Private The Keeper and the Thief

[Paila Dalle]

The evenings on Aruza arrived without urgency. There were no crowded skylanes beyond the windows. No distant hum of city traffic. No endless stream of messages demanding attention. The world settled gradually into twilight, painting the rolling fields beyond the homestead in soft shades of gold and violet as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Paila preferred it that way.

The small house sat alone atop a gentle rise overlooking several kilometers of open countryside. Weathered stone formed its lower walls while wood and transparisteel completed the upper structure, built long ago by hands that had cared more for comfort than appearance. Time had left its marks in places, but the house remained sturdy. Familiar. Home.

The scent of stew still lingered warmly throughout the kitchen. A pot rested cooling atop the stove after hours of slow simmering, filling the room with the aroma of root vegetables, herbs, and broth gathered from local markets during her last trip into town.

Nearby, a small utility droid trundled past the doorway carrying a watering can nearly half its size. One of it's manipulators squeaked faintly as it carefully tipped water into a row of potted plants lining the windowsill.

Paila glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch the little machine overcompensating and dribbling water across the floor. "You missed."

The droid emitted an indignant whistle. A moment later it rotated it's dome in what could only be interpreted as stubborn disagreement before continuing its rounds.

A faint smile tugged briefly at the corner of Paila's mouth. Some things never changed. She turned back toward the sink. Warm water flowed over her hands as she began washing the evening dishes. One bowl. Two plates. A wooden spoon stained by hours of cooking. Nothing complicated. The rhythm was familiar. Comfortingly so.

Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the grasses surrounding the property. Somewhere beyond the house, nocturnal insects had begun their nightly chorus. Their distant songs drifted through an open window alongside the cool evening air.

For a time there was only the simple sound of running water and clinking dishes. The house had once felt larger. Not physically. Just fuller. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the empty chair beside the dining table. The chair remained exactly where it had always stood. She had never moved it. Not because she expected anyone to return and sit there. But because some absences became woven into a place so completely that removing their shape felt stranger than leaving it behind. The thought came and went without bitterness. Only memory. A quiet acknowledgment of a life once shared beneath this roof.

Outside, the last traces of sunlight faded from the fields. Inside, the little droid proudly finished watering the final plant before turning toward Paila and chirping what sounded suspiciously like a request for praise.

Paila dried her hands with a nearby towel and regarded the machine thoughtfully. "You spilled water on the floor."

The droid chirped again.

"Twice."

Another chirp. A longer one this time.

Paila sighed softly. "Fine. You did well."

The droid immediately straightened with unmistakable satisfaction.

For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, there was nowhere she needed to be. No mystery waiting to be unraveled. No philosophy to debate. Only a quiet home on a quiet world beneath the evening sky. And for now, that was enough.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Aurelian has never been the man to leave anything to subordinates, delegation was a sign of influence for some, for others a sign of laziness, of complacency. He was fighting, organizing, commanding, planning and communicating everything. He could, he still would of the tasks priority required it, but the Galaxy had changed. By now, he leaves a lot of the administrative and logistical to the more dedicated figures such as Augustus, to have a direct, even though smaller, impact on various affairs.

He flew the Vehemence himself, the dark hulled shuttle breaking through the dusk painted sky and rushing in controlled descent towards the surface of Aruza. He was a stern, austere individual and yet he appreciated the beauty, the solemn simplicity of the world he visited for the first time.

With his informants embedding themselves in all Imperial remnants and this world being sparsely populated, it was not too difficult to find where the Holocron had gone to. It did not require the expert hunter and investigator he was to trace and locate its whereabouts.

And so the clearly imperial designed shuttle rushed across the evening sky and above a gentle hill with a home atop, before turning into a landing maneuver that allowed it to set down a few hundred meters away from the peaceful cottage.

Aurelian exited the shuttle with long steps, not hesitating in his step as he marched towards the building. A figure clad in a black armor, it's plates polished and adorned with golden trim. A long tabard and cape flowed from his figure in deep red, a knightly, even kingly appearance. Atop his head sat a helmet with a golden Laurel wreath, red wings and the lenses emanating a gentle blue hue. From the belt hung a longsword, his hand resting on the pommel, relaxed as he climbed the incline.

What or who awaited him here he did not know. His mind was commonly set to be ready for combat and despite the almost idyllic environment, Aurelian saw his presence as duty.

As he closed in the house, the Zakuulan wondered if his approach had been noticed or if he was chasing a ghost. The armoured figure did not make an attempt to use the door and simply started circling the house . . . .

