Private Something In The Disorder

[Ishida Ashina]

PROSPERITY | HALLS OF HEALING | HEALING CRYSTAL ROOM
People will do anything, no matter how absurd,
in order to avoid facing their own souls.
One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light,
but by making the darkness conscious.
Bernard

I CAN'T TAKE THE PRESSURE OFF MYSELF
​

Making the decision to launch straight into Ziost’s dark arms straight from the catastrophe on Krayiss had been a foolhardy one.

DO NOT RUSH. DO NOT OVEREXTEND. ARE THESE LESSONS FORGOTTEN SO QUICK?

Really, she should have known better. Sardun’d told her once and he should never have to tell her twice. Repetition was not a part of his pedagogical methods and the more she reflected, she more ashamed she felt. It was the same mistake she’d made before, but under the guise of proactivity and heroic sacrifice.

By now, the Force Breakers were mostly eliminated from her bloodstream. Shattered by transfusions and antibodies, but the impact it had on her left an imprint she still had to navigate. Even now, rotating the healing crystal around a few inches from her palm took more concentration than it had before. It was light, almost airless, handed over carefully by the healers of Prosperity who'd kindly worked with her over several days to remedy her connection back to The Force. But it was her job to get it back to where it had been. What had once been a mindless task required attention, and her focus was split with the war of her mind.

Whispers of awareness beckoned the little warrior of Light, and she could hear their plead. Are you willing to be aware?

Consciousness was a worrying thing, when she thought about it. If she opened her eyes and scrutinized the turn of events, the first thing she might see would be her own delusion. How much was she holding on to that was making her suffer? Was she ready to empty herself entirely for the requirement of betterment?

With shaking hands, she sucked in her bottom lip to soften the growing sob at the base of her throat. She was gripped by a fearful malaise at the thought of failures. Not one, but a horrendous compilation of three.

First, on Krayiss, she’d failed to intercept the Dark Library. Asmundr had deemed her worthy to overcome the spirit guards and she hadn’t managed –– shed been lured by a falsehood and stricken with power beyond anything she’d experienced prior. And in her stricken state, she’d been witness to her misjudgement of character in both Dagon Kaze and someone she thought she could trust; Bernard. Her entire worldview had been shattered.

To escape it, she flung headfirst into a series of other mistakes on Ziost. On that grief-stricken planet, she’d failed to slay the Sith Trooper. She’d become overwhelmed with vengeance, but completely incapable of executing her deepest desires of retribution. Further, to pour salt on the wound, she’d failed to understand the benevolence of Aaran Tafo . Gratefully, he’d been so preoccupied with the evacuation of those who’d found salvation in the Battlemaster that she managed to escape further admonishment from him. Though she reckoned he’d come find her eventually.

Now she sat with it all. All those shattered pieces in her palms, glinting in the light of Ashla’s restoration. They personified and spoke up in her mind, their volumes rising and dropping while contesting for her attention to remedy them and confront them in this freshly tessellated reality.

Her own failure was one thing. She could work to overcome that, Sardun would help her. And it hurt, it really hurt, but awareness and observation helped pave the way for her reflection.

Perhaps the pain came from the sentiment of betrayal that belaboured her contemplation. How could she have been so wrong on so many fronts? Someone she’d begun warming to, who she might have called a friend, had been accepted by Sith Spirits. Deemed worthy by the protectors of darkness, the most treacherous of souls.

Tremendous pressure was building behind her eyes, but it refused to release. She felt dry, hollow, and stuck in a juncture of emotional wealth and bankruptcy –– as if the next move would fill her up entirely for lifelong success, or she’d hemorrhage herself into a weary drought and become a husk of bones, blood and water.

 

[Bernard]

In the depths of winter,
I finally learned that
within me there lay
an invincible summer.​

​

I'll still destroy you someday, sleep well, beast; you as well, beast​

In the single-room apartment, the Marshals had provided on Denon he'd been up late, staring out at the bristling neon undercity of the massive ecumenopolis. A transparisteel pane stood as a barrier to the world beyond, nestling him in the dark safety of his room where he would usually sit on a lone chair with a stimcaf in hand. In that darkness, the city absorbed his attention. His gaze was magnetically drawn to the slow passing of speeders beyond the long neon corridor of cloudcutters standing opposite each other. The longer he stared, the more he melted away into a tangle of thoughts, completely unaware of time, the next job, or the stimcaf growing cold in his hands. He became lost in the neon, thoughts flowing in and receding in an ebb, always dwelling on the same moments.

Krayiss, Korriban, Coruscant, the Embrace, Atrisia, Kuat. They stuck out like burning beacons in a murky sea of memories. He'd replayed the events over and over in his mind, scrutinized every action and decision repeatedly to a point where he could point out every flaw in his strategy, understanding, and reasoning for every moment he remembered. It was hard not to. Whenever his head wasn't buried deeply in Marshal matters, his mind became incapable of dwelling on anything else, thoughts gravitating towards the past as though caught in the pull of a neutron star.

Eventually, though, his mind would drain of all energy and come to a gradual, sighing halt at which point his awareness returned to his surroundings in the apartment room where the tidal wave of exhaustion he'd been keeping at bay would finally roll over his body. Enervated, he'd blink away sleep until his body collapsed into an uncomfortable mattress for a brief encounter with oblivion, until a blaring alarm wrenched him back into the world of neon skylines and durasteel jungles.

Last night he'd managed to skip the mesmerizing descent into reminiscence and short-cut the entire ritual straight into the embrace of a blanket. The day had been long and arduous. A patrol had turned into a pursuit, which then turned into a nasty fight once the perpetrators had been cornered. Even with the Force as a guide, he'd misjudged the situation several times, and made plenty of mistakes that wouldn't leave him alone until the swoosh of his apartment door announced it was time to rest. Only then had he found some relief, and on time to get a full night's rest. He'd been fortunate enough to get nearly an entire day to rest up, save for a brief appointment to follow up on a lead.

Which made him all the more surprised to be woken up in the middle of the night by a blaring alarm. His hand fell on the buzzer, missing the snooze button, then fiddled to find the off switch. Had he forgotten to switch off his alarm? He glanced at the time through groggy eyelids that fought every fraction of an inch they opened. 4:00 morning hours, much earlier than he usually woke up. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, pushing off the bed to rise up. His blanket weighed down on him, coaxing him to stay buried and drift back to sleep, but he pushed against the thought.

Whatever cause there was for the unusual alarm, he wanted to investigate. If only to soothe the worries at the edge of his mind that he'd forgotten something. Something that seemed important.

He shuffled to the edge of the bed and stretched to pick his datapad off the nightstand, next to a pile of notes and empty cups. A tap brought it to life. Its brightness lit up the room, sending a stinging wave to roll over his eyes, painful enough to clench them shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his face tensed up. Eventually, he forced them open again with care. The datapad remained a blur of light for a few moments longer until he'd adjusted enough to the brightness to begin making out individual symbols. At the top of the screen, a notification hung unresolved.

"I. A. - Hospital, Shuttle 6:00" it read. He rubbed the side of his face. A prior version of him had been prudent enough to plan for the eventuality that he'd lose track of time. Go that Bernard. He'd recognized the importance of the event and put safety measures in place to keep his future, witless self on track.

"Shavit," he sighed, and waved a wistful farewell to restful slumber for the day.

---

He arrived on Prosperity sometime before noon on Denon. Usually, he'd convert the times in his head, but couldn't bring the cogs to turn this time. At the spaceport, he'd caught a quick breakfast at a diner, and followed that up with a nap on the shuttle, but neither had been particularly refreshing. He wandered the halls of the massive temple-ship almost in a daze, led by an invisible thread of familiarity through its corridors towards the medical ward, where the Healers resided. An exchange of information and a scolding from a familiar face later, and he was off toward the room in question. More faces he recognized met him on the way there, but he excused himself from any further conversation, until, finally, he came upon her room.

The door slid open and he stepped inside, suddenly painfully aware of the exhaustion that must be manifesting outwardly. Tiredness spread dark wings that ran underneath his eyes. His skin was a shade paler than usual, from all the time spent deep in Denon's undercity, and his hair and clothes, though tidy, lacked the neat exactness they normally had. He kept a small bag slung over his left shoulder, cord tangled up in his fingers

"Hey," he began, offering a tired smile and a wave. The crystal she held in her hand made him pause a moment. He recalled the many hours spent meditating with them. Long, boring hours with nothing but books or files to work through. Still, it almost drew a smile. Almost.

After a moment of lingering at the door, he stepped inside and moved toward Ishida's bedside, picking up a chair with his free hand. He set it down the wrong way around and slumped into it. He let his arms rest outstretched on the corners of the backrest, and set his chin down on the metal bar. The bag swayed briefly, tapping against his knee as it slowly lost momentum.

"How are you holding up?"

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

I'M GONNA HURT YOU FIRST​

Aside from her folded white clothes on a dresser, and her three artifacts placed neatly in a row — her mask, katana, and lightsaber— there was no personal decor in the room.

No flowers, no tokens that wished well or for a speedy recovery. Ishida’s personal choice was always spartan and to collect any trinkets would have to be from visitors. Of which she had none.

Until Bernard arrived.

His presence in the Force had felt foreign, and she might have thought it belonged to one of the healers before looking to the door with his salutations. She barely registered his inaugural appearance, only glancing noncommittally to the doorway when he spoke.

"Hey,"

It was such a casual salutation, smooth and something that settled in the junction between careless and carefree. Something that felt safe and trusting. As if nothing had happened — as if he didn’t fully acknowledge the weight of his transgression. As if he considered himself still worthy of being a Jedi ––of still being alive after the guardians of Krayiss had deemed him worthy.

After the Sith reviewed his actions and deemed them worthy. Misdeeds with merit enough for them to recognize and honour.

