TIEING THINGS OFF
Veridia
Jedi Temple
Michael, Gabriel,
Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Connel,
Raguel
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]
The air smelled of salt and smoke.
Not the acrid kind from war, not anymore — the soft kind, from campfires and brine and resin. The kind that clings to old wood and memory. He rode until the sand became too soft to do so. Sure, he could have switched to “hover” but that could have caused ecological issues, and he was not going to do that. Vanagor was in enough of a mood to have to deal with backlash.
Connel trudged through the coarse sand, boots sinking half an inch with each step. The rhythmic crash of the waves wasn’t peaceful; it was maddeningly constant. He had always hated stillness that pretended to be calm. It reminded him of the eye of a storm — quiet on the surface, violent beneath.
The wind whipped at his cloak, carrying with it the hum of his saber’s emitter against his hip — a sound that felt too loud in this silence, this is why he hated cloaks… too “flappy”. His eyes tracked silhouettes ahead. Someone was there.
Braze.
The Echani.
The one who’d turned his back on everything and somehow lived to tell about it.
Connel’s jaw clenched as he climbed over a dune, the datadisk a heavy weight in his hand — though it couldn’t have weighed more than a few grams. His father’s final promise, wrapped up in a piece of data and trust. That was the only reason he was here.
Not for Braze. Not for redemption. Just a delivery.
The beach opened wide before him — a patchwork of driftwood, fishing nets, and makeshift shelters. It was a hermit’s paradise, or a coward’s exile, depending on who was telling the story.
He stopped on the ridge, letting the wind buffet his armor. Part of him wanted Braze to feel his presence — to sense the edge in it. The other part wanted to finish this quietly and leave before the ghosts started whispering again.
Every step forward stirred up old anger. He had nearly lost himself once — to darkness, to command, to blind purpose — and here stood a man who
had. And instead of facing judgment, he got to sit by the sea and meditate while the galaxy burned.
Connel exhaled slowly through his nose. The sound was half a growl.
“This isn’t about him,” he muttered under his breath, just to hear the words out loud.
“It’s about Father.”
He walked on.
Closer now — the smell of resin was thick, the hiss of faint, extinguished fires mixing with the sea breeze. A figure stood beside the water, silver hair gleaming like the moon reflected on the tide. Braze hadn’t moved. Either he didn’t sense Connel, or he didn’t care.
Connel stopped a few meters away, the surf licking at his boots. For a heartbeat, he thought of turning back — of leaving the datadisk in the sand and letting the waves decide where it went. But that wasn’t how his father would’ve done it.
He reached into his cloak and held the disk up to the light. The faint blue shimmer reflected against his gauntlet, casting his own face in ghostly hues.
Caltin Vanagor made a promise, he said quietly to no one but the sea.
And I’m here to keep it.
Then he started forward, the tide rolling over his tracks behind him.