 

[Paila Dalle]

The little utility droid was halfway through mopping up it's earlier watering accident when it abruptly froze. It's dome rotated toward the window. A confused chirp followed. Then another.

Paila looked up from the dish she was drying. The droid rarely concerned itself with anything beyond plants, spilled water, and opportunities for praise. Whatever had captured it's attention was unusual enough to warrant investigation. She set the towel aside and crossed toward the nearest window.

The evening light had faded considerably now, painting the countryside in muted shades of blue and gold. Beyond the glass, the fields rolled peacefully toward the horizon. And sitting several hundred meters away upon the hillside was a shuttle.

Paila stared at it for a moment. "Well..."

The droid emitted a nervous whistle.

"Yes," she agreed. "That is somewhat larger than your usual problems."

Outside, a dark-armored figure was making a slow circuit around the house. Not approaching the door. Not calling out. But observing.

The behavior drew a faint crease to her brow. Most visitors knocked. Hunters hid. This man appeared to be doing neither. Interesting. She moved toward the front door, pausing only long enough to slip on a weathered jacket hanging beside the entrance. Her staff remained where it rested near the hearth. For now.

The door opened with a quiet hiss. Cool evening air swept inside carrying the scent of grass and distant soil. Paila stepped onto the porch. She did not raise her voice. The world was quiet enough that she didn't need to. "If you're planning to continue circling the house," she called conversationally toward the armored stranger, "you should know that the view improves considerably from the front." A silent beat passed. Then, with the same calm tone one might use when addressing a neighbor who had wandered onto the property: "Most people also introduce themselves before conducting inspections."

Behind her, the little droid rolled into the doorway and emitted what sounded suspiciously like a supportive chirp.

Paila ignored it. Mostly. Her attention remained fixed upon the stranger. Waiting to discover whether he had come as a guest. Or something else.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Neither his eyes nor his scanners picked something up, neither shields nor traps or any form of defensive measures. This was all things considered a simple, mere homestead. Very curious. And telling. It was either ignorance or confidence that prompted such careless preparation. For a brief moment he also considered the alternative of serenity, a Jedi's foolery, but it was interrupted by the opening of the door.

Aurelian turned the helmet gaze towards the emerging woman. There was no change in his composure, he remained the majestic statue given life, just now his gaze locked on the other organic, like a targeting laser.

A heartbeat passed.

Now the Zakuulan turned fully towards the woman in the doorway, his mind automatically switched to evaluating and measuring the figure he had in front of himself. How large of a threat was she? Her words once more interrupted him in his usual behavior.

"My name is Aurelian and I have come for the Holocron. Hand it over and shall avoid a confrontation."

The voice echoed like a royal proclamation, final, absolute but his voice lacked pomp or obvious arrogance. It was calm, measured and yet supremely confident.

He blinked away the analysis of the droid as he awaited her reaction. Was his care to check the perimeter a precaution or did something hold his more direct approach back?

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him without interruption. Not to the words alone, but to the certainty behind them. It was a familiar shape. Not the request itself, but the way it was delivered; clean, structured, and already decided. A conclusion presented as though the conversation had already happened elsewhere and she had simply been invited to comply with it.

The wind moved lightly across the porch, carrying the scent of grass and cooling earth from the fields beyond. Somewhere behind her, the little droid emitted a quiet, uncertain whistle and then wisely stopped as if reconsidering its participation in events.

Paila did not look back. Her attention remained on the armored figure. Aurelian. The name settled into her mind without recognition, but also without surprise. There were always names attached to objects like this. Always people who believed possession could be resolved through clarity of intent alone. She adjusted her stance slightly in the doorway. Not defensive. Nor relaxed either. Simply present.

“You speak as though the holocron is already in your hand,” she said at last, her tone even, almost conversational. A faint pause followed as her gaze moved briefly over his armor; not admiring, nor intimidated. Assessing in the way one might assess weather before deciding whether to travel. “That is usually the point where people explain why they believe they are entitled to it,” she added gently.

The words hand it over lingered in the air between them, uncomplicated and absolute. Paila considered it for a moment, as though testing its weight. Then she gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I am afraid it is not something that can be handed over on request.” Her voice remained calm, but something subtle had shifted beneath it. It was not hostility, nor defiance, but a quiet settling; like a door that had already decided where it would and would not open.

Behind her, the house remained still. Warm light spilling faintly through the doorway. The smell of stew lingering in the air like an anchor to ordinary life.

