
It was dark, and the silent hum of the air circulating unit would be heard throughout the Jedi Masters quarters. Iston lay on the bed, sheet slightly pulled off as the old man muttered and moaned in his sleep, sweat soaked his brow as he twitched slightly, body tensing. Frequent were the dreams, frequent did the ghosts of past horrors visit the pilgrim — it was insanity. Iston shot straight up, as his hand came out, saber flying to it as it hummed alive, the yellow blade illuminating the room, Iston’s amber eyes seemed to be ablaze with rage against the yellow blade as he slowed to calm his ragged breathing. The saber disengaged with a hiss as his free hand came to his forehead. “Ashla, how long must I endure this?” Iston struggled, just like any other flesh and blood creature within Ashla’s lush universe — he couldn’t forgive himself; years of torture for the atrocities he had committed as a Sith, the friends and teachers he had betrayed, and slaughtered in cold blood. He had been redeemed to the light, he had found balance, but peace was far from his grasp it seemed. He swung his legs over to the side of the bed and looked at the time. “ Four o’clock?” Iston groaned as he let out a defeated sigh. He stood, his bones cracking as he stood at this full height, here, in this place, in his home Iston did not feel the need to continue the charade he put on in front of others as the “frail” old man, one he knew frequently helped during battle situations. He walked over, grabbing for a glass of water as he downed it, and proceeded to getting dressed, adorning his usual attire which consisted of his Jedi Robes, Tunic and Hakama Pants. He slipped his shoes on as he headed out the door. His hand came up as the lightsaber on the bed floated to him and he attached it to his hip... and like clock work his Beskar Cane floated to him as it thudded to the ground, the echo reverberating in the crisp morning air.
The thud of the cane was like a heartbeat, the cadence of Iston, the one thing he inwardly smirked at that almost surely signaled others his arrival. Iston arrived into the meditation gardens at the Sliver Rest as he effortlessly skipped across the stones arranged in the pond and onto the larger one as he took his usual seat. Here in this garden Iston has trained many a failed attempts at Padawans recently it seemed. None seemed to work, to fit, and to stay. He closed his eyes as he spoke, in a slightly hushed whisper, almost as if speaking to someone present in the room. “I thank you for the gift of today, for the life in my body. I thank you for years of knowledge and undeserving chances. Help me today, help me to know your will, help me to stay in balance.” Iston pushed outwards and up with his arms as his body moved to a hand stand, his concentration completely focused on the exercise.
”Flowing through all, there is balance
There is no peace without a passion to create
There is no passion without peace to guide
Knowledge fades without the strength to act
Power blinds without the serenity to see”
His breath was steady as his arms held his weight, small rocks and orbs of water began to circle Iston as he focused on the creed he chose to live his life by, the one thing that even in the turmoil and valley gave him strength, gave him resolve.
“There is freedom in life
There is purpose in death
The Force is all things and I am the Force”
He moved his left arm outwards as now his weight lay resting on his right arm, sweat forming across his brow as he repeated the last line, emphasizing the lines for himself, allowing the words to sink in as he pushed the memories that haunted him to the surface, seeking to bring balance to his past, bringing chaos to order. Stray strands of his silver hair wafted in the swirling force around him as he held himself, the Jedi Master speaking authoritatively
“There is freedom in life....”
He had lived when so many others had died.
“There is purpose in death....”
Their deaths, those he knew — shaped him, they were with him. They had never left him. Their memories, their love, they stayed with him, he kept them alive by following Ashla.
“....The Force is all things and I am the Force”
To a bystander, or anyone else, Iston almost seemed fanatical when he meditated or when he trained. Taking everything as a life or death challenge, never settling for an easy way out. This was who he was, he was disciplined, he was steadfast and refused to yield himself again to the man he had came from — from the youth that hadn’t listened to anyone, from the young man that fell deep, lost many and in the end was nothing but a broken shell, he refused to ever, go back. Iston continued in peace as he focused on the exercise, loosing himself in the moment.