That colloquial greeting should be his last one. She should kill him now before he became too insidious. The library might have been destroyed by Kaze, but maybe all those spirits had transferred their evil into Bernard in an unholy act of self preservation? She should kill him. He’d been judged once, and she judged him now similarly.

But it was so casual. He was so calm, and he was… here. Visiting. Unassuming and caring enough to track her down.

All that threatened behind her eyes finally found gravity, pushed through in a flash of anger. Furiously, swiped the snivel away and she sneered privately at the skin tarnished by the smear of salt against the back of her hand.

In an effort to contain the itch to pull her saber to her, she clenched her fist around the crystal. It pierced and pricked at the flesh of her palm— her grip so tight her already pale knuckles whitened. Further hurt built up at the back of her throat at her breaths became slower and shallower.

"How are you holding up?"

Was the tenderness he offered just proof that she’d been ruined? Drawing a breath through her teeth, Ishida tried to let that implication resonate.

She’d certainly felt ruined by Ziost. Lost, empty, vacant of all the powers that made her a force (pun intended) to be reckoned with. It had ruined her, in that instance. Hollowed her out. And now, with the central lines still plugged into her system through veins that consumed tiny little particles that shattered through the Force Breakers, she was still not fully whole. Perhaps she was ruined, disintegrated and still stuck in the state of being destroyed but struggling endlessly against it.

Or maybe his motivation was as innocent as his salutations; born of empathy. It would have been a lie to suggest she hadn’t thought of his struggles with losing the force in parallel to her experience. Albeit hers had been far less everlasting, but that state of loss had been....awfully mortal.

In contrast, as long as she’d known him, Bernard seemed fine to have been relegated to an existence of Forcelessness.

but also the best shot us mortals have of making our voice heard on it, when compared with yours.

Last they’d talked about it, his reconnection seemed impossible; perhaps only if he ventured back to his origins. Like he’d grown comfort in his disconnect. Did he get it back from the Sith spirits? They hadn’t connected after the events on Krayiss, and as curious as she was she was more so lost in the overwhelming complexity of her own judgement of who she’d considered a friend –– and now she was wondering if she should condemn him to an enemy now.

Straightening against her headboard, Ishida winced at the lingering reverberations of her previously shattered rib. For the first time, she moved her eyes from her weapons to her visitor. He looked exhausted –– more sleepless than ever.

“I hate this. Mortality.” She grumbled in admission, pulling at the lines connected to her forearm. Nanoparticles fed through the translucent tubes; ammunition to fire against the invaders in her bloodstream.

Her condemning expression softened despite herself, and she rolled the crystal between her hands. She had too many unanswered questions to kill him right now. Her judgement demanded a jury. Driving her sabre through his face wouldn’t give her the catharsis some level of conversation would. Maybe. But she could always get to that point at any time, let him lower his guard.

There were other parts of his body she could stab where he could continue talking, but be incapacitated to attack back. Somewhere in the abdomen or chest.

She closed her eyes, imagining it.

“Why are you here.”

 

[Bernard]

I dig my hole, you build a wall​

“I hate this. Mortality.”

I do too. He thought.

To be robbed of the Force was a cruel sentence for a Jedi. It blunted their senses, robbed them of the very thing that defined them throughout their entire life. Much like a musician whose instrument was shattered, the experience left a Jedi hollow and impotent. Lost in powerlessness they never had to grow accustomed to.

Though, what had struck Bernard as even worse, had been the realization of just how little a Jedi could affect in the galaxy even with their powers. One person could only do so much, save so many people. The countless souls who remained unfortunate enough to suffer terrible fates and never once cross the path of a Jedi made his heart grow even heavier.

He brought his free hand to the opposite arm's shoulder and nestled his nose in the crook of his elbow. His gaze lowered to the sharp corner of the bed frame.

“Why are you here.”

The words cut the space between them with a biting edge. He perked up from his considerations, and glanced back to her, growing a little uncertain when he found her in deep concentration.

The intensity she projected in the Force only registered with him as he regarded her now. Sensations in the Force didn't quite have the same sharpness to them he remembered, so he'd missed it at first. But now that he concentrated on her he could feel that intensity, but nothing beyond that. He still felt as though he were threading a needle with kitchen mittens covering his hands when he tried to sense with the Force.

A frustrating experience for someone who'd relied on that sense heavily for decades.

"I," he hesitated.

"You had me worried there on Krayiss, and then I heard you'd been injured pretty bad on Ziost and I ... well I wanted to check on you," he finally managed.

It still made him wince to think of the scene in the courtroom on Krayiss. Both Auteme and Ishida had been struck by Sith's Lightning. That was an experience he didn't wish upon any Jedi, or any being for that matter. The synthflesh that replaced the permanently damaged tissue on his skin still smoldered with faint sensations whenever he thought about the crackling arcs of electricity bursting from another being's hand.

But they'd made it out alive. All of them, miraculously. That was what mattered. He'd told himself this very comfort repeatedly since Krayiss, but not even that had helped with the nightmares and sleepless nights. Nor did it push away the words of the Spirit.

"I deem you ... worthy."

The judgment made his skin crawl as it echoed in his memories. He didn't think about what it meant, didn't even consider the implications it carried. He knew that, now that the Library was gone, he had no opportunity to find out just what the Spirits had seen in him, and among the questions without an answer there were those that, when dwelled upon long enough, could ruin a person. Deep down he knew this was one of those.

So he turned his attention back to the present, and to the injured patient in front of him.

"I am, as it would happen, quite intimately familiar with what they pass for food here," he began, feeling small embers of enthusiasm slip into his voice, "so I picked up some actual food for you on the way here," he finished, breaking brief silence that had nearly taken up a whole four seconds, and reached into his bag.

After a moment of rummaging, he produced two aluminium-wrapped rolls that just barely fit into his palm together.

"Ronto Morning Wraps. One with Nuna meat and the other with Ithorian garden loaf. I wasn't sure whether you followed the meat-abstinence practice some Jedi adhere to, so I got one of each. Just in case," he said.

He held the two out towards Ishida.

Whatever made her speak with barbed words wouldn't deter him so easily. It was all too easy to get wrapped up in one's defeat. Especially when pride took two terrible blows in a row. After the nearly fatal experience on the Embrace he had spent a week straight seething in silence, buried in a loop of wounded pride and flaring ego. Back then only the occasional trip to the Healing Ward's Library had kept him from losing himself altogether. Prosperity's Halls of Healing lacked the spaciousness of Peace to allow for such luxury, which made distractions hard to come by when alone. So that's what he'd do.

"Still warm," he offered.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

YOU SHOULD NOT COME TOO CLOSE

If … was an onomatopoeia, it might have been the sharp inhale Ishida made when Bernard mentioned Krayiss. Her jaw tightened and she opened her eyes, blinking obviously and looking over at him again. It registered that he was physically unchanged, save for the aforementioned fatigue and the glitter of light that shone on the synthflesh across his face.

Krayiss was a planet of pain for her, but damning for him. He glossed over it almost expertly, deviating for a more generous pivot.

Honestly, she’d partly hoped her question would have offended him. Make him walk out the door. Then she’d be spared the necessity of weighing the outcomes of taking his life or not. But he stayed, and took up space in that immovable decision. Spreading out with consideration.

He’d drawn parallels from his experience to her own, and obviously taken steps to try and make it better. She looked down at the blanketed lumps at the end of her bed that were supposed to be her toes. The sides of her teeth locked together, molars clenching while she sucked in her cheeks and tried to swallow down the animosity building at the base of her chest.

"You had me worried there on Krayiss, and then I heard you'd been injured pretty bad on Ziost and I ... well I wanted to check on you,"

When he mentioned Ziost, she physically tightened. Her shoulders became angular and she stopped touching the crystal in a rhythmic way, letting it rest in the limp cradle of her palms.

“It was the same trooper squadron from Bastion.” She murmured, forcing the testimony through clenched teeth. “Aaran showed them...her and the team.. mercy.”

Her tone dropped in shades of dejection and hostility “After I’d been shot.” Then the volume shifted to something significantly less audible, and more grouchy “Some Battlemaster.”

Any eye contact she’d established, she quickly averted. This time it wasn’t calculated for how to end his life, it was just pure shame. Worry, injury –– those were just euphemisms for failure on her part and it stung her ears. She bit the inside of her cheeks in response, and reached up to touch her hairline as some form of distraction.

“I’m fine.” She defied. “It’s just...procedural now.”

Some measure of gratitude was owed for his transition on the topic back to his own experience, drawing a parallel she’d found some solace in. He’d spent a long time here after Korriban no doubt, learned the ins and outs, understood the weaknesses.

His overt kindness was contradictory to the hatred she’d assigned him during their distance, and it made her deeply uncomfortable. Their friendship had started from a foundation of violence and destruction of the Sith and… she still couldn’t contend with the fact that he might be the greatest farce she’d ever met.

“I’ve never had nuna meat.” Ishida admitted, adjusting once again under the fold of her blanket and testing the looseness of her inserted intravenous. It was taut, and tightened at the intersection of her skin and technology. At the same time as she trialled its give, it sent out another ripple of pressure into her bloodstream and she bit her lip.

Reaching out had both his hands occupied, he was so unassumingly relaxed. Preoccupied and vulnerable. Even though she was looking at the wrapped ovals, she was calculating the distances and plausible reactions and actions.

Her hilt could be in her hand and activated in half a second, she could swipe it to close the other half. His skin and bone would put up a bit of resistance in her weakened state, but not enough to wholly dissuade the trajectory of the plasma. His head could be on the ground in less than ten seconds. Maybe fifteen. The only unforeseen variable was his newfound Force-connected reflexes.

She’d have to test that — Sardun’s admonishment to not rush in would be heeded now, in such a delicate situation. This was one worth observing; even if it was for sentimental and selfish purposes.