Paila glanced briefly toward the distant shuttle on the hillside, then back to him. “If you have come all this way for certainty,” she continued, “you may leave disappointed. And if you have come expecting obedience, you will leave without it.”

She did not reach for her staff. She did not step back inside. Instead, she simply waited, as if the next part of the conversation depended entirely on whether he understood the difference between asking and assuming.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

Resistance. He had expected as much, even though her exterior did not speak of hostility, he was acutely aware of the potential for a fight. One he did not desire at this time, but also he had no interest to waste time to explain his motives to a stranger with little prospects of either understanding or even agreeing with him.

Not on request. What else did this woman desire? Plea? Demand? Exchange? What was her motivation to keep it? Study? Protection? Personal? He could not see it nor would he sense it. The Force was as untrustworthy as ganger on Nar Shaddaa.

Instead Aurelian made slow paces towards her, he stride calm. Every step accompanied by the clanking of his splendid plate armour. There was no shift in his exterior, no tensing and no attempt to actively intimidate other than with his approaching presence. The Zakuulan chose his next words deliberately, not caring for her previous denial and judgement.

"The only enemy I intend to make here, is with the ones who wish to use the holocron, who believe it has a reason to exist, who value its knowledge. Unless you are one of such kind, I now ask you to hand it over, so it can be annihilated."

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him without interruption, though her attention subtly shifted in a way that suggested she was weighing not just his words, but the shape of his certainty. It was not the first time someone had arrived with a conclusion already formed. That part was almost expected. What stood out more was the consistency of it; the way he framed destruction not as preference, but as a necessity. As if the question had already been resolved somewhere beyond this moment; and she had simply been informed of the outcome.

The evening breeze moved through the porch again, carrying the last warmth of the day from the fields beyond. Paila exhaled slowly, then finally spoke. “You are very certain,” she said, not as an agreement or disagreement, but merely as observation. Her gaze drifted briefly toward the distant hillside where the shuttle rested, then returned to him. “And I suspect that if I handed it over to you, you would believe that you were correct in what followed. That is usually the point where people stop listening.”

Her posture eased slightly, not into surrender, but into something more deliberate. A decision made; just not the one he was pressing for. “I cannot hand it over,” she said plainly. “Not because I refuse you. But because it is not here to be handed over.” Her words were calm, steady. “And because I do not believe destruction is as simple as intention.”

For a moment, she studied him as one might study a problem that has arrived at the wrong door. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped back and opened the door a little wider. Warm light spilled across the threshold, along with the scent of stew still simmering inside. The droid behind her emitted a cautious, uncertain chirp, as if unsure whether hospitality applied to armored strangers with demands for annihilation. “You can come in,” Paila said after a beat. “There is stew. And I would like to understand why you think something must be destroyed so absolutely that you would cross the galaxy to do it.” There was no trap in her tone. No bait. Only curiosity that was both quiet and persistent. As if the holocron itself was not the only thing worth examining here.

Behind her, the house remained still and ordinary. A small pocket of life untouched by the scale of his intent. And Paila waited, as though inviting him inside was simply another form of listening.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

He listened but he did not stop his approach until he was about five meters away from her, a distance he could cover in a heartbeat. A tactical positioning to use his speed and superior physicality in overwhelming close combat, a practical addition to what his stature could do in terms of intimidation, though he rarely placed much emphasis on it. Wordlessness, the nonverbial or rather, the actionless was not his domain. He chose to do, to act whenever possible.

Aurelian almost acted now. An ever so minor tightening of his muscles as they prepared to jump and draw the sword as the opened the door and he fully expected her to reach for a weapon to engage. A reaction so fundamental, so subconscious that it did not cost him a thought, a consideration. But it did to suppress it. And for a moment he was . . . stunned.

The knightly figure had absolutely no comprehension of what the woman in front of him wanted. She refused to hand over the holocron. Yet she wanted his explanation. In her house. At dinner? Aurelian was older and more scarred, more torn by war and loss than many figures he ever encountered, due to his own gene-engineering and mental faculties, he was far beyond the ordinary galactic citizen. Yet he had no idea of how to react.

He just stood there, a heartbeat turned into several seconds of silence and stillness. Gentle wind brushed through the grass and his pristine cape and tabard, flowing in a velvety motion.

"I do not believe. I know." Were the first words he managed to push out, not less self-assured but less authoritarian. "Your trust in me holding back violence is misplaced. If words shall not convince you, the deed of arms will eventually force you."

