At Darron's initial announcement, sitting amidst the subdued splendor adorning the Grandmaster's admittedly spartan quarters, the boy's hands grew white-knuckled, holding fast to a pair of worn arm-rests whilst leaning forward. The close atmosphere and stilted AC-circulation no longer wore on his agitated senses; he'd never been one for staying long indoors. Since before several months prior, Seroth simply dreamed of a day when his training would be deemed complete, at least adequate, and he would find work amongst the many healers and diplomats at the Order's galaxy-reaching disposal. Then Darron Wraith came to summon him for a training sermon amidst the close heat of Yavin IV's dark-rooted jungles; Adamant Company followed, with adventures across Cato Neimoidia, Coruscant ripping out Omni's lumpen, mechanical heart, and skimming over the bright moons of Antar. 'Massive undertaking' no longer gave him pause of apprehension; he'd found his stride.
...But there was a pause of more morose emotion. Prudently, Darron wouldn't have much need for his 'guardianship', given his own wide experiences. Still, sitting across the wide, matte-finished desk, notifications buzzing at every other moment, with the Grandmaster... He was admittedly saddened that their partnership was thus ended. Seroth sloughed off one tattered glove and took up the proferred datapad. Across a stuffed memory-capacity, the lwrit an letter of the Republic's weighty set of governing laws spanned with every flick of his tracing fingers. There'd be no way to memorize every detail. Every loophole, every particular. Seroth was stunned, that so many thousands of years had created this... this nearly unwieldy system of balances and checks.
Yet, amidst those rules was his simplified mission, exquisitely outlined in careful post-script with just enough vague writing that allowed him freedom, was his mandate.
"How did you manage this through - " Seroth began asking, holding back his tongue as the heavy, mahogany trunk landed square at his feet. It spilled open, revealing its plethora of field gear; harnesses, cloaks, general utilities and redundant items for repair and maintenance. Eager hands shifted through the tightly compressed packages, grey eyes flashing with the enormous opportunities, and responsibilities, afforded with these gifts. The holocron shifted off the desk, caught easily, deftly, in Seroth's waiting palm. "...On a second thought, maybe those details are irrelevant."
"...And I suppose I start now," The boy said softly. "Though... Master, you've probably had an inkling I was bound to run off. Someday, some hour. I shant waste a thing amongst these gifts, you bet your life on that. ...Have you told anyone else, that I'm setting out? Jax, Ben, Rosa...?"