Her stomach tightened, repulsed at the idea of breaking bread with the devil. Any appetite she might have had instantly drained and she ran her thumb over the point of the gem in her grip.

But it was nice of him. Even if it was a diversion tactic— still nice.

“This is…nice of you. Thank you.”

So she’d try it for the first time, and reached for the one he’d indicated as more meat-forward. To observe further, see how Sith decided to eat their food. Most of her diet growing up has been plant based, rich in fish or seafood with minimal amounts of animal proteins.

Carefully peeling back the coating, she exposed the warm breakfast food beneath. It was instantly more fragrant than much of what she’d been served, and more unique in composition. Usually she got something in three sections, colours and textures that belonged to different parts of the food pyramid that they said would help her maintain weight and heal.

Languidly, she accomplished her first bite with a nod of appreciation to further validate the note of thanks she’d murmured earlier. Thoughtfully, she chewed and considered how to further disarm him. Did he eat with two hands? Hands that held a painfully chilled weapon, hands that let go of a history of pain.

After she swallowed, she sought to further lull him to a state of contentment. Her stomach pushed back at the new contents, infuriated by her inability to listen to how empty it wanted to be.

Another shot of the nanoparticules issued through her bloodstream, and she clenched her teeth in refute to the discomfort.

“You uhm..” her eyes closed and she dropped her hands for the breakfast burrito to hover above her lap. She wanted to admit that the worry on Krayiss hadn’t been one-sided. He’d been concerned for her physical well being apparently, but his was so much worse. So much more tormenting. The bite she’d tried to swallow earlier felt like it was lodged somewhere in her chest; making it tricky to breathe.

As much as she wanted to lunge at him now, a larger part of her withheld. Vying for her patience, pleading for her to understand the dimensions of a person before destroying them.

She lied through her teeth, and thumbed at some of the wrapper of the bundle in her hand: “I was worried on Krayiss too.”

Was she? Worried? That might not have been the word. Distraught, shattered, confounded, bewildered, entirely lost, devastated, hollowed –– those were more apt.

"I've been thinking about you after all this, after Krayiss and then losing my connection to the Force. Weirdly similar ––much briefer than you but.." She drew in a breath and stopped fiddling with the wrapper on the oblong shaped breakfast.

“What happened to you after the Sith Spirits passed their judgement? Wh—“ her voice wavered, becoming thin and unsteady “Why did they let you in?”

 

[Bernard]

To take this head on
​

A smile cracked the shell of tiredness when she accepted the food, and he placed the other breakfast item down on the nightstand next to the bed.

"I've only heard good things about it," he said.

Something caused Ishida's expression to tighten. He'd noted this was the second time. Did it have something to do with the intensity within her? He was about to ask, but she cut him off before he could, with an admission of worry. He almost raised a brow, getting used to the idea of the Atrisian warrior expressing anything other than murderous excitement, but she continued, finally landing on a pair of questions.

“What happened to you after the Sith Spirits passed their judgement? Wh—Why did they let you in?”

​

He held fast to the conviction that she hadn't meant to do it, but the questions lunged right for his throat, tore it out, and took his tongue with it. A chill swept down his neck, into his shoulders, and faded as it ran along his arms. Cold weight pushed him into the chair. He swallowed nothing but had to fight against constricted muscles to not choke. The reflex left a rough knot in his throat that rubbed against his larynx with sandpaper dryness.

It always seemed rather ironic that, despite the destructive energy of plasma, or the immense power of kyber, both of which could vaporize and destroy with unmatched power, the most potent weapon sentient beings had to completely unravel another with were words. Simple sounds, innocuous and innocent by their lonesome, that became imbued with a world-breaking potency when spoken under the right circumstances.

He felt tight coils unravel in his chest, releasing his heart from the restricting embrace of chitinous legs. It fell as the first drop into a wider sea that, slowly, swelled in confined darkness. Spiral wires continued to unwind throughout his body, spreading out from his chest, and giving him greater length and freedom.

The question continued to hang between them, or perhaps more accurately, above him. Expectation, the responsibility to answer the question truthfully and accurately weighed on his shoulders, while, above him, he felt, a sword danced in the uncertainty of a verdict on the verge of being announced, again. His fingers tightened around his arm. The fabric of his jacket bunched up under them.

"They thought I'd turn," his voice had gone hoarse. He cleared his throat before proceeding. "Become one of them, if they let me in. They wanted to push me past the precipice, into an abyss of their making."

A deep warmth suddenly overcame him as the knots continued to disentangle. The comfort crept slowly from his cheeks to his chest and shoulders, then deep into his stomach. At the same time, his feet seemed unsure on the ground as though he were about to slip on ice. His shoulders curled inward, and he hugged the chair back closer to his chest.

The deep blue, almost black, stone of the courtroom found its way into his memories. Then the soft glow of the first spirits, a spindly collection of three clad in tattered robes, as they danced around him. He recalled their voices arguing between themselves. They'd shown him two memories. The first had been from Devaron, the death of a gladiator who'd hidden his identity as a Sith. Ishida had witnessed that one, he'd learned from her after the fact. She'd approved, but the spirits found different perspectives. They had taken his conviction and softly placed their words within to wedge it apart. They succeeded when they'd exposed that conviction not as his own, but that of an unyielding Jedi Master, thereby creating a fissure in the armour of his faith in the Light.

He scoffed.

"They were insidious about it," he mumbled, straightening himself to sit up properly to look directly at Ishida as he spoke.

He noted a distinct sensation of lightness for a moment. This struck him as rather odd.

"Moments of shame, humiliation, weakness, they dug all of them up one by one and used them against me," his voice was steady again.

After the first three had sown seeds of doubt, the warrior spirit had stepped forward. She'd opened his memories like a book and torn out the pages most relevant to her, glossing over all the death and bloodshed a Jedi accumulated as part of their most tragic work, to go directly for the deaths on Korriban. The fire crackled at the edge of his perception still. It had been well-tread ground in his own mind, but seeing his actions made manifest before him, to relive them again, had taken a lot out of him. By the end of it, he didn't have the strength to rebuke the spirit's hammer blow which cracked open the fissure, exposing a vulnerable heart. The shock of it had rattled him and made fear sprout where doubt had taken root.

"To erode who I was and twist whatever was left into something they could play with," he continued.

A tightness returned to his body, but not one that drew it taut like a string about to snap. He felt firmness, a sense of robustness. Where'd that come from?

"And they tried to make sure I fell. They tried very, very hard to make me betray the Light," he said, and he glared recalling the events, lips drawing into thin lines.

The judge's speech had been a tirade of mockery and derision. As the final spirit, he'd chosen the most destructive element of his memory. Lanik. All memories tied to him already came laced with claws that raked open old wounds, but what the judge had made of them went far beyond that. He had taken every emotion, memory, and thought tied to Lanik and reforged them into a blade, which he then lined up with the crack in that armour. But, instead of driving it home himself, the judge had wrapped Bernard's fingers on the handle and given him the order to push it deep.

"They broke down everything, pulled it apart, and put it together to make the first step down the wrong path the first and only thing I could do. But I refused to walk," he said.

The words spilled out of him before he even knew what he was saying. The warmth continuously coursed up through his chest and into his shoulders, almost forcing him to sit upright. As they hung in the air between them, he blinked. Tension drained from his face and his expression softened.

The blade stopped its dance and fell, but it didn't bring with it woe or grief. It struck the string wound and knotted in his stomach and split it apart.

"I chose not to. I didn't let them win. I brought down the library with the powers they forced on me. If it wasn't for whatever Dagon did in those last moments I think we would have both ended up dead."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

I THOUGHT ABOUT KILLING YOU
​

The whole scene suddenly took on a vaguely dreamlike feel. The room felt more significant than it was, or else she was shrinking. Bernard , sitting backwards on a chair and retelling his experience, suddenly seemed very far away. As if the explanation was driving them apart while she tried to discern whether or not he was lying. The gate between them, the one that lead to understanding, was guarded by her own judgement.

She felt a chill, like a physical sensation, as if her blood had actually congealed. Ishida was fast coming distraught as Bernard answered the question. At first, he sounded unsure of anything other than his resolve to give her a response. The contents of his reply gradated in boldness and confidence, but the start was unsteady. Like he was saying this out loud for the first time –– the longer he went on though, with all the thoughtfulness assigned to his words, the more convinced he seemed. So much so that she almost felt persuaded too.

But she'd asked why, and he was only thoroughly offering her what.

Like a pendulum, her heart and mind swung in conflict. Ricocheting between certainty and doubt. With nothing to centre her mental composition, her countenance was obviously knotted. Her brow lowered, and her mouth rose, squeezing her face into something smaller and thoughtful.

For an uncomfortably long while, far exceeding four seconds, Ishida was quietly staring at him. Studying in silent arbitration with an eerily calm façade.

"I want to believe you." The Atrisian finally declared with a tightness to her voice that suggested she didn't. Not yet.

Her movements were delicate, cautious. Setting her re-wrapped roll back next to the other on the tableside and then rolling her fingers over the central line responsible for penetrating her bloodstream with helpful antibodies. Her scrutinizing stare moved from Bernard to the weapons lined on the table beside her.

She was still thinking about what it would take to kill him, what it would mean, and what it would accomplish. Her servitude was to the Light, to make sure all seeds of darkness were never planted, and if they were, she had to make sure they never had the chance to grow.

Something deep down, something absolute seemed to stir within him. Not in his words but in the way he adjusted or simply existed in that seat. Like the promise of a rainstorm, earthquake or blackout –– it could be devastating, that much was certain. Still, there was an undefinable something that continued to permeate.

Maybe that was a good thing, the inability to define. She'd been so quick to judge so-called Evalina and Dagon and..and much to her chagrin, she'd been wrong. Maybe that's how he was meant to be, strictly fluid and no-perceivable. Like a transparent, paradoxically iridescent creature rather than an actual person.