"I will accept your hospitality." With that Aurelian moved one of his gauntlets to the seal on his helmet and with a sound of decompression and removed the armour piece, holding it neatly in his armpit. The face revealed was one carved from bedrock into almost perfect stern aristocratic resemblance, grey eyes harboring the weight of stars and a strict intelligence that was impossible to miss. Short, unkempt white hair was as practical as it was neat. The preparedness, the stiffness of tension never left the man.

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila watched the moment of hesitation pass across his form with quiet interest. Not in satisfaction. Nor in victory. But simply in observation. It had occurred to her that the possibility of violence had probably been easier for him to navigate than an invitation to dinner. That thought alone almost made her smile.

As he removed his helmet, the little utility droid emitted a cautious series of beeps from behind her legs and immediately retreated several feet farther into the house, apparently deciding that the armored stranger had become even more suspicious now that he possessed a face.

"That's fair," Paila said as he spoke of force. There was no alarm in her voice. No challenge in it, either. "Most people who arrive looking for the holocron eventually mention violence." She stepped aside to allow him entry. "But they simply tend to wait longer."

Warm air met them immediately. The cottage was modest but comfortable. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with books, small keepsakes, and the accumulated evidence of a life lived slowly rather than spectacularly. A stone hearth dominated one side of the room, a low fire crackling within it despite the mild evening. Resting beside the fireplace stood a weathered beskar staff, close enough to be reached if necessary, yet left where it belonged. Nothing about the home suggested someone preparing for war. Instead everything about it suggested someone who had survived one. The scent of stew filled the room; rich broth, root vegetables, herbs from the garden, and slow-cooked meat that had spent most of the afternoon simmering. Fresh bread rested on the table beside a small dish of butter. The table itself had already been set for two. One place was clearly used. The other was not. A thin layer of dust rested upon the second chair, subtle enough that most visitors might miss it entirely, but impossible to overlook once noticed. The untouched place setting remained exactly where it had been left. It was not abandoned, but moreso preserved.

Paila crossed the room and set about serving the stew with the easy familiarity of long practice. "I hope that you don't have any allergies," she said as she filled a bowl and placed it before the empty seat first, a habit so old she appeared unaware she was doing it. Only then did she place a second bowl at the chair opposite. "Though I do know some first aid, just in case you do." She finally sat, positioning herself near enough to the hearth that the staff remained within reach should circumstances require it. Not because she expected violence. But because prudence and trust were not the same thing.

The little droid peeked around a corner, emitted a nervous whistle toward Aurelian, then quickly disappeared again.

Paila ignored it. Mostly. "You crossed the galaxy to destroy a thing that you believe should not exist." Her gaze settled on him across the table. It was both steady and curious. "I crossed the galaxy once because I believed something should." She broke off a piece of bread and added quietly, "So tell me, Aurelian. What had happened that had taught you that destruction is the safer choice?"

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

With tested and experienced ease he bowed his head to not hit doorframe and ceiling. His size meant that in many locations he had not built or helped to built, he had to lower his head as to not hit it. Some would consider it undignifying, a hurt to pride - but Aurelian simply did not care. He was tall, the building was not. Facts.

Yet his eyes, even without the helmet, scanned the interior, took in every image, every potential exit, everything what could count as a viable weapon and even evaluated the strength of the walls and how much effort he needed to put into breaking them and where. It was not an active process, that was far too much occupied with resolving the puzzling social situation he found himself in. He saw the staff and it was marked as the most dangerous item of the household.

Upon standing near the table and listening to her, he actually squinted at the allergy statement. "I do not have . . . allergies."

Despite his attention to detail and the recognition of her pattern and the dust, he simply did not care and moved the chair to seat himself. Although carefully, as he fully expected the construct to be not made for his size and definitely not for his weight. It protested. Loudly as the armoured figure lowered itself. With almost a too loud clank the helmet was placed on the table next to him.

Her question was philosophical, it was maybe even good-willed. The reverse statement underlined such potential. Even if he had not made up his mind yet what she was, the factors for Jedi origins grew in balance.

"Your question is limited in clarity and farsight. You should ask, what warranted the destruction that is happening? I am not here because I am passionate about the specific object you harbor. Maintaining its structural integrity serves no purpose other than optimistic pride or ambitious recklessness. Neither does a service to the Galaxy and its inhabitants."

