Private The Keeper and The Timeless

[Paila Dalle]

The weekly market had gathered beneath a clear Aruzan sky. Rows of canvas awnings stretched between weathered wooden stalls while merchants called out prices to familiar faces passing between them. The scent of fresh bread drifted through the air alongside spices, roasting meats, and the earthy aroma of recently harvested produce. Children darted between the crowds carrying sweets while local farmers negotiated good-naturedly over crates of vegetables and grain.

It was not a large market. That was part of its charm. Most people here knew one another by name. Paila preferred places like that. She moved at an unhurried pace through the marketplace, a woven shopping basket resting comfortably in the crook of one arm. There was nothing particularly urgent about her errands today. A few vegetables for stew. Fresh herbs if any were available. Perhaps tea if one of the traders had brought a shipment in from off-world.

The vendors greeted her with the easy familiarity reserved for someone who appeared often enough to be remembered but not often enough to become ordinary. A baker waved. Paila returned the gesture. A local farmer attempted to convince her that his root vegetables were superior to those from the neighboring valley. Paila listened patiently before purchasing from both. The matter seemed important to him.

Nearby, a small flock of brightly colored avians perched atop a stall awning, watching the crowd with the intense suspicion only birds could manage. One periodically swooped down in hopes of stealing unattended food before being chased off by a merchant armed with a dish towel and years of experience.

Paila found herself smiling faintly as she continued onward. Life had a rhythm here. It was simple. Honest. The kind of rhythm that existed far from galactic politics and distant wars.

She paused at a produce stall, examining several bundles of fresh herbs while exchanging a few quiet words with the elderly woman running it. Their conversation drifted easily between weather forecasts, crop yields, and whether the recent rainfall would be enough to sustain the coming season. Ordinary concerns. The best kind.

By the time she resumed walking, the basket on her arm had grown noticeably heavier. Fresh vegetables rested alongside a loaf of bread, several packets of tea, and a small collection of odds and ends she certainly had not intended to purchase when she'd arrived. The market had a way of doing that.

Overhead, the afternoon sun cast warm light across the gathering while conversations rose and fell in comfortable waves around her. For the moment, there were no ancient ruins to decipher. No adversaries to outwit. Only a woman enjoying a quiet day among neighbors beneath the open sky of a world she had come to call home.

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

Wrathian had spent the last few minutes watching the woman procure her produce. Not hidden under a cloak, nor concealed behind one of his carefully crafted illusions. Despite the occasional wandering glance in his direction, he remained unbothered. His kind, so rare in this age... anonymity had become unexpected luxury for the Pureblood

Beyond just the woman herself, he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. Such a peaceful world. A place where disputes might be decided by weather, yield of the harvest, and the stubborn pride of the neighboring farmers rather than any soldiers, rulers, or forced ideology. And yet they appeared more content than Wrathian had been in months since arriving.

But what surprised the Sith was not the environment of the planet, nor the demeanor of the locals in the small town, no, it was her. He'd been preparing an infiltration plan, manipulation tactics, composing himself for a fight that would be undeniably... not worth the effort. Yet watching her, he did not see a warrior as he had expected, nor the zealot he had prepared for. She had the gait of a scholar or teacher... Yet it was undeniable that this was the woman he'd been informed of.

After the collapse of the Diarchy, he'd been left to his own devices seeking a way to undermine the Sith. In that pursuit he had heard of an individual of equal commitment to her own path, seemingly unaffiliated from what he saw.

Did she have protection lurking around a corner? Was she secretly a master duelist?

Her staff suggested... at the very least. The woman had experience with violence. The finish on the metal carried the unmistakable finish of Beskar. A Mandalorian, perhaps?

He wracked his thoughts, yet every answer failed to reconcile with her demeanor. Someone willingly carrying a Sith Holocron should have been paranoid. Defensive. Guarded.

Yet she appeared none of those things.

Wrathian clasped his hands at the small of his back and strode across the marketplace, coming to a stop several steps away from her. "Apologies for the interruption. I am called Wrathian, and I am looking for something."

His golden eyes shifted briefly towards her basket and back with a flicker of... curiosity.

"Something which I believe is in your care."