She couldn't be content with that. Couldn't have a friendship with something so intangible. Trust wasn't born from lack of definition. Even if he’d convinced himself –– she was still on the outside looking in. And boy, was she looking. Every microscopic flinch, roll of his shoulders, deep inhale, shift of his weight, puff of his chest, straightening of his spine, she'd analyzed. Tried to discern validity.

But it was true; she had a deep want to believe him. To keep the potential of their friendship alive –– it was one of the cornerstones of The Light; having a human connection. And understanding humanity, in all its complexities, might mean that she took the time to appreciate the differences between serving the light and living in the light.

"Ours is a solemn duty. We kill without hesitation, because it is the right thing to do,

Killing him would be servitude. Instantaneous.
Trying to understand would be living. Difficult.

Did living conflict with her sense of duty? Did a soldier try to understand the orders they received, or did they just follow them? Did taking the time to understand make them weak? Was understanding selfish defiance?

"I was prepared to kill Dagon Kaze the moment Sardun told me he'd fallen to The Darkside." Her molars clenched, and she remained fixated on the resting weapons. The hilt, unlit, on the tableside. Her katana resting against the same tableside.

"Krayiss flipped the judgement I'd passed on him. I've never felt so unclear. It's always straightforward, Light versus dark. Black and white. Grey has never been a consideration; it's just a lazy version of either ––– eventually, it will be one or the other. Pattern dictates direction.

And then you were deemed worthy." The monitor by her bedside hummed with the same white noise as it always did, only raising in volume slightly when she applied a test of pressure against the central line. She never lifted her eyes from her weapons.

Not believing what Bernard had to say might have meant that she was putting more trust in the supernatural perception of The Darkside. What would that mean of her? Of her nature? They'd been briefed of the terrors that protected the Library, how they'd conquered Jedi beforehand, how evil they were. They tore Auteme apart. They incapacitated Ishida. They welcomed Bernard, invited him to their holy ground.

Trust and judgement were becoming more difficult to navigate by the second. Maybe she deserved neither. Maybe he deserved neither. And the emotional distraught she felt didn't make it any easier whatsoever. It was like having to choose between drowning and a drought.

"I still don't...understand why you."

Her mental block was growing denser. She'd been on the chosen team, and so had Auteme –– so why had neither of them succeeded?

"And so... nothing is as it seems, Padawan Ashina. Something beautiful can be corrupted beyond repair. Do you understand?"

Ishida pinched the space between her eyes, feeling the pressure grow behind them again. She took in a shallow breath to steady the tremble that was growing in her hands. There was too much here to untangle, and it was making her feel disconnected and hurt.

“How could a court so evil and unaccepting misjudge your intentions so severely unless they weren’t...there at the start.”

She wanted to repress it as much as she wanted to separate it. The pain of not knowing. The pain of knowing. She couldn't feel Bernard's, and he couldn't feel hers –– maybe that was the essential mercy of pain. But as merciful as it was, it made this process of evolving trust complicated and long-drawn. She wanted more than anything to see him as a friend, not a target. Not another Jedi from within their ranks that would fall and create more wounds, seed more doubt beyond herself.

"I just..don't understand. I want to, but I.." she didn't look at him, but she looked down from her weapons to her hands. Living and understanding what humanity meant, all its dynamics, complexities, variables, expectations met and failed –– it was heavy. Hollowing.

 

[Bernard]

within me, there lay an invincible summer​

​

The South Sound (instrumental)​

“How could a court so evil and unaccepting misjudge your intentions so severely unless they weren’t...there at the start.”

"I just..don't understand. I want to, but I.."

"My intentions? To become one of them? Ishida, they didn't accept me by my intentions, they saw what I could become. I saw it too, inside the library. There was power unimaginable. Right there, ready to be taken and consumed. All it would cost me was to abandon the Light and become one of them. I felt the Dark Side, and I did what Sardun said. I did my duty and destroyed it, tried to ..." he hesitated, then continued more quietly, "destroy what I would become.

"That was their flaw. They believed I was weak, because of what they could shape of my history. They tied a cloth around my eyes so I could not see, placed a dagger in my hands, and told me to kill the sinners in front of me. They did not expect me to start with the only one whose sins I could be certain about.

"I did not turn from the Light, even as I drowned inside the dark abyss. I never once wavered from what Sardun taught me, from my duty," he said, his voice stern, his body tense.

He could say that. Anyone in his position would, but it wasn't enough. Not under any kind of serious scrutiny. A sympathetic soul may be moved, but Bernard knew the judgement of the Light, of Sardun. Corruption was something that lingered beneath the surface. It would do anything to hide itself. Above all it would obfuscate itself with words, false memories, lies.

Had it taken root in him? Was this all part of the Spirit's plan? To make him think he'd conquered their intentions, when really he had already fallen, long ago, and had only now fully embarked on his journey to embrace it? Was anything he was saying even true? How could he be so sure that he had resisted the Dark? Just because he'd rejected it once?

What of that time on Kuat? He'd drawn on the Force then, not from a place of serenity, but hatred. The Code taught that this was not a Jedi's deed. Had he been falling this entire time, deluded to believe he was serving the light, when the Dark had puppeteered him all this time? Like the Sith had done to get him to kill Lanik?

It had been his blade, his hand, his choice, after all, to do so, even if it was an act born of ignorance. That ignorance, however, did not free him of guilt, just as it could not undo what was done.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, that familiar heaviness set in again. Icy chains wrapped themselves around his body and he felt their pull, downward.

"Ishida, I know that all I have is my word, but you..." he started, softer, pleading almost, but then hesitated and, after a moment's consideration. continued, more to himself, "but that isn't enough. I wouldn't believe it either. How do I..." he trailed off.

Overcome with shame and regret, he couldn't look at Ishida anymore. He put his hands together and brought them to his face, resting his chin on his thumb, his index fingers against his nose, and closed his eyes. It made him look almost as though he were deep in prayer.

Cold air filled his lungs as he drew in a deep breath to steady himself. His thoughts were growing heavy, sluggish. He needed a moment of reprieve, to refocus and get clear of the murky water, before he dove too deep and could not make it to the surface again for air.

He opened his eyes again, searching the space before him briefly, until his eyes settled on the tube connected to Ishida.

It fulfilled the simple function of providing antibodies against harmful compounds that had invaded her bloodstream. A process that embraced the corrupted, the deteriorating, supported it with salves against spreading poison, slowly purified the damage that was done, and then granted nutrients to heal the weakened shell, so it may be reinhabited by its healthy owner. It was cleansing, embracing, and healing. A gentle flame, casting light into the darkness and giving refuge in warmth to those who would accept it.

The Darkside is a cancer, yes, it spreads and multiplies like a malignant tumor. Our duty, then, is to remove it entirely. Without anger, pleasure or joy. What we have is a solemn duty, Bernard. Never forget that, Michael Sardun had said, back on Ilum.

That day Bernard had grasped the nature of the Dark Side with greater clarity. It had been a monolith of evil to him until that day. A singular titan, composed of many small pieces, that sought to destroy the good and innocent, to swallow the light, and with it any hope, in its absolute darkness. But that was not the truth of it. He'd disregarded its corrupting influence. That any one person was not statically aligned with the Light or the Dark Side, but could fall into evil, and startlingly easily at that. No, the Dark Side was not a titan, it was a furtive tree that had taken root on fertile soil and dug deep. So deep that its roots appeared as a massive tangle of darkness, when, in truth, they were long, thin strands tying together person after person after person into a dark web that appeared as impenetrable darkness. And its roots grew, finding new fertile soil where its servants carried it.

That was evil's true nature.

But the picture was incomplete. Sardun's words were not wrong. The Jedi's duty was to eliminate its spread, to dig up the roots until the tree could be removed, so it would never grow again. His error came elsewhere.

After the venerable Master had spoken, he'd soothed the air around him through the Force. Bernard had noticed it then, felt its determination as though it was his own. But it had been a cold flame. It burned, gave light, but provided no warmth.

It was incomplete.

A flame could cleanse, but it did not have to consume what it burned entirely. It could cleanse, grant warmth. Heal. Bernard saw now that this crucial aspect of the Light had been entirely omitted in the Warrior's philosophy. He was right, that there could be no pleasure or joy taken in the removal of the Dark Side, but that did not preclude compassion. Compassion for its victims, even if they were beyond saving. For fertile soil overtaken and drained by weeds, its nurturing nature hardened into something inert that kills whatever seeds would seek to grow there was a matter of tragedy. So much potential for creation, for new life, destroyed. It was something to be grieved.

But corruption was not absolute. Weeds could be cleared. Soil could become fertile again. Fire could cleanse corruption and leave behind ash that held nutrients for the growth of something new. The broken and useless could be made whole and new. Repaired. The only thing that separated dead soil overgrown with weeds and fresh soil ready to support life was the benevolent touch of fire.

In that way, serving the Light without accepting its warmth as an intrinsic and inseparable aspect of it was to live a half-truth.

Why else did the halls of healing exist? If not to repair what was broken, and to give it new life?

It seemed so simple, now. Sardun, Bernard, and Ishida, they'd had an incomplete picture of the truth, because they had never stopped to consider the gift of warmth that a flame provided, so freely.

Still, no concrete, indisputable proof, but it was the only way he could make sense of it. Make sense of himself, without succumbing to doubt.

Bernard sought Ishida's eyes. He chuckled, then smiled, wide. It wasn't something he'd done in a long time. His muscles felt like they were shedding rust.

"Ishida, I think we've missed something. You, me, and Sardun."

How could he explain this so she would understand, believe him, even?

"Have you ever felt the presence that Sardun casts? His intense determination? Burning cold, but steady like fire? Have you ever noticed how there is something off about that? It casts light, it burns away the darkness, but what fire does not give off heat? Does not also provide warmth? It's incomplete. We have served the light, but we've been blind to something so, so important."