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened quietly while he spoke. She noticed the way that his eyes moved through the room; cataloguing distances, exits, weaknesses. The way that he evaluated the cottage itself as carefully as he evaluated people was noticed too. It did not bother her. Everyone carried old habits differently. Some carried them in their hands, while others carried them in their eyes.

For a moment she said nothing at all. Instead she reached for the butter dish, spread a thin layer across a piece of bread, and dipped it into the stew. Steam curled upward as she took a bite. The flavors were familiar; herbs from the garden, vegetables from the market, a recipe that she had made often enough that she no longer needed to think about it.

Only after swallowing did she answer. "I don't think that I am any of the people that you are describing." Her statement was simple and matter-of-fact. Then her gaze lifted to meet his across the table. "I do not want to use it. I do not particularly trust it. And I certainly do not believe it contains answers that will improve my life."

The fire crackled softly beside them. Paila broke off another piece of bread. "You speak as though the only choices are preservation or destruction. But history occupies a difficult space between those things." Her eyes drifted briefly toward the shelves lining the walls. "There are books in this house containing terrible ideas. There are histories of wars, atrocities, failures, and people who believed that they had discovered perfect solutions to imperfect problems." A faint smile touched her expression. "Some of them were remarkably convincing."

Her attention then returned back to Aurelian. "I would not want those records erased. Not because I agree with them. Not because I wish to repeat them." She shook her head lightly. "But because forgetting why people failed rarely prevents failure. It usually guarantees it."

For the first time since sitting down, she leaned back slightly in her chair. "You asked what purpose is served by maintaining it's integrity." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the window where the evening had begun settling fully across the fields. "I am not certain that the holocron itself serves one." Then her eyes returned to him once again. "But the history surrounding it might." A faint note of curiosity entered her voice; "You speak of destruction as though it is a lesson already learned."

She dipped another piece of bread into the stew absentmindedly. "So tell me, Aurelian." She gave a small gesture toward him with the bread. Surorisingly no droplets of the stew fell onto the table. "How many things have been destroyed in the name of preventing harm?" The question was gentle in tone. But unlike before, the question Paila raised was not philosophical. It was personal.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

"You did not answer my question." He simply stated, almost absent-mindedly as he was trying to figure out the correct norm and approach of how to conquer the meal that was in front of him.

He decided for the direct approach and simply follow her example as he grabbed a piece of bread that looked rather tiny in his hand, added some butter and then dipped it into the bowl of thick stew that stood in front of him. He knew that there were very few poisons that would kill him outright, so against better judgement he trusted her not to kill him. It was comical. The large warrior-figure almost entirely focused on defeating the stew.

"The philosophy of destruction or preservation is very simple and does not need to be bloated by small-minded dogma. History is a piece of every culture, it is preserved through memory and scripture. It gives identity and purpose to people and their culture. It is necessary for the future."

"This answer comes from the question: is the knowledge beneficial to general society? And in this example the answer is yes, probably for most of your books and tomes. The Dark side does not teach anything to the common mind, it only inflicts decay. For a Sith holocron, the answer is most definitely no. It harbors history as well, yes, but do the skills it will give to you benefit your harvest? Will they help construct infrastructure?" He paused between two bites. "Will they guarantee peace?"

It was very obvious that Aurelian enjoyed the meal, though after his initial focus, it settled now on her again. "Not enough have been destroyed to prevent further harm, obviously, the Sith persist, even prevail. You are hiding here on this world to escape the slaughter and chaos of the Galaxy, which has engulfed the Galaxy for far longer than this holocron, any of your tomes and even the rock of this house exists."

"I would eradicate those books of yours if they contained knowledge that was poison to civilisation, equally and without hesitation. The lesson was learned 'already', maybe not by you, but I have. The past, present and future do not concern themselves with lessons, they are conflict and every step towards disarming one side, will ensure that less horrors are caused in the name of some distorted religious zeal."

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened while he spoke, watching with quiet fascination as a man who looked capable of conquering armies devoted such concentration to a bowl of stew.

When he pointed out that she had not answered his question, she nodded slightly. "No," she agreed. "I didn't." She buttered another piece of bread and considered it for a moment before continuing. "Because I don't think the answer is as simple as you would like it to be."

The fire crackled softly beside them. Outside, darkness had begun settling fully across the fields. The cottage felt smaller now compared to the vast conflicts he carried with him.