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila did not react immediately. Not to the name. Not to the tone. Not even to the implication behind the words.

The market continued to breathe around them in its usual rhythm; vendors calling out prices, the soft rustle of fabric awnings shifting in the breeze, the distant laugh of a child chasing something only children could see as important. A world that had no interest in galactic consequences.

Paila gently set a bundle of herbs into her basket as if nothing at all had changed. Only then did she look up. Her gaze settled on Wrathian with quiet attention. Not alarmed. Not particularly impressed either. Simply taking measure of the interruption the way one might acknowledge a change in weather. “I see,” she said after a moment. The words carried no invitation, nor agreement. Just an acknowledgment that she had heard him.

Her eyes flicked briefly over him; not lingering on power or posture or presence in the Force, but on the subtler details: the way he positioned himself, the controlled stillness, the restraint that suggested intention rather than accident. Then back to his face. “You are either very confident,” she continued gently, “or very poorly informed.”

Around them, a merchant began loudly arguing about the relative superiority of two varieties of root vegetables, completely unaware that something far more consequential than produce pricing was unfolding within a few steps of his stall.

Paila adjusted the weight of her basket slightly on her arm. “The thing you are looking for,” she said at last, “is not something that can be found by following people through markets.” Her tone remained even, almost courteous, ss though this were still a conversation that could be resolved through simple misunderstanding. Her gaze returned to him, steady and unhurried. “And it is certainly not something I am carrying in a basket.” Then, she spoke softer; but with a quiet firmness beneath it: “If you believe otherwise, then I suspect we are about to have a more complicated conversation than either of us intended to have today.” She did not step back. She did not close distance. But something in her posture subtly aligned. Less like preparation for conflict, and more like someone who had quietly decided that she was not going to be moved by an assumption alone.

Around them, the market continued unchanged. But between them, the space had begun to matter.

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

He watched without moving, without any change in his posture or distance. His eyes followed the bundle of herbs, then drifted beyond her to the awnings overhead as the breeze stirred them. To the child who'd laughed moments before, now chasing a flower carried by the wind. A world untouched by the weight he carried

Her voice drew his attention back. Soft. Weathered. Confident. Clarity came from her that he had not experienced in quite sometime.

"Hmm." The sound emerged like velvet over stone.

He realized that he was not mistaken about the circumstance. No, Wrathian was quite confident that this was the woman his Black Sun contact had told him of. He was however, mistaken about something else. The woman he saw standing there.

"Ego... my wife used to say it was arrogance, yet... can it be arrogance... if one is rarely wrong?" He watched her shift the basket in the crook of her arm. "Though it seems I have made one error in the waking of this day. And therefore, must confess, that you are not quite what I had expected."

His gaze began to drift across the market, not searching for a guard watching her, or a hidden protector, but for others like himself. Treasure Hunters. Agents. Opportunists. Yet the market remained unchanged. Quiet and untroubled. Either they were absent, or better hidden than he had been. Finally his gaze fell on the basket once more then bounded back to her eyes.

"No... I doubt you carry it openly, and I am no thief to swipe it from it's caretaker. I was born to royalty and am of the culture that produced what I seek to procure. I have no need to liberate what is rightfully mine." His tone was still soft and quiet with a low gravel. "However... I sense that it's caretaker might not see me as such?"

 

[Paila Dalle]

For the first time since the conversation began, something in Paila's expression shifted. Not as suspicion. Curiosity. It was small, fleeting, but genuine.

The mention of a wife lingered briefly before passing. Not because of the loss implied within it, but because it had emerged unguarded. That sort of detail people rarely volunteered when they were performing certainty.

Paila listened as he spoke of royalty, culture, and inheritance. When he finished, her gaze drifted briefly toward a nearby stall where an elderly vendor was attempting to convince a customer that his fruit was objectively superior to every other fruit in the sector. The customer appeared unconvinced. It was a familiar struggle.

Then she looked back to Wrathian. "No," she said softly. "I suspect that she wouldn't." There was no challenge in her statement. Nor accusation. Only an answer.