He gestured to the space around them.

"These halls, what purpose do they serve?"

He nodded towards the tube that fed the antibodies into her bloodstream.

"The tube, it feeds you antibodies. Antibodies that break down and remove something that has invaded your system. Something that corrupted you. Took away your ability to call upon the Force, and diluted your blood with foreign particles. But those particles, the antibodies clear them away, right? They take the source of corruption, destroy it, and leave behind something that is once again whole, pure.

"Ishida, the Light can burn away the dark, but it can also mend that which is broken. Dagon, he may have fallen to the Dark Side, but he didn't succumb to it. It invaded his system, just like those particles invade yours, and his conviction in the Light cleared them away like an antibody. Corruption isn't absolute, Ishida. Pattern does not dictate direction, it indicates. Patterns can mislead.

"If we look at the Light and only see what it can burn away, what it can destroy, then we blind ourselves to what separates it from the Dark. Its capacity for healing, for compassion, and forgiveness."

He watched her, overcome by the freedom of forward progress. The water seemed clear again, the surface within reach. He hoped, desperately, that Ishida could see it too. Not for his own sake, but for hers. As he looked at her then, he could see the mud pulling her into the mire of distrust. It was isolating her, burning the bridges as they were being built, but she could still pull herself free. There was still time.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

SOME ANSWER WRAPPED ‘ROUND YOUR TEETH​

"Ishida, I think we've missed something. You, me, and Sardun."

His triumphant, beaming grin made her sneer.

Every tooth found a partner when her jaw clenched. Michael Sardun ’s name felt precious like she needed to protect it from being forsaken, and she straightened in her seated position, finally flashing her glower from the weapons to him. When he sought eye contact, she was ready to make it –– though there was a harshness in their glint.

“How dare you.” She hissed hotly, fury at his audacity heating her cheeks and sharpening her tongue. Her fingers pulled at her blankets, scrunching them up in her grip as she prepared to move –– to stop him from talking. But he continued before she could do anything, so she listened, chest heaving angrily while in mid-crouch.

She could have lunged, again, but something stopped her. Something more than the reminding tug of the central line plugged into her veins. Not his quickness to continue talking –– she’d carved out tongues for less –– but the undefinable intrigue behind his words. He threatened her paradigm, the one that her master and father had constructed for her. The ache it promised, the constant chaos that thrashed against the solidness of her foundation, was great.

The more he spoke, tried to explain, the further her shoulders drew away from her ears and the tightness in her muscles unwound. The soft, insistent beeping of the monitor behind her – that flared up with her heart rate –– started to die down again, blending back into familiar white noise.

Regaling the effect Sardun had was superfluous, it was the greatest thing she admired of her master. His intense devotion, unwavering definition, unmistakable power.

But the outrage in Ishida’s gut was shifting, unsteady as a scab on an infected wound. The seething started to feel less authentic. Turning into something that was worse. She gripped her hands into fists so tight they ached, but she lost her hold. Shaking. The anger slid to the side and an oceanic sense of confusion rose up in her like a flood. A watery current of realizations, hypotheses, theories, what-ifs, how abouts, disillusions and potentials. It was too big, too pure, too painful to even have a single instance to focus it –– reflecting on actions that had been guided by absolute judgement. Judgement scathed by righteousness that he was suggesting was flawed.

Ishida bent her legs and drew them to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins, and rested her cheek on the blankets that folded over her kneecaps. She wanted him to leave, but at the same time wanted him to stay here with her –– like there was a precipice over a deep canyon and she didn’t want to look down alone. She shuddered, and shoved her nose into the space between her knees in the hammock of the blankets and tightened her hold on the fabric, knotting it around her legs with a tremble.

At first, she opened her mouth to speak, but released nothing but a breath.

Fluent in silence, Ishida screwed her eyes shut and sniffled. With a small shake of her head, a physical tremour of her paralyzed state of confusion, she drew in a short breath that sounded like the start of an unassuming chuckle.

“If this is your way of talking me out of killing you…” she murmured, opening her eyes to meet her stormcloud greys with his endless skies of pearl. She shrugged and looped her fingers in with one another to clasp them tightly. Not reaching for a weapon.
A heavy exhale. "I don't know what to do now."

 

[Bernard]

Friends Make Garbage
​

All of it seemed to hit her hard. Had he pushed too much? In that rush of inspiration, he'd forgotten all about what it would mean for her. Guilt made him inhale and hold his breath for a moment. Her anger had faded away, blown away like the smoke left in the wake of a fire that burned throughout a deep night. It left behind only a fragile vessel full of cracks and fissures, leaking molten gold that glistened beneath the rays of a newly rising morning sun.

He took in a breath to speak, words already formed on his tongue. I'm sorry, you probably need some time to be alone. I'll come back later. But he held that breath, and simply exhaled it again when she opened her mouth to speak, scrambling the words with it.

She didn't say anything at first, instead, she seemed on the verge of tears.

Concern furrowed his brows, and those words reformed, only to be cut short again when she did finally speak.

“If this is your way of talking me out of killing you…I don't know what to do now."

His palm came up to support his chin while his fingers rested on his cheek. The corner of his mouth curled slightly up, and his gaze became soft.

"You noddle," he sighed. "It's simple, you just rest."

"Heal. You can make up your mind about whether you want to believe me or not once you're all you again. You've been through a lot. Today, and in the past few weeks. You need to get your strength back."

He continued smiling for a moment, but then his eyes fell on the door. Was this when he should leave? Did she need the time alone to think? He'd brought up a lot of pain just by coming here, by coming into her life. Was it for the best if he left? Slip out and let her find stability again where it was certain to be found? The pain would eventually numb out, and be washed away by time. If he stayed there was no guarantee it would ever subside. His presence would be a permanent reminder.

There was no guarantee she wouldn't kill him either. It still made sense to do it. All he had were his words, and words alone were meaningless. Was he willing to endanger them both by staying? He didn't want to cause any more harm than he already had. None more.

In truth, there was no choice to be made. The dilemma was an illusion, a trick of smoke and mirrors. The answer was the only thing tangible in the fog of doubts. She needed to heal, to get better, that was most important. He grasped the answer, held it tight in his palm even as it glowed like burning coals, and took courage from it.

Pushing himself off the chair, he set his hands on the horizontal top of the backrest.

"And I'll..." he started.

A moment passed where all he could do was watch her. The storm clouds in her eyes stood still in time, uncertain where their rain should fall. Overwhelming doubt, and confusion. It brought back that feeling.

Warmth spread from his heart, through his shoulders, and further up. He sighed, stepping away from the chair he let the bag's cord slip through his fingers and drop to the floor.

"I'm going to stay right here with you," he managed, and sat down next to her on the bed, placing a hand on the space between her shoulders. His eyes didn't waver, "to make sure you get your strength back alright. No matter what you decide, I'll be here for you. To help you heal."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

STEP AWAY FROM THE HURT, WATCH IT ALL FALL DOWN​

"You noddle, It's simple, you just rest."

Her head tilted slightly, brows lofted at the colloquial term she’d not heard before.

“Wha--” The reaction to her threat was as casual as his initial salutations, skating over the murderous intent she’d suggested with the ease of someone who’d been deaf to her words.

"Heal. You can make up your mind about whether you want to believe me or not once you're all you again. You've been through a lot. Today, and in the past few weeks. You need to get your strength back."

“Bernard..”

He wasn’t wrong, the timeline she’d been living had suddenly become turbulent and hostile, converging on the now –– where she existed in the weakest state she’d ever been: Robbed of her connection to the Force and slowly having it restored, shattered bones that were stitched back together bruises and scrapes and scabs, and now her mind had been introduced to the concept that her idolatrous perspective of her Master was incorrect. That a friend-turned-heathen-turned-undefined might have a broader view than the one she was dedicated to learn from.

Hesitation was defeat –– and he was lingering in his space until something got the better of him and he made a decision on what came next.

"I'm going to stay right here with you,"
"to make sure you get your strength back alright. No matter what you decide, I'll be here for you. To help you heal."

Stay?

“Really?”

Horror and gratitude intermingled in her psyche, whirling around in a stormlike cluster above her already desperate confoundment. Her stomach tightened all the way up to her throat and her back tensed at his touch, squirming to the side to both make more room for him and to regard him with a quizzical sort of interrogative look.

“You are?”

There was no lie in the calmness that settled over his expression, just welcoming reassurance.

She wasn’t an easy person to be friends with, she knew that. She made that purposeful –– attachments and relationships of any degree were anchors of the wrong kind that could drag her away from usefulness and efficiency. That’s what she’d been told, that’s what she believed. She’d seen how fellowship slowed others, made them sluggish and ineffective. Hem-hawing over this or that, making unnecessary sacrifice. It was a narrow and reductive way of life, and she felt shame for wanting to continue building her wall despite his best efforts to climb over it.

That’s the thing –– he wasn’t trying to tear those walls down. He acknowledged them, felt them, and considered how to navigate from there. He’d heard her say she wanted to kill him, and that she was still considering it, but he continued despite that threat. Scaling over the piles of stones.

Shock melted to mere surprise, the edges of her eyes loosening and the corners of her mouth softening to a limp part.

It was impossible to deny his endeavours. The weariness in his face, how obvious it was he was trying to overcome exhaustion on her behalf, listening to information about scenarios she’d been involved in, making the choice to come to Prosperity, to plead his innocence, to candidly unload his revelations, and despite his discomfort and the threat she’d levelled at him, choose to stay by her side in this embarrassing moment of her greatest failures.

She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to stay, that she was fine. Or to ask him if he was sure. It would be wrong to push him away, and as much as she never wanted to feel indebted, she felt a sense of owing.

No, that wasn’t right –– his attempts deserved a measure of honour.