"You say that I am hiding here." A faint smile touched her lips. "This house is older than many governments. I have lived here before some wars began. I have lived here after others have ended." She glanced briefly around the room. "When I leave, it remains. When I return, it is still home." Her gaze settled back upon him. "I am not hiding from the galaxy, Aurelian." Her statement was calm, matter-of-fact. "I go where I am needed. Sometimes that is a battlefield. Sometimes it is a village. Sometimes it is a place like this." She gestured lightly toward the cottage. "The difference is that when my work is finished, I can come back."

For a few moments she allowed the silence to settle between them. Then she tilted her head slightly. "What if you're wrong? What if the holocron contains no great power worth pursuing? What if it contains no technique worth learning?" She broke off another piece of bread. "What if it is a warning?" Her eyes remained on him. "What if someone long ago witnessed the same cycle you describe? The same certainty. The same conflicts. The same belief that eliminating the other side would finally create peace." The warmth faded from her expression, replaced by thoughtfulness. "What if they recorded their failure?"

Outside, wind brushed softly against the cottage walls.

"You speak of history as something worth preserving. I agree." She nodded towards him. "But history is rarely useful because it tells us what we already believe." Her fingers rested against the side of her bowl. "It is useful because it tells us where we were wrong."

And for the first time since the conversation began, she looked genuinely curious. "You crossed the galaxy because you are certain this thing should be destroyed. But wouldn't you want to know whether the people who created it once felt exactly the same way?"

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

The stew was good. Very good. Somewhere in his subconscious the question arose to ask for a recipe, resulting in a chain of thoughts that went from the way to approach it, to who would cook, where to find a cook, where his quarters would be, what would their loyalty look like, how was it guaranteed and how often would he actually be able to enjoy such luxury, such simple meal. All these thoughts crossed his mind paired with several dozen others, moving to the next and so on.

"A lack of perspective limits the scope of duty and work one strives for. Work that can be finished is commendable for anyone who can afford it." His tone suggested that neither of them should be afforded such pleasantry, yet his words are without accusation or insult, they simply are facts to him. "You would not have ended up in the possession of such an item if you were not versed in its usage or danger. That makes you more than whatever it is you do in such limited capacity that it brings you back here frequently."

Aurelian leaned slightly backwards, under great protest of the chair which seemed to be close to yielding. "The amount of artifacts that exist and are not well secured which are older than me, are very rare. Same with the books, histories and most housing. I do not presume to know better than someone in history. I am history. I was there. I am here. Your intricate and caressed philosophy and ideals are born from filling a limited life with value. You feel better by following principles, you feel self-affirmed."

"History does not remember it. It barely remembers actions of power. That is because the Galaxy is precisely that - very simple. There is no greater meaning behind this doctrine or that philosophy, there is no enlightenment or better or worse, good or evil. There simply is conflict, nature is conflict. The shades of grey, the bursts of emotion towards temporary movements, great deeds of heroic leaders, new revelations, grand schemes, malevolent deeds. They all have been had before. Life destroys itself to be reborn. The cycle continues. The wheel keeps turning."

"But it will only keep turning for as long as it is not being broken. The Jedi, with their bloated ignorance and idea of balance do not understand that balance is war, that peace is unnatural. The Sith greed for power, lust for strength just to use it for short-lived excess and fail to comprehend that they are just another shadow on the wall. Neither of them built a civilisation that lasted. Neither acknowledges that for as long as both exist, neither will prevail. It is an infinite cycle of plots, orders, wars and purges."

"Only when both face annihilation, there will be a glimpse of hope for the common individual. For the field worker, for the merchant, for the miner. For everyone who is not drawn into conflicts of the supernatural. Only then they will not be toys in the wars of the ignorant."

He turned his rock-like gaze towards the window and his tone settled. He had spoken with moderated passion, not loud nor emotional, but it was clear that this conviction, these words laid bare his heart, the ideal he followed. At least, mostly. He did not act, nor was he a liar, but he did not need to expand on matters beyond necessity.

"I do not care about the views of Sith, Jedi or any sect that believes their religion to be superior in any way. I was Jedi. I was Sith. I have tasted from their respective fountains of 'wisdom'." The Hegemon of Iokath and Zakuul slowly moved his head to look back at her. "You may think that small deeds of good in your occasional quests mark you as a good person, that not confronting me matches your noble principles, that choosing conversation over confrontation is peaceful, that it is wise. Maybe you even believe that your simple views will convince me of another path, that your stew and bread will alter my course. Nothing of it is true, nothing of it holds value." A flicker of amusement ran across his face, genuine, probably the first and last unserious bit of expression she would ever see of him. "I do not even know your name."