The market breeze stirred a loose strand of dark hair across her cheek before carrying it away again. "You speak of it as though heritage settles the question." Her fingers adjusted slightly against the woven handle of her basket. "As though being born near something grants understanding of it." Her words were gentle, but deliberate. "My home contains tools that belonged to my husband. I know where they came from. I know who used them. I know what they meant to him." Her eyes remained on his. "But that does not mean that I know how to use them properly."

Around them, life continued uninterrupted. A cart rolled past. Someone laughed. A merchant loudly declared that his competitor's vegetables were an insult to agriculture itself.

Paila's attention never left Wrathian. "The holocron does not concern itself with bloodlines. Nor cultures. Nor claims." She tilted her head ever so slightly as she watched him. "If it did, it would be a remarkably poor teacher."

For a moment she studied him in silence. Not as an adversary. Not yet. But as a question. "You say it is rightfully yours." Her voice remained calm. "Why?" The single word settled between them. It was not hostile. Nor dismissive. Merely precise. "Not because your people created such things. Not because you were born into a particular lineage. Why should this one be entrusted to you?"

For the first time, the conversation had shifted away from the artifact itself, and towards the person seeking it. And Paila seemed considerably more interested in that answer than in any claim of ownership.

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

The tendrils on his face coiled at her answer, relaxing almost immediately after. Like the clench of a jaw before the Sith-Born gave a hushed sigh. Then... a chuckle. Where did she want him to start? Better yet, who was she to ask this of him. The question itself ground against old instincts. He'd been King. Ruler. A man who, until recently, answered to few and was questioned by fewer still. Yet the irritation did not invalidate the question, in fact... the question itself had been interesting enough to intrigue him further.

He moved his palm from the small of his back, splaying it open. "Let me hold your burdens for a time..." He gestured to the basket "It seems only fair if I am to explain in detail why I'm better equipped to handle the larger burden you carry."

Whether she handed him the basket or not Wrathian continued to the next stall. Free hand taking a fruit. Rolling it in his palm as he examined for any rot, yet, just as this placed seemed, its freshly picked nature left nothing undesired. "It's curious... you think of the Holocron as a teacher. It is not. Not entirely. Not as I see it." He placed the fruit down on the table of the stall and turned towards Paila. "I see history. Evidence of my own life... my now so dead culture. I very much doubt the device has anything useful to teach me... even more importantly. I doubt it has anything useful to teach anyone of this era."

He shook his head taking a few steps away from the stall, to spare the vendor any fear. He blinked slowly and calmly then he turned to face her fully once more. "You wish to know my ideals? You wish to know why I believe myself the rightful bearer? it is because I strive to prevent another culture from wiping itself out, and I strive to return them to a culture with honor. And discipline. I may not like what these Sith have become... I don't even enjoy referring to them as such. But the lessons contained within are not weapons to me. They are warnings. It contains nothing but instructions of self destruction."

He looked across the market and watched people go about their day... a young man asking his father why they hadn't started planting yet. An elderly man and his wife sitting with their sun hats on enjoying the breeze in the attempts to capture a lasting moment in a fleeting life.

"Because the Sith I have seen would burn this away simply for it not matching their ideals... they would continue to do so until the fire crept down the torch and began to sear it's holder." He inhaled, his words becoming more passionate with every pause. "And I know this because I practically watched it happen, tried to prevent it, and regardless of my own effort. My people are functionally extinct anyway. Yet to say I had no effect on them would be untrue.... I just happened to end up now. Before my efforts had been realized."

He watched for a moment longer, and a new question formed in his mind. Why? Why had she not done anything with it. Why had she not sold it, not turned it over to the Jedi, not bargained with Sith, not attempted to inter it into a museum? That grated him even more. "You ask who I am to hold onto it... but I offer you the same question. What qualities are you in possession of that lead you to its safe keeping?"

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened as he spoke, but when he extended his hand toward the basket, something unexpected happened. She handed it to him. Not cautiously. Not reluctantly. But simply because he had offered. The woven handle settled into his grasp with surprising weight; vegetables, bread, tea, and several purchases that had undoubtedly seemed reasonable at the time. "Thank you," she said.

Then she continued walking beside him as though entrusting a stranger with her shopping was the most ordinary thing in the world.

The market drifted around them in comfortable motion. Vendors negotiated. Children laughed. Somewhere behind them, the argument concerning root vegetables had apparently escalated into questions of family honor and agricultural integrity. Life continued.