Responsibility for her ignorance had to be claimed, and who was she to deny the potential for openhearted trial and invite in the potential for further knowingness? He could be wrong about their partial knowledge. He could be bluffing this entire time -––- but he could prove otherwise. She could give him that chance alongside the chances he offered her. All the holes in her heart, he was trying to fill.

No matter what you decide, I'll be here for you.

He understood that her jury on him was still out, that arbitration on his innocence was still a process. And yet, he stayed.

Ishida bit her lip to trap the objection behind her lips and swallow it whole, digesting it and breaking it down until it became something more accepting. Something gentler.

A ping sounded from the containment system that fed the antibodies through to Ishida, and she looked away from Bernard to whatever message displayed. The distraction lasted long enough for a quick knock to happen at the doorway. The only announcement before the door slid open and a Tholothian with gentle, violet eyes and a flat nose came into the room. They wore a pleasant smile that looked permanent, like nothing else was suitable on her pretty face, and gave a nod.

“Bernard,” the healer acknowledged with a chuckle “Seems you can’t stay away from this place.”

Although she spoke to the Arkanian, her eyes were on Ishida –– who was still nervously glancing between Bernard and the nurse. She navigated quickly, coming to the opposite side of the bed and checking the containment system that had been feeding antibodies through the central line. She hummed thoughtfully, before turning to the white-haired patient.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good, ready to go.”

The nurse chuckled, the noise refuting Ishida instead of outright saying ‘No, child. No’. As she’d done before. She changed the subject and pointed with her chin to the opposite side of the bed where Bernard sat.

“See you’ve got delivery.”

Tight-lipped, Ishida gave a non-committed sort of smile that passed for agreement.

“The drip’s complete, any more and we’ll be overdoing it. Those antibodies will continue in your system for another twenty-four to thirty-six hours. This procedure’s rare, but we’ve noticed patients feel a little dizzy sometimes, maybe nauseous until everything’s calibrated.” Her delicate, caring touch moved to the space where it was attached to Ishida, and pulled it from her skin while continuing to explain the situation. “––but we can unhook you from this now.”

“I can walk around? Train again?”

Again, the lady laughed. It was light and airy, well-practiced and kind. “You want to get out of this room, hm? I don’t blame you.

Absolutely no training but..if you stay within the Halls of Healing….hmm..” she paused, considering and scratching her chin thoughtfully. “Just ––it’s the dizziness I worry about. At least for the next twelve hours or so..typically happens when––”

“I won’t be alone.” Ishida negotiated and gestured at Bernard, using him as a bargaining chip without hesitation -- the antsiness to get out of bed was driving her mental. It had already been...so long. She was afraid of deteriorating. There’d been the medical station on the transport back from Krayiss, then the same thing after Ziost, and the Defense Force had only stabilized her broken ribs –– Prosperity had her contained for at least three days now. Maybe longer. She’d lost count. Unconsciously, she itched at the space where there was a small hole in her skin; where the injection had been.

As if chewing on the thought in consideration, the woman’s jaw shifted and she wrapped the tube back up around the system, pushing it to the corner of the room.

“I suppose. We can also assign you supervision, or –– when there are other hours for activities with other patients.”

That was enough for the Padawan, and she nodded heartily.

“I’ll bring you the schedule later this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Master Wilgla.”

“Mhm.”

When the nurse left the room, Ishida turned her attention back to Bernard. He was being so nice, and something like a simper stretched over her mouth and she gave her head a small shake.

“You’re either really brave or really innocent. Thank you for..wanting to be here.”

"I guess you're well known amongst the healers after...?" She paused, letting him fill in the blank. She fully expected him to say Korriban, after he'd been severed from The Force –– or the fissures on his face. Perhaps they'd all been the same instance.

 

[Bernard]

Let it Carry You​

“Really?”

When his hand fell on her shoulder and she shifted away, a small part of his mind leapt with concern. His breath caught in his lungs, only freed when she turned to interrogate his intent with her expression. Some surprise was expected, but in that initial moment when it happened, her reaction had gotten the better of his fear.

“You are?”

"Mhm," he nodded, in part to reinforce the decision in his own mind.

The physical gesture solidified the choice, but with it also the difficulty. The pledge didn't mark a simple or easy road, but a difficult and arduous one. But it was also one he wouldn't walk alone, and as long as he didn't, the choice to stay on it wouldn't be difficult to make. He sighed inward. The gravity of that situation threatened to topple the moment. In the mess and tangle of possibilities, his choice was the only thing within his power to affect. The choice not to run from their friendship.

The moment of contemplation was broken by a ping, a knock, and the entrance of a familiar face.

“Bernard, seems you can’t stay away from this place.”

"I try my best, but I can't seem to escape it. Guess I get nostalgic," he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck while he glanced away from the master.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Good, ready to go.”

The rest of their exchange seemed to indicate that Ishida's recover was going rather well. Even without the permission for training, it was pretty clear that her spirit hadn't suffered too much from all her ordeals. That fire burned nearly as bright as it had before. The severity of her confounding disorder moments prior waned as the good news rolled in, and soon her spirit seemed lifted far higher than it had been since they'd met.

Bernard had to suppress a grin at the sudden shift, lacking the capacity to mind the subversion of his autonomy in the case of her use of him as a way to get free of from her sickbed prison and out walking again. Though once Master Wilgla began listing off alternatives, his mind slipped to responsibility. There was still the case lead appointment later in the day, and a full day's patrol the following day, and the day after that. There were dark tides stirring in the underbelly of Denon, and the local law enforcement was too paralyzed with corruption to even see it coming, to the point that Vigilantes had to take up their work for them. None of that made the transition of executive power to the Marshals any easier.

“You’re either really brave or really innocent. Thank you for..wanting to be here.”

He'd have liked to say the former, but maybe a third option, a lack of careful consideration, was more applicable, he thought as his mind mulled the words over while his attention came back to Ishida.

Was that ... joy in her expression?

"I guess you're well known amongst the healers after...?"

"A run-in with a Sith Lord in disguise about six years ago during a rescue mission. Got me with a burst of lightning. I survived, obviously, but the encounter melted my old armour to slag. That collection of metal was dear to me, but that wasn't all," he gestured to the yellow-gold line across his nose which matched the many others running along his chin and neck. "Left me with these. The healers have been ordering me back here ever since to fix it, but so far no dice."

He glanced over Ishida's shoulder, looking for the incandescent crystal she'd held earlier. It shimmered against the grey wool blanket near the foot of the bed.

"Incidentally, that guy and I have become really good friends, too, throughout my visits," he said, pointing at it.

Bernard had become known among most of the senior circle of Healers, too. Their continuous attempts to relieve the lingering effects of the Dark Side didn't bear many fruits, but they kept trying. He could be grateful for that, even if they could tone down on the accusatory sarcasm whenever he missed a meditation with the crystal.

And, beyond the monthly visits to one of the greatest Jedi temples ever built, all that time had granted him a deeper familiarity with the Halls of Healing. Deeper even than with the personal quarters reserved for him on Prosperity, which, still, stood practically empty. Though, perhaps not for much longer now that he'd be spending some more time on the station.

"But, you want to get out of here. Halls're pretty big. Any place you want to go in particular?"

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

WON'T HURT SO MUCH FOREVER​

Finally, she had an introduction to the origin of those golden currents that struck through his flesh. Scars were constant marks of survival, stories and constant reminders. Hers were smaller, none so significant or dignified. Yet.

She felt herself touch her ribs in comparison to the meaning behind the synthflesh, seeking the rise of scarred flesh that would serve as her reminder and frowned. In that instant, she was fine with being untouched by marks for memories. It meant she’d been the victor so far, nobody’s bested her enough to —- her face scrunched, picturing the melting of armour and how painful that must have been. She even physically recoiled.

When he gestured to his face, her simper neutralized to something impassive once again while she listened.

“An undercover Sith Lord? Sounds exciting. I’d ask how it ended but..” She gestured loosely at him. "Was undercover part of what got you into Marshal work?"

In the minutes Bernard ’d been there, she’d forgotten her initial observation of how tired he looked –– but now, the yellow’s brightness was a stark contrast to the stretch of black beneath his eyes and the paleness of the skin they bound together.

“I do.”

She sighed deeply, and reached for the crystal he’d indicated as a familiar, placed it on the table side, and ran her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know the halls at all.” Ishida admitted, “I’ve either been unconscious or just.. stuck in my room since I got here.”

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she slung her legs over and stretched. The back of her shoulders smoothed, and a heat exchanged between the blade with a refreshing sort of soreness.

“But you look exhausted.”

A small smile etched its way across her mouth once again, looking out-of-place but feeling warm. Dropping her arms again, she reached back to pat the mattress by way of invitation as she slid from it, to further emphasize her next offer. Her feet touching the ground felt good, and solid. And the idea that she’d see more than a washroom as a reward for her walk was bringing colour back to her cheeks; but that dizziness the nurse had warned her about certainly blotted at the peripherals of her vision.

“If you want, you can rest up here while I go on a self-guided tour of your recommended spots.”

The hand that had pat the bed rested against the side, to steady herself but make it look like she was just adjusting the blankets to look more welcoming.

 

[Bernard]

Lay down, just don't lay down.​

"Was undercover part of what got you into Marshal work?"

"I've never done any undercover work for them, actually. I mainly do investigations. Figuring out who did what, where they did it, and what they're planning. Turns out Jedi senses are pretty good for that. But, to answer your question, no. I joined the Marshals because I needed something to occupy my time-off," he said.

There was more to it, much more. The second encounter with Lanik had rooted a deep suspicion toward the Jedi in him, and he joined the Marshals to gain the necessary tools to follow up on those. At least, that was his reason at first, when he'd still sat deep in the well of dark emotions the encounter on the Embrace had left him in. As time passed, he'd grown to like the work, and had buried himself in it to forget all about any plots to destroy the Jedi. Lanik had gone missing, the war was in full swing, and there was no indication that the other Jedi, who still saw Knight Dawnstar as their hero, had any reason to believe his story. And, of course, he'd met Sarn and Pech. Two men of the Marshal service who'd become the closest thing to friends the Padawan-turned-Marshal had found since his time on Arkania.