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him without interrupting, letting the weight of his conviction settle into the quiet spaces between his words. The fire continued to crackle beside them, indifferent to declarations of annihilation and cycles of war. Outside, the cottage remained wrapped in darkness and wind, as though the galaxy itself had no interest in confirming or denying what he believed about it.

When he finished speaking, she set her spoon down carefully. Not because she was unsettled, but because it felt like a natural pause in a conversation that had grown large enough to briefly outpace the table that it was happening at. “That is fair,” she said at last, her tone even. “You don’t know my name.”

For a moment she looked down at her bowl, considering the stew as though it, too, were part of the conversation. Then she glanced toward him again, and there was something quieter in her expression now; not disagreement exactly, but distance from the scale of what he was describing. “You speak as though the only things that matter are the ones that last across centuries,” she said gently. “Or the ones that change the shape of galaxies.” Her gaze shifted briefly toward the window, where the fields outside lay dark and still. “But I don’t think that’s how most lives are measured.” A faint warmth returned to her voice, subtle but steady. “There are people who will never know the names of the wars you speak of. Never meet a Jedi or a Sith. Never see the systems you describe collapsing or rising again.” She looked back to him. “But they still wake up tomorrow. They still eat. They still try to build something that lasts longer than a season.” Her fingers traced lightly along the rim of her bowl. “And sometimes the only thing that changes their day is whether someone bothered to give them soup when they were hungry. You may never remember my name,” she said. “That is true. But you might remember the stew.” For the first time, a faint, almost knowing smile touched her expression." And if you don’t; well I suspect that your body still will.”

She leaned slightly back in her chair, as if easing into a more familiar rhythm again. “Would you like to have seconds?”

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

"No, it is not. I will ensure that it is such for everyone. That such small deeds will matter and echo through time and that none of them, nobody has to ever meet or see a Jedi or Sith. Ordinary things should matter, should concern the Galaxy. One can be benevolent without being Jedi, without feeling an esoteric, inhumane code forces one to be."

Aurelian was surprised that she did not introduce herself at this point and concluded that it mattered not anymore. Her anonymity mattered not, it did not matter when he arrived and it would not when he had left.

"Even if the common people will see a tyrant, a warmonger, a genocidal demagogue in me, it is them I am fighting for. It is civilisation, prosperity and order that are my goals. And this object you harbor, has no place in such civilisation, has no benefit to give to anyone. It will not teach crop rotation, anatomy or how semi-conductors work. Even if it does, there are untainted methods to learn these things."

"The continued existence of the Sith holocron might lead to a new generation of Sith. Only one fool, one unfortunate thief, a lingering soul that has not understood its affinity and the cycle renews. It is how it always been. And all your work, all your small measure of peace together with the people who have never seen a Sith or Jedi, never touched by war, will have to fear for them to be devasted by forces far outpacing small deeds of goods, eclipsing any bandage applied and soup shared."

His body yearned for more stew, to taste it again, to relish its depth of flavors and warmth of richness. Yet he refused it. The time had come to focus what he had come for. Exposition and elaboration were given plenty and for Aurelian, it was time to make a decision. For her to make the decision if she intended to refuse him still or preserve her homestead and possibly, her life.

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

The cottage seemed smaller to her somehow, the fire softer, the silence heavier. Outside, the wind brushed gently against the old stone walls, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and growing things. Life continued beyond the windows, blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding over a bowl of stew.

Paila regarded him thoughtfully, not with fear, but with concern. "I think," she said at last, "that I understand you better now." Her voice remained gentle, though the warmth within it had become more solemn. "You are not asking for the destruction of a holocron." She shook her head faintly. "You are asking for the disappearance of an entire part of the galaxy." Her fingers rested quietly against the edge of her bowl. "You speak of Jedi and Sith together, as though the Force itself is the wound." Her eyes searched his face. "But tell me, how would you accomplish such a thing? Would every child be tested at birth?" she asked softly. "Every person found to be Force-sensitive....what then?" She paused only briefly. "Would they be imprisoned? Exiled? Executed?"

The fire cracked softly beside them. "And you?" Her gaze never left his." You have told me that you were both Jedi and Sith. You are Force-sensitive yourself. Would your vision require your own death as well?"

Silence settled between them for a heartbeat before she continued. "I ask because history is full of people who believed that extraordinary measures were justified for the greater good." She lowered her eyes for a moment, watching the last of the steam rise from her stew. "Sometimes they were sincere. Sometimes they were even compassionate." She looked back up. "But sincerity has never protected anyone from becoming the very thing that they hoped to prevent."