When Wrathian finished speaking, Paila remained quiet for several moments. Not because she lacked an answer. But because she was considering the shape of the one he had given. At length, her gaze drifted toward the fruit stall he had just visited. "You know," she said softly, "most people who come looking for it never tell me why." A faint smile touched her expression. "They tell me what they deserve." Her eyes returned to his. "What they're owed. What they're entitled to. What they would do with it if they possessed it." The smile faded again, though not unkindly. "Very few tell me what they're afraid of."

The breeze stirred the canvas awnings overhead. "You asked what qualities I possess that make me suitable to safeguard it." She considered the question. Then shook her head lightly. "I don't know that I possess any." There was no false modesty in her admission. Only honesty. "I am not the most knowledgeable person who could hold it. Nor the most powerful. Nor the most qualified scholar." Her gaze wandered briefly across the market. "But I may be one of the few people who is not trying to become something because of it." The words settled quietly between them. "The holocron was entrusted to me." Not won. Not claimed. Not taken. But entrusted.

"And since then, it has taught me a great deal." A faint hint of amusement appeared in her eyes. "Not a single thing from inside it." She looked directly at him again. "But an extraordinary amount about everyone who comes looking for it. The Jedi fear it. The Sith desire it. The ambitious seek to possess it. The wounded seek to reclaim something through it." For the first time, there was a subtle warmth in her expression. "And every one of them believes they are talking about the holocron."

The market sounds drifted through the silence.

Paila tilted her head slightly. "When most of the time, they are talking about themselves." Then, after a momentary pause, she continued: "You say it contains warnings." Her voice remained calm. "That may be true. But I find myself increasingly interested in the warning it has become."

Her gaze swept briefly across the marketplace before returning to him. "Because a small object sitting quietly in a safe place has managed to draw Jedi, Sith, Imperials, treasure hunters, scholars, idealists, and ghosts of dead kingdoms across half the galaxy." A faint smile returned. "That is a remarkable amount of gravity for something everyone insists should belong to them."

Then she studied him for a moment longer. Not judging. Simply curious. "So tell me, Wrathian." Her voice softened slightly. "If I gave it to you tomorrow...what would you spend the next year doing with it?"

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

Wrathian glared at her, not in judgment, no he was watching her features. The age around her eyes, the way she held herself with complete calm despite the circumstances. Wrathian... was humbled. It had been a rarity since he arrived to be asked why and what, instead of who and how. Her interrogation was thorough, her questions cut deep to a wound he'd been suppressing since he arrived. He was enraged towards the loss, but... what could one do.

He suspected... she had a similar stance towards the Holocron. She had it. She was here... and now.... and much like he did not know what to do when he arrived. She vocalized that instead of reaching for action first, she gained knowledge. Knowledge of others simply from having it in her possession.

As Paila began to rattle off those teachings of others, Wrathian caught what he believed was a reference to himself. However, as the last threadlings of her knowledge were revealed, the Sith-Born realized that he in this case was the subject she spoke of. The wounded. the Individual who sought to reclaim something from it.

And this is where he believed she was wrong.

That however. Was not her fault. She could not know him, not know the shape of that deep wound. "You had asked why I should be the one worthy of it.... my response had naught to do with what I would do with it." He said in a hushed tone as the noise of the stalls nearly overpowered his voice. "The first was about my past, my pain in that past that offers insight as to who you see before you. Unlike others who may have come for it... The reasons I want the device has to do much more with the ambitions that have grown since that pain.:"

He let the basket hang in his hand. Thumbing the wicker of the handle searching for any sign of imperfection. Only then did one side of his lip curve upwards into a near smirk. "A year....Why do you imagine I intend to keep it that long?" The smirk grew into a smile as his undertone became coy. One that lasted a brief moment as he turned towards the Vendors who were now proposing a contest of sport to settle their differences on the idea of the best fruit and preserve their stone laden honor.