Those were stories for a different time, however, the Halls awaited.

“But you look exhausted.”

Or maybe not.

Now that she said it, a heaviness set into his muscles. There was a stiffness to his posture and his movements, even the smallest ones, that betrayed tension from restless nights.

“If you want, you can rest up here while I go on a self-guided tour of your recommended spots.”

The sentiment was appreciated, the weight of the last weeks' worth of effort weighed on him, but his senses were still sharp and clear. A continuous feedback loop with the Force had kept his body sustained through the long hours of each day, and any free moment had been spent in meditation to let some recovery settle into his bones outside of normal sleep hours. Combined, these efforts had spared him the brunt of the exhaustive tide of repercussions to his unhealthy lifestyle. Because of that, despite the way he looked and, perhaps, the way he felt, he still felt like he had some spring in his step.

Still, when it was his turn to reply he hesitated a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, at the bed. His hand moved over the blanket in an almost pining caress. The wool of the blanket covers rubbed smoothly against his gloves, whispering muted promises of a soft embrace and soothing warmth. The Healers really knew how to spoiler their patients with comforts.

Stay strong, Bernard, he thought.

"No way."

He pulled his legs up, then kicked them out, catapulting himself off the bed in one smooth motion. A small piece of him stayed with the bed, however, forever caught by its tranquil lure.

"I'm exhausted alright, but you're still in recovery. Someone's gotta have your back in case that dizziness Master Wilgla mentioned becomes too much, and I just promised that I'd look out for you," he nodded and crossed his arms, "I'm not going to go back on my word now. There will be plenty of time for me to rest up when the day is done. Until then," he gestured to her with a single finger-gun and a wink, "you got me as back-up, partner."

He picked up the two wrapped breakfast foods and the bag.

"You know, I think I know someplace that would make for a great change of pace from all this dull, grey durasteel you've been staring at. It's pretty calm there, though. You need something more lively to fire up the spirit or is a bit of tranquility fine? And how're you doing on your feet? Need any help with balance or...?"

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

The concept of time off was a funny thing. Obviously the Jedi were a busy sort, deployed here and there one after the other — but Sardun kept her busy. When she wasn’t officially on-the-job she was following some regime or another that would continue to groom her to meet The Light’s constant requirements. Sharpening, refining, shaping to the perfect weapon.

“Hmm.” She offered.

Whatever wanting that lurked in his eyes was snuffed out before Ishida could smile and offer again. It was a second of human weakness that delivered amusement and appreciation. Amusement at the reality of how rest always stayed at the juncture of appealing and unappealing. Necessary but frustrating.

Appreciation for the dedication to his promise — it was truly astounding at his zeal for providing some level of caregiving for her. Maybe it was because he understood the foundation of losing the force, and that empathy had taken the wheel.

In that comparison, she felt a trill of shame. It was like the room’s air mix was suddenly all wrong. Nothing he was saying was harmful or cruel or intentionally provoking, but the genuineness in his voice was worse than shouting. A vast realization, wide and culpable, welled up in her gut.

She’d been not compassionate whatsoever to his loss, relegating it to a handicap and flaunting her abilities where he had none.

But he did now, she could feel his metaphysical imprint plainly. And with that imprint came more learning — what could he do? Was it a full learning curve again, or right where he left off? He wasn’t half-bad with a sabre when he hadn’t been ethereally connected to the Kyber. All this remained to be seen.

She blinked away whatever dizziness she’d felt a flash of. Her slippers were closer to the bed side, not backless, so she stooped to shove her heel in, keeping her hand on the bed as an excuse to maintain balance. She certainly felt it, the shift of gravity and movement and how it messed with her equilibrium.

It was just in time to still be partly bent over and be at the barrel end of the finger gun. A few notes of an instinctive, unfiltered giggle slipped out.

“Okay, let’s start at someplace.” She decided — this entire station was incredibly massive. Having one spot to start would be fine, anything was better at this room. The prospect of shuffling out to the halls was enough to make her smile stay.

When he prodded into her balance, she shook her head partly in amusement, partly in rejection.

“No,” she lied and straightened. Part of her wanted him to witness her wonderful and full recovery, and how superfluous his offer to be around was. Now that she was thinking about it, his kindness was a little over the top. The healers job was to look after her, and his was.. law enforcement? The company was the best part, and maybe that’s what he was after as well.

“I’ll be fine until I tip over.”

Briefly, she looked down at her hospital pyjamas. They were seamless, light and oversized — cut generously to be used in several sized patients. She wanted to get back into her clothes, start reintroducing routine but the outfit would have been incomplete without her boots. And even putting on the slippers she’d been dizzy.

Even the thought encouraged a blur at her peripherals, and she masked a pinch to her forehead as running her fingers through the top of her hair.

“I’ll just keep close. Test your re-acquainted reflexes if I start to falter. Let’s go.”

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

"Don't push yourself. I'm not fully back to my old self yet," he said, tapping the door console.

The door opened, revealing the arched, bronze hallway. The walls were a dim, matte colour, but the floors shone with dark grey reflections under the white light, that bounced golden from the walls. Engravings told stories of great healers, sages, and wise leaders of the ancient Jedi in toile-de-Jouy dark bronze on light, almost copper.

The sight gave Bernard pause when the door opened. His expression levelled out to be neutral, and he watched the bronze for a quiet moment. After a breath or two, he finally stepped out into the hallway, shaking off a thought.

"Right, it's not far from here. Won't put much strain on your system, I reckon," he said, reflexively rubbing one arm with the other.

His heart beat heavier in his chest, or, had never stopped beating so heavy. Despite his moments of reprieve, the confrontation with Ishida, especially her near-lunge at him, hadn't left him entirely unscathed. They enjoyed a calm walk through the Halls together now, but that hair's breadth distance to a deadly encounter wasn't so quickly flushed from his system. But why that pause had gripped him so suddenly when the door opened eluded him still. Something seemed off, but he couldn't quite place a name, or a thought to it.

Instead, he shifted his attention to Ishida, glancing down to her as they walked.

"That mask on your table—the one that looks suspiciously like a Bryn'adûl's face—did you make it? It looked like some serious craftsmanship went into it," he asked as they walked.

He'd seen the mask for only a few moments when he'd come in, but the dark red had stuck out instantly as the only real drop of colour in the room. Due to their exchange, he hadn't had the opportunity to ask about it then, but it seemed intriguing. Had it been fashioned after the drones they'd fought together during their first meeting? It was sure to have some kind of story behind it, and he was happy to listen to it if only to gain some insight into the workings of the warrior's mind.

Sometime later, turning a corner, they would suddenly come upon an elder Ithorian who, rather startled, came to an abrupt halt and lost his grip on a flower pot. Bernard stepped forward reflexively, ready to attempt to catch it, but was saved the trouble by reflexes that were far beyond what the Ithorian's age suggested. His hand was lightning fast, catching the pot in his palm before it had fallen for more than an instant.

"Master Hortula, I'm so sorry," Bernard blurted out the apology instinctively.

The Ithorian gave a rumbling laugh in response.

<Do not worry, Padawan Bernard, there was no damage done,> he spoke like languid wood creaked.

"Fortunately. How have you been, Master? How are the flowers?"

<Growing, always growing. You could learn a thing or two from them, you know.>

"I think I'm quite tall enough, Master."

Another rumbling ran through the Ithorian's wide gills.

<Not in height, but in spirit! You young Jedi neglect the duty to nurture your minds as well as your bodies. Always off fighting that war of yours. The true war of a Jedi is fought in here!> one of his hands tapped the side of his hammer-head, and he nodded gravely towards both of them. <You would do well to remember this, Padawan.>

Bernard tried to think of a reply, but couldn't quite find any words to object to this. His eyes wandered to the pot in the Master's hand. A single flower sprang from the earth, blooming in a vibrant menagerie of golds, yellows, and browns.

"Honeyblossom? I didn't know we had those in the gardens," he said.

<The garden has grown recently. Master Aldric was so kind to leave a wide variety of seedlings in our care which he had collected in his archeological travels. You should stop by again to see them. I'll prepare tea and your next lesson.>

Bernard gave a nervous laugh that he tried to transform into a warm chuckle, poorly.

"N-no, I couldn't—w-we couldn't take up any of your time, Master. Ishida and I were just headed to Eleven Starboard."

<Eleven Starboard?> He rumbled, more warmly, and something akin to a smile flashed in his eyes <Don't let me keep you then.>

A stern demeanour flashed over him with speed that matched his extreme reflexes.

<You will visit later, Bernard. You have yet to master any of my techniques, and they are dangerous when with employed only half-knowledge,> he poked at the Padawan's chest to underline his point, bowed lightly with more cheer to Ishida, and went back on his way.

Bernard stood a little perplexed, a little nervous, and a little embarassed. Which of the three, he couldn't quite determine, but something about the Ithorian had made him almost fear for his life in that instant when their eyes had met. He shook away whatever had come over him, and glanced to Ishida.

"That uh, that was Master Hortula. He's maintains the gardens, we'll pass them on our way. I came to him daily to meditate after Korriban. Let's say he was...very instructive in the arts of galactic botany and beyond," he said, gaze shifting from Ishida to someplace far off as he spoke.

"Let's keep going, though, we're nearly there."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Weaponless, defenseless to anything but trust, the pair left the room.

It was her first time, and she revelled in silent appreciation for a few heartbeats, flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulders as if adjusting to the thought of autonomous movement again.

