Restoration | Zhai'ellev

[Malok]

R Y L O T H​

How do we mend ourselves when we are broken?

For matters of the flesh, those who are broken turn to the physician. They stagger into their waiting arms and pray to science for an answer to their plight. They willingly allow chemicals to invade their bodies, under the guise of wellness, or subject themselves to agonies in the hopes of getting well. For most, these exercises of faith bode well for the body in time, as the ailments eventually heal. But what can one do for matters of spirit? When the unseen is wounded, where can a mundane being turn? To whom can they cry? And what trials would they have to endure in order to feel relief?

Such was the question of @Zhai’ellev. Ever since her liberation, the Sith Lord had been taking a special interest in her care. For a lifetime, she had been separated from her people and her culture; and yet there was a vestige of hope inside. During her liberation, Paecian lyrics formed and fell from her lips - commanding the Force as if it were a practiced feat instead of divine instinct. But from that instant, it could never be replicated. Though she tried, privately and under Darth Metus’ watchful eye, it seemed as though the spirits had...forgotten her.

Or at least, that is what Darth Metus refused to believe. The Sith was many things - an alchemist being chief among them. In his line of expertise, there was very little room for the ebb and flow of spirits. What he did was very simple. He commanded matter to do as it was bidden by his strength alone. And, though he knew that the spirits existed, he never personally evoked them in his personal craft. Despite this apostasy, the Sith knew that an orphan of Dathomir would not be abandoned by the spirits so easily. Why would they move heaven and earth for her only to leave her high and dry?

Something far greater had to be going on.

And thus, he believed that it was an ailment. Something that had transpired to her very spirit over the years of her captivity. Something that, with the right physician, could be rectified and restored. To this end, as the sun rose over the crests of Ryloth, Darth Metus beckoned the radiant Zhai’ellev to join him. He sat, unceremoniously, within a circle of stones facing the rising Sun; with eyes already lulled to a close. Upon her arrival, it would be expected of her to join him, so that they could make the most of this precious dawn. Time was of the essence, both for the rising of the Sun...and for Zhai’ellev’s predicament.

@Zhai’ellev​

 

[Zhai'ellev]

Because I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough
Because I'm broken when I'm alone
And I don’t feel right anymore...

They were song lyrics, of that she was certain, though the melody escaped her, and the words simply echoed in the cavern of her mind. It was a space and a sensation of emptiness that caused her a level of discomfort she couldn’t properly describe. A daughter of Dathomir, torn from Her embrace as a child and forced into slavery. The revered spirits of her people that had embraced her during her brief fight to freedom had slipped away again and left her empty.

Except for Doashim. His presence had remained the longest, but it too had faded to the merest wisp she could barely feel. There was nothing she could do to bridge those connections once more, no matter how she strove against her own limitations, with Metus’ continued guidance.

There was nothing, save for pain.

But that she could live with. She’d done so for almost all of her years already; what was another few decades? At least these would be spent in freedom.

Zhai didn’t believe her own thoughts anymore, but she clung to them anyway, her feet stepping soundlessly across the earth. Metus had summoned her to a sunrise, and it had begun to crest across the mountains as she arrived to his side. He was silent and contemplative with his shuttered gaze, so she did the same. A practiced motion saw her kneel comfortably, fingers smoothing out the simple, dark clothing clinging to her form.

Her head bowed as her flat gaze was shuttered away from what should have been a breathtaking sight. A deep breath in was slowly, methodically exhaled as she did her best to still her mind and bury the fragments of thought and emotion deep.

 

[Malok]

When her feet gingerly graced the earth, agony screamed through the Sith’s mind.

The sensation was jarring - but it was also a testament to the predicament of his apprentice. From the moment of her liberation, there was a Bond shared between the two. An intimate tether of their souls, forged by the Force’s everlasting hands. Through this ocean of shared emotion and thoughts, Zhai’ellev could borrow strength when she needed. Power when she craved. And in return, Darth Metus would know that his apprentice yet lived. He would know when she was happy, when she was grieved...and would bear the burden of her anguish at her side. As descent gripped her form, the Sith reached out with his dominant hand.

His fingertips gingerly graced the side of her cheek before returning to his lap.

Though he spoke no words, his actions made up the totality of their initial conversation. They had practiced meditation before - drawing deep breaths so that the Force might lull them into its embrace. And as they breathed in unison, the Sith first took Zhai’ellev into his metaphorical arms. His presence would coil about her, drawing her beyond the realm of physical perception. Guiding her to where the Spirits were as real and tangible as the earth upon which they sat. Before her mind’s eye would be a blur of color and a rush of unintelligible noise. Howling winds and screeching voices blended together as one.

Until all was emerald.

From the realm beyond, Darth Metus now stood before her. She would know that, physically, he sat at her side. And yet she would see his form glistening with literal embers. A confident smile was plastered upon his visage, yet it wavered ever so slightly as he looked upon her. This had been the first time that they had dived this deep, but the situation demanded action. And, in doing so, her master might witness just how much she was wounded. Confidence was overcome with concern as his sulfuric gaze settled upon her spectral form. It appeared as though literal chunks of her being had been torn away. Vicious gashes ripped across her torso, as if a monster had made her a victim.

”Zhai..” he breathed, almost in disbelief. ”We’re going to fix this.” Though taken aback for a few moments, the confidence returned to his tone almost immediately. He briefly turned away from the woman and surveyed their surroundings - which were an infinitely more emerald reflection of their physical locale. However, as opposed to a sun rising into the heavens, there was a bleeding star dipping below the horizon. ”Something...something did this to you. It’s more than just being away from the ancestors.” he presumed.

”Do you recall anything...any dreams? Shapes? Anything before...this happened?”

Her answer would dictate their direction - and just whom they would call for aide.

[member=”Zhai’ellev”]