A faint smile touched her lips, though there was sadness in it. "You believe that if the Force disappeared, that conflict would end." She slowly folded her hands together. "I have known pirates who could not touch the Force. Politicians who could not touch the Force. Slavers. Conquerors. Murderers." She gave a small shake of her head. "None of them required a lightsaber to bring suffering. Yet suffering still came, nonetheless." The room fell quiet once more.

"I wonder..." she said almost to herself, "whether you are trying to destroy the wrong thing."

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

"No. I have no intention of undoing human, by extension, most sentient beings, nature. As I said, nature is conflict. The odds are simply stacked against common folks. Corruption, decadence, savagery can be dealt with by civilisation, through politics, economics or violence, that is just the natural order of the Galaxy."

"That an arbitrary, random, malevolent sentience is influencing the power of few with the abilities to interfere with the many, is not. Jedi and Sith are the most expressive and common of their ideology and a simple starting point. The Sith lack no enemies, with every victory they achieve, their adversaries multiply since they do not only create enemies without but also within."

"The Force cannot disappear. Only its practitioners and their knowledge. You ask about the final stone, where I will stand and I will tell you, either I will rid myself of it or rid the Galaxy of me. There is no alternative."

She interpreted more than he intended. She now knew more than he wanted. Aurelian was displeased with that, with himself and it let some anger brew in him that was quickly controlled but still flared up. Once more the seat protested but now it was him standing up and looking down at her, his gaze hard as bedrock, the pose tensing as he slowly but calmly reached out with his armoured hand, unfolding the palm upwards.

"I am asking, will you hand me the holocron?"

Paila Dalle

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila remained seated as Aurelian rose. She watched him without alarm, though she noticed the tightening of his posture, the outstretched hand, and the quiet finality behind his question. The cottage suddenly felt even smaller than it had a few moments before. Perhaps it was due to his size. Or due to his presence. Either wa, it was unmistakeable.

For several heartbeats she simply regarded him. "I am relieved," she began quietly, "to hear that you are not speaking of hunting children. For a moment, I had feared your answer would be far darker." She folded her hands loosely together on the table. "There was a time when most worlds never saw a Jedi. Or a Sith. They were stories carried between the stars." A faint smile appeared. "In some places, they still are." Her eyes then met his. "And I do not disagree with everything that you've said. I left the Jedi because I grew uncomfortable with certainty. Their certainty. The Sith possess their own version of it." She shook her head gently. "Both become convinced that they understand what is best for everyone else. Both too often leave ordinary people paying the cost."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the fire before returning to him. "So perhaps we agree on more than either of us expected."

His question remained unanswered, until now. "I cannot hand you the holocron." She spoke the words calmly, and without defiance. "For it is not in this house." A small silence briefly followed. "When people began seeking me out, I realized that one day someone would come looking here." She gave the smallest shrug. "So I made certain they would not find it." Her eyes settled once more on the armored man standing over the table. "And if I were to retrieve it..." she said softly, "....how would I know that I would remain alive? You have been honest with me, Aurelian. You told me plainly that if words failed, force would follow." She looked at his outstretched hand for a moment before returning to his face. "So if I trusted you enough to place something so dangerous into your keeping....What reason would I have to believe that I would still be alive after you possessed it?"

The fire cracked gently behind her. "I do not ask because I think that you cruel." Her expression remained calm. "I ask because trust does not begin with surrender. It begins with knowing that the person asking something of you, values your life after they've received it." Her thoughts focused not on merely her own existance, but on the people here on this world that she protects when they need her to.

Tag: Aurelian Sigismund

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

He lowered his hand until it rested on the pommel of his sword and looked at her, his gaze neither showing disappointment nor pleasure. His silver head almost touched the ceiling and for a moment it seemed like he would be breaking through it, like the house would not able to contain his pure physical presence anymore.

But then he grabbed his helmet, formally carrying it in his armpit, a gesture that looked as subconscious and natural as some people would breath.

"I give you my word that your life will be protected for as long as you continue the path you are walking, -" It was a brief pause that was meant to introduce the condition for such promise and assurance, " - Once you have delivered the holocron. I will give you four weeks time to bring it to Nirauan or my promise and my patience will turn into the violent determination I have outlined before."

The condition, the demand was final. The deal was simple.

Paila Dalle