Ishida wanted to remark on the differences of their injuries and p’ff p’ff any further healing tips from Bernard . His had been an unknown source, perhaps the Force itself seeking to leave him and severing their connection –– hers was from a weapon created specifically for stopping Jedi. Her source was known, the antidote known, her recovery far swifter. But she kept quiet and only made a small sound at the back of her throat indicating that she understood.

Keeping quiet meant there was no opportunity for him to respond, and despite the readiness to get going, he hesitated in the doorframe.

Keeping quiet meant that she had more time to observe without distraction.

Keeping quiet meant the silence that compounded between the two continued to grow, and brought something distant to her companion’s expression before he shook it away and spoke again.

Keeping quiet, she frowned.

"That mask on your table—the one that looks suspiciously like a Bryn'adûl's face—did you make it? It looked like some serious craftsmanship went into it,"

She half wondered if he was looking to change the subject to pull him out of his thoughts but she was happy to oblige. That mask had been a source of grief as much as it was pride. Librarian Lashiec had been a total pain and the required technology meant she spent a lot of time conferring with some of her father’s contacts who were constantly questioning her methods and being less than helpful. Eventually, she got there. Without access to the Jedi’s archives.

“Yes –– it’s from that Bryn I beheaded on Nar Kreeta.” That had been an exhilarating fight. From start to finish, wildly focused and violent. It’d also been the first time she’d formally met the fellow who she’d seen execute the dark jedi without hesitation through a security feed.

“Right before I saved your life.” She smirked and let that simmer for a beat before continuing.

“I didn’t really do it alone though, a lot of long nights and calls back home to some of my father’s employees and contacts. They were helpful in walking me through the processes, but..I think it’s lacking some alchemy to make it infallible.” Her cheeks flushed, recalling the scolding her brother and Sardun had given her above the first Brynadûl battlefield –– trophies and delight in killing weren’t a safe path to tread.

Lashiec had suggested similarly, but Ishida just loathed that woman.

“I’d hoped to try and replicate their rebreathing system, fashion it into something wearable for when there’s another attack on their territory and the atmosphere is inhospitable to us. It’s almost there,” she admitted before her eyes darkened, looking ahead. “And I want them to see I can kill them.”

Wherever they were going rounded a corner and quickly changed the conversation again into an interaction she wasn’t necessarily invited to.

Content to relegate back to her natural way of socializing, Ishida bore a neutral, polite smile through the interaction and remained silent.

Ithorian was a funny language, the way the holes in their necks expanded and folded with varying emphasis. It was one of the many her grandmother had insisted she learned. Gratefully, her family’s resources meant education was available readily from an early age — so long as it didn’t come into conflict with her sword training, her father supported it. After all, she was the only heir now, and she couldn’t just sell the premiere steel through performance. Language was necessary in the world of market and trade. There’d been many debates between her father and his mother-in-law that she’d witnessed, secretly eavesdropping.

A cultured killer, they would agree. That’s what she’d be. Refined and sharp as Ashina Steel.

Her expression grew distant for a few moments of reflection while Bernard and the Master exchanged words — and she refocused back to the present in time to notice the adjustment in tone from both of them.

“Bye Master.” She lifted her hand to wave farewell, but kept the gesture small and close to her body.

“He seems..” eccentric, she wanted to say. But that might have been a sweeping stereotype she applied to anyone who spent a lot of time surrounded by botanicals by choice. “Focused.”

They pressed on to the enigmatic location, so-called Eleven Starboard.

“What are his techniques?” She asked, looking over her shoulder to indicate disappearing shape of the Ithorian and up to Bernard.

The garden was indeed beautiful. And it felt alive, lush, and tranquil. Like each leaf, petal, stem, bug, drew in an individual breath and exhaled gently into the constant outreach of Ishida’s reinstated metaphysical self. It was kind of intense, in a peaceful way. And the smells! Light, floral and nectarous with a touch of lingering odour from the manufactured rains that fell to keep the garden as bright and flourishing as it was.

Ishida drew in an unconsciously sharp breath of appreciation, filling her cheeks with the air’s gentleness.

"You have a lot of teachers." She observed candidly, chewing on the breath she'd just taken. "Masters Varobalder, Hortula..." her brows furrowed.

"...Sardun." His judgement of her teacher still bothered her.

 

[Bernard]

"Waiting. Well, that's a little unfair. It's the art of tending to these gardens, but his lesson went beyond that. He taught patience, not just with the plants but with the self also. 'Healing is much like waiting for a seed to become a flower,'" he mimicked the Ithorian's meandering cadence.

And much like the process a seedling undergoes, from the moment they arrived in the Halls of Healing, a patient required patience for their affliction to fully heal. Bernard hadn't fully grasped this at first, always impatient and looking to jump back into action. Over time, he'd grown very proficient with techniques that promoted a Jedi's natural healing capabilities, using them to skip many of the less important steps of recovery, but after Korriban that hadn't been an option. After that, he had to walk the path Master Hortula had wanted him to tread many times before, and it gave him plenty of time to think, to reflect. Something that he'd carried beyond the healing ward of Prosperity ever since, for better or for worse.

"Incidentally, I'd credit him with planting the seeds of what Master Varobalder would later teach me about being a Jedi, to some extent."

After they entered the gardens, he glanced at one table with potted flowers in passing. Among the larger pots stood a small, round one made of clay. It held a single flower, with barely a bloom of three large, dark purple petals. Down the spine of each petal ran a yellow line towards the flower's centre. He let contentment settle for a moment as they passed it.

"That's the one the Master put under my care when I first met him. That bloom was barely the size of a thumbnail when I last saw it," he said. "Getting it there took a long time, but that underlined his point."

The brief excursion through the patch of green seemed to bring a bit of life back into Ishida, and she continued with an observation.

"Without a master of one's own everyone becomes your teacher. There is a lot to learn if you just pay enough attention. But...their instruction certainly helped," he said.

The slope of her brows indicated her point, however.

"Sardun's counsel was perhaps the most valuable out of all of them. It brought clarity to a matter that had been veiled for quite some time, since Korriban," he began, stepping around a few of the planters displaying rarer flowers. "I'm...a little jealous that he's your master, still, if I'm honest. He has many qualities that are more than admirable. I don't mean to take away from that with what I said."

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"Half-learned patience can be dangerous?" She asked again, framing the question a little differently this time. The tone the exchange had brought had been strangely sombre, and if it was only about caring for oneself and others, she was clearly missing the point. But patience...

That was something even Sardun wanted her to work on. Her problem stemmed from the inability to separate patience from hesitation. And hesitation is defeat. "I can agree with that."

She followed his point to the exotic-looking blossom –– it was vibrant in contrast, with colours far richer than any of the flowers that had been planted in the Ashina garden. A kinesthetic illustration, then. Something put into care that required nurturing and attention. She didn't touch further on the subject of patience and healing, and how much time things took. Such a lesson was excellent in theory, but in reality, time was rarely a luxury afforded.

Bernard mentioned each master and their influence on him in brevity, spending more time on Sardun. Obviously picking up on the sentiment she was hardly trying to conceal.

Drawing in a breath, it turned into something shakey. Sardun was an excellent teacher, it was true. A talented warrior, a servant to The Light, perceptive and powerful. But he was also scary. Sometimes, to keep her on course, he levelled threats that were not to be ignored.

He and her father's pedagogical approach had a lot in common.

"How do you think he'd react if you told him what you told me?"

 

[Bernard]

"I'm not sure," the last syllable setting on an incomplete note, lingering in thought.

Their points weren't incompatible. Sardun taught action against the Sith, and he made the duty of being a Jedi more than abundantly clear. Bernard agreed with the basic premise, that a Jedi was responsible for both their actions and their failings, and that their duty was to combat the Dark Side wherever it reared its corruption. However, where they disagreed was the extent to which they were willing to take responsibility for another.

Every Sith that we spare in the hopes that they will be better? Their actions are on us. The actions of their followers are on us. If we have the means to act and to forestall more suffering, then we must take it.

Where Sardun recognized the responsibility and taught to prevent atrocity before it occurred, Bernard had begun to think that, maybe, with the Light's inherent capacity for healing, there was another way to meet such cases. One that placed a little more faith in those beings that weren't subsumed by corruption, and that accepted responsibility to guide them back to the Light.

Sardun's methods were imprecise, but effective when it came to the destruction of the Dark Side. Any sign of corruption was an omen that predicted the loss of even more ground to the darkness. It made sense, then, to cut it out the moment it made itself apparent. Take one life, save a hypothetical hundred.

But his logic broke down when one considered that no being could see the future with absolute certainty, nor predict the future actions of a single being from a snapshot of their past. The heuristic at the core of his teachings, one born of necessity perhaps, was built on an assumption and a harsh reality. It predicated the lack of consideration given to those who have fallen prey to the Dark Side. It assumed the extent of another's corruption, and it did so because there was neither enough time nor resources to thoroughly rehabilitate Sith.

In an age where the Sith outnumbered the Jedi that was a necessary adaptation. Even when their powers were matched, there was no way a Jedi could spend the time to assess the depths of a Sith's depravity without allowing several more to go on unhindered. There was wisdom in a stance that saved, on paper, more lives, but it was far from infallible.

Heuristics judged quickly, at a glance. They failed to shed light on the core of another being. Speed at the cost of accuracy. In a better world, perhaps, more could be saved, rather than felled, but the Jedi had to work with what they were given. That, however, did not mean that all had to adhere to this credence.

"I think, he would call me a fool. Perhaps too soft. I can see the value in his stance, I agree with his premises. A Jedi's duty is paramount, but I think he is a bit too certain about his judgement. That might come with age, wisdom that I'm not yet privy to, but I think my point stands reasonably. Jedi don't all adhere to the same view. We can coexist in harmony, and share our burden by making up for the shortcomings of the other. I think that's something that puts us above the Sith, too. We are not all blindly devoted to the chase of one perfect ideal, as they are with their Sith'ari."

Ishida Ashina