Well, today had been a thing.
While his Thyrsian blood might have been sated by the thrill of the battle, the thirteen-year-old was struggling with fatigue as it seemed the boy's usually boundless energy had found its limit.
This was a victory for the Alliance, so why didn't it feel like winning?
The trails of the boy's tears became flecks of ice against his cheeks. His master had left to check-in with Alliance command, leaving the soldiers with the task of collecting their dead. A thankless duty that the young padawan joined. He'd been hesitant, reluctant even, but as the minutes had ticked by the afro-headed youth found himself restless and unable to stand by as the various soldiers began to take stock of the situation on the ground and undertake recovery operations.
At a certain point, he'd just gone numb to the sight of the bodies. Dead bodies. Frozen bodies. Bodies missing a limb.
He'd done all right, or at least managed to keep it all inside, until he came across a body without a head. He didn't do a good job keeping it all inside then. Instead, he'd stumbled a few steps away before he'd doubled over and puked into the snow.
The field rations tasted pretty bad going down. They definitely didn't get better coming back up.
But, at that point, some of the soldiers said that it was okay if Calix didn't help. He found himself seated on a crate, a thermal blanket wrapped around the shoulders of the obsidian-plated armor like a shawl and a hot cup of brown water -- was this supposed to be caf? -- in his hands.
Not the beverage of choice for kids, but the planet was a literal warzone. And warzones didn't have hot cocoa. So hot brown water was probably as good as it was going to get for the time being.
A fine, white mist appeared as the boy gave a sigh. Exhaustion was still sapping at him. The afro that framed his head scorched and burned in spots where embers had caught in the boy's coarse hair. Nicks and blemishes marked where the boy had weathered blaster shots and sonic grenades. Bringing up his left arm, he looked down at the gauntlet that looked as though it had been crushed. Flexing his fingers, there was a crackle of electricity as the electronics inside shorted out.
He'd definitely have to get the shields repaired.
"Some help over here."
Glancing up, the Echani silvery-blue eyes found a GADF soldier flagging the boy over. Setting the blanket and caf aside, the boy hopped down from the crate and made his way over to the side tunnel, where an Alliance crew was working.
The wreck of one of the Imperial drills was blocking the entrance to a maintenance shaft. "Debris blocking the entrance to this cavern. We want to check it for survivors, but it'll take hours to cut through that with torches," the GADF commander noted succinctly, gesturing to the wreckage before he looked back at the boy and asked, "You think you could, uh..?"
The boy just blinked. Looking at the wreckage and then at the soldier. "Me?" the Thyrsian chirped, pointing back at himself. He was being asked to help? "Yeah!" the boy uttered brightly, a slight spark of energy returning to him as he swelled with a sense of being useful again.
Planting a fist into an open palm, the Thyrsian craned his neck from one side, then the other, as he stepped up to the wreck. There was a mechanical whine, as the boy's hands gripped onto the twisted, warped metal. The power servos of his armor strained, the boy's legs struggling for a footing for a moment as the strength-enhancers took hold. The silvery-blue eyes seemed to turn a shade of yellow for a moment, a chill sending gooseflesh up his spine as a ripple of the Force passed through his body.
And the wreckage was lifted upward, as the young Thyrsian struggled under its weight before he turned his head to look back at the GADF officer.
The man's jaw was hanging open. "Well, I didn't..." the man began, before clearing his throat and simply commenting, "I 'spose that works."
Taking a step off to the side, the boy let the wreckage down. A loud crash echoed through the caves as it dropped back down. Breathless, the youth dusted off his hands as he turned to look back at the speechless soldier.
"Well, I just mean... I sort of figured you'd just..." the man stammered, finally holding up a hand and wiggling his fingers as he offered, "You know. The hand thing?"
The boy's Echani eyes just blinked. Then realization set in. "Oh," the youth uttered. Right. The hand thing. Jedi would hold up a hand and stuff just... levitated. "I don't really know the hand thing yet," Calix confessed.
He was, after all, just thirteen. That kind of stuff was probably more fourteen or fifteen year old stuff.
The soldiers passed him by, descending into the maintenance shaft he'd just uncovered, as they continued on with their task. Drawing in a deep breath, the blue-eyed youth glanced around as he wondered how everyone else was doing.
And did anyone else feel like a nap? Was that a thing for Jedi? He kinda hoped it was a thing.
