, but she belonged to the planet no more than her lungs belonged to the air.
But gosh, it was a pretty view. Je'Gan would understand if she took a few minutes to soak in her feelings and appreciate being home while he dragged his aged behind around the Oneiromancer, getting ready. They had some time, here. She had time away from work, he had time away from the order, and when he'd recommended they take this trip, she'd jumped at the chance. Perhaps it was training? Perhaps Je'Gan was ensuring his heir didn't stress herself into an early gave? (As if that were something he needed to worry about.) Whatever the reason, she could scarcely refuse him. Je'Gan Olra'en had been as constant an influence in her life as Boolon Murr - at times more, sometimes less - but his presence had never really gone away.
Heck, she still wore that orange Tsil crystal around her neck. Just in case. It's weight was familiar, comforting, like a father's steadying hand on her shoulder.