Aion Voros
Equilibrists
Master Voros removed his helmet, the sound a soft rasp in the stillness, and turned.
The aged apprentice, Aion, recoiled, raising a hand as if the sight were a violation. "Master, what are you doing?" He shielded his gaze, the gesture born of years of ingrained respect, almost reverence.
"Calm yourself, Aion," the master said, his voice gentle yet firm. "The time has come."
Confusion flickered across the apprentice's face. He slowly lowered his hand as the realization set in. They had discussed this long ago, but he never predicted when it would happen.
Not all things can be foreseen.
For the first time, he looked upon his master's unmasked face. It was older than he'd imagined. His grey skin was etched with the lines of time and wisdom. Permanent creases marked the skin where the helmet had rested for so long, a testament to a life lived in quiet contemplation. Beyond the physical marks, there was an air of weariness, a sense of completion. The removal of the helmet could only mean one thing.
"This can't be," Aion protested, his voice a near-desperate whisper. "I'm not ready."
A smile touched the master's lips, a warmth the apprentice had never seen. It was the smile like a father looking fondly upon his son. "You've been ready for years, and you know it. You are far older than most in our galaxy who hold your rank. Our work must continue, and I can no longer make the journey. The Force calls me beyond, I'm afraid. One day, you will understand." Master Voros took a step towards his apprentice.
Aion glanced around the secluded clearing, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"It's alright," Master Voros reassured him. "We are safe here."
With a slow, deliberate movement, Aion placed his hands upon his own helmet. An ancient relic of their Order. A gentle push of the Force loosened the seal, and the cool air kissed his skin. It was the first time he had removed it since his master had bestowed it upon him, marking his ascension to apprenticeship.
The master's gaze was filled with pride. "You are not the same boy I discovered long ago. You have done our Order proud." He reached out and gently cupped the apprentice's cheek.
Tears welled in the apprentice's eyes. "It…," his voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. "It has been an honor to have served alongside you," he said, his voice regaining strength.
"That it has," Master Voros replied, his hand moving to the apprentice's shoulder. He lifted his own helmet, holding it between them.
"We are the weavers of destiny," the master began, his voice resonant with the familiar words.
"Whisperers of what may be," the apprentice followed, his voice trembling slightly.
"We guide the heart..."
"But not the hand," the apprentice said, tears now streaming down his cheeks.
"We see the path..."
"But do not dictate the journey," the apprentice whispered, the words heavier than they had ever been before. His knees felt weak, and his own helmet trembled in his hands. He closed his eyes and bowed towards his master.
The weight of his master's hemet felt different, heavier, as if the weight of those who had came before him rested upon it.
In a solemn voice of great pride, Master Voros said, "I rest upon you thy name of the masters before me. Carry it well. Rise, Master Aion Voros."
With the Force, Aion sealed the helmet and looked up to his master.
But he was gone.
The aged apprentice, Aion, recoiled, raising a hand as if the sight were a violation. "Master, what are you doing?" He shielded his gaze, the gesture born of years of ingrained respect, almost reverence.
"Calm yourself, Aion," the master said, his voice gentle yet firm. "The time has come."
Confusion flickered across the apprentice's face. He slowly lowered his hand as the realization set in. They had discussed this long ago, but he never predicted when it would happen.
Not all things can be foreseen.
For the first time, he looked upon his master's unmasked face. It was older than he'd imagined. His grey skin was etched with the lines of time and wisdom. Permanent creases marked the skin where the helmet had rested for so long, a testament to a life lived in quiet contemplation. Beyond the physical marks, there was an air of weariness, a sense of completion. The removal of the helmet could only mean one thing.
"This can't be," Aion protested, his voice a near-desperate whisper. "I'm not ready."
A smile touched the master's lips, a warmth the apprentice had never seen. It was the smile like a father looking fondly upon his son. "You've been ready for years, and you know it. You are far older than most in our galaxy who hold your rank. Our work must continue, and I can no longer make the journey. The Force calls me beyond, I'm afraid. One day, you will understand." Master Voros took a step towards his apprentice.
Aion glanced around the secluded clearing, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
"It's alright," Master Voros reassured him. "We are safe here."
With a slow, deliberate movement, Aion placed his hands upon his own helmet. An ancient relic of their Order. A gentle push of the Force loosened the seal, and the cool air kissed his skin. It was the first time he had removed it since his master had bestowed it upon him, marking his ascension to apprenticeship.
The master's gaze was filled with pride. "You are not the same boy I discovered long ago. You have done our Order proud." He reached out and gently cupped the apprentice's cheek.
Tears welled in the apprentice's eyes. "It…," his voice cracked, and he paused to clear his throat. "It has been an honor to have served alongside you," he said, his voice regaining strength.
"That it has," Master Voros replied, his hand moving to the apprentice's shoulder. He lifted his own helmet, holding it between them.
"We are the weavers of destiny," the master began, his voice resonant with the familiar words.
"Whisperers of what may be," the apprentice followed, his voice trembling slightly.
"We guide the heart..."
"But not the hand," the apprentice said, tears now streaming down his cheeks.
"We see the path..."
"But do not dictate the journey," the apprentice whispered, the words heavier than they had ever been before. His knees felt weak, and his own helmet trembled in his hands. He closed his eyes and bowed towards his master.
The weight of his master's hemet felt different, heavier, as if the weight of those who had came before him rested upon it.
In a solemn voice of great pride, Master Voros said, "I rest upon you thy name of the masters before me. Carry it well. Rise, Master Aion Voros."
With the Force, Aion sealed the helmet and looked up to his master.
But he was gone.