Phantom Pains
Oyokal, Assembled Alliance Fleet
Cale had not felt this way in a long, long time, but he remembered the last like it was yesterday. A somewhat different evil, a different heart of darkness, but the same sort of heroes assembled to stop it. He did not feel in place as he had then though. Korriban had been a long time ago, before the One Sith, before Venatorum, before Aleksandr and Ronan and the rest of it. Cale wondered if he’d changed too much to stand among the forces of the light once more, the nagging voice in the back of his mind gnawing at him, rabid.
But he silenced it, and his mind became a sea of tranquility once more. This was where he was meant to be, this was where the road had taken him, this was where he belonged.
They’d docked with one of the Alliance capital ships to fuel up, restock their ammunition, and see a few old friends. The soldiers they’d shared trenches with on Illum had come to greet the one-armed Jedi, friendly barbs had gone to and fro before promises to meet one another ground side were made aloud and filled with firm handshakes. They were good men and women, all of them, and again Cale felt a twinge of guilt for still standing among them.
This is who you are.
He’d not heard his conscious speak in her voice in some time, but it was almost a comfort now where it had been a burden before. She was right, she’d always been right about him from the very start. Cale wondered again where she was, if she was alright, if she was happy. If she’d ever meant to return to the life, she’d have been her, and when Cale reached out and felt the strength of every Jedi assembled pulsating in the force, hers was not there. She’d moved on, and he likely should’ve to.
Clad in the dark jacket, one sleeve tapered off at his right shoulder, a red cloth hung over it, the grizzled Jedi sat alone in the white-walled briefing room, distant eyes staring blankly at the holotable in the center. He didn’t know what he was doing here, or who he was waiting for, maybe he’d just wanted a moment of quiet before he went back to his ship.
He remembered Korriban again, remembered standing side by side with his brother for the first time as Jedi, together. He’d saved Marek, and he knew his brother had never quiet forgiven himself for not saving Cale in turn. His twin was out among the assembled fleet, they’d spoken briefly, but Cale hadn’t had it in him to go to his brother. It was too much to remember.
Cale wondered what Exogol would be like when it was all over, Korriban had been glass, vicious sandstorms ripping apart those unable to get off the surface, fire and chaos, and death had been everywhere. But they’d won then, the light had triumphed over the dark, just as it would now. It had to, the Maw had to be stopped.
Fumbling in his pocket, Cale pulled a stimstick free, and pressed it to his lips, igniting it and taking a long drag. He sensed it then, something or someone unfamiliar nearby, but strong in the force, doubtless one of the other Jedi that had come to see an end made. He prayed they weren’t going to barge in and lecture him about smoking, but he didn’t count it out.