Glancing back he continued "Say you do hand it to me tomorrow. Two paths lay before me." The crown of his head tilted to the left. "On one hand, Immediately upon its receival., I would unmake it. It's destruction and moment of cessation." His head tilted to the right now. "On the other? I would review it's contents. Judge them unhealthy as I assume they are... then... I would inter said knowledge into a much safer vessel. Purge the holocron itself and refill it with harmless teachings. The history of Korriban from my perspective as a young man who survived the Great Hyperspace War. The names of the dead I knew personally. All real knowledge... al completely useless and meaningless to any Sith but myself and perhaps others of my species who survive and wish to learn of their heritage."

He let his words breath for a moment yet, was not done with excising his thoughts. For he needed to reflect a moment of clarity for her.

"That may be true. But I find myself increasingly interested in the warning it has become."

"And in the case you've become invested in those warnings... you prove my actions valid." He lowered his head to her and sighed. "You have not even opened it... yet what it is has plagued you already. The holocron, barely larger than the size of a palm, with the heft and shape to be a table ornament. And simply possessing it has put you in harms way... not just by those who claim to be Sith... but by all others who want what is in it, or what it can provide. That is the warning. Not the teachings inside... but the mere existence of them."

He now shook his head and inhaled deeply, followed by a disappointed sigh. "Your history teaches it was the "Old Republic" That destroyed my people... A statement which is technically true. Yet they simply held the spear that put down the feral animal." His head finally raised without much change in his expression besides a furrowed brow. "The truth however is oh so ever simpler, and much more tragic."

He looked across the stall, back now to the two vendors arguing of their passions. "My people had degraded into naught but hedonism and hunger. We were already killing one another long before the republic counter invasion. The Jedi did not exterminate the Sith peoples because of ideology. The Republic did not crusade without cause." He now looked into her eyes once more. "My people would have flung themselves into the grave regardless. And the holocron? It simply tells you how to follow them blindly into the afterlife."

 

[Paila Dalle]

Paila listened to him quietly. The market continued around them as it always had. The argument between the fruit vendors appeared to have attracted spectators. Someone was taking notes. Another had begun measuring produce with suspicious seriousness. Life, she reflected, was remarkably committed to its own priorities.

When Wrathian finally finished, she walked several steps in silence before speaking. "I think," she said softly, "that you have just answered a question that I wasn't asking." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the basket still hanging from his hand. "You told me what happened to your people. You told me what you fear. And you told me what you would do to prevent it from happening again." There was no criticism in her voice. Only observation. Then she looked at him. "But none of those things are the same as telling me what the holocron is."

The breeze shifted through the marketplace. Canvas rustled overhead. "You speak of destroying it. Or rewriting it. Or replacing its contents with something safer." Her expression remained thoughtful. "Do you know what all three of those choices have in common?" She waited only long enough to ensure the question settled between them. "They assume that you should be the one deciding what other people are permitted to learn." The words were gentle. It was not an accusation, but a mirror.

Paila continued walking. "The Sith who created the holocron believed they should decide what truths mattered." A few more steps. "The Jedi who would lock it away forever believe they should decide what truths matter." She glanced towards him. "And now you propose to erase one truth and replace it with another." A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth. "You are closer to them than you seem to realize." The statement was delivered with enough warmth to make it clear that she was not condemning him, only inviting him to notice it.

For a time she watched the market. An elderly woman negotiating over tea. A child attempting to barter with pebbles. A farmer losing an argument to his own spouse. Ordinary things.

Then her eyes returned to Wrathian. "Do you know what troubles me?" Her voice had grown quieter. "I believe everything that you've told me. I believe that your people suffered. I believe that you watched them destroy themselves. And I believe that you genuinely wish to spare others the same fate." She nodded slightly. "Those are all noble reasons." Her smile faded. "But history is full of noble people deciding that dangerous knowledge should belong only to them."

The basket creaked softly as it swung from his hand. Paila's gaze settled upon it. "You asked me earlier what qualifies me to safeguard the holocron." She exhaled softly. "I am beginning to think that the answer may be very simple." Now she looked directly at him. "I have no idea what should ultimately be done with it." The admission hung between them, yet it felt strangely peaceful. "I do not know whether it should be studied, destroyed, preserved, or forgotten." A faint shrug followed. "But uncertainty has one advantage over certainty." The market sounds drifted around them. "It leaves room for questions."

For a moment her gaze wandered toward the crowd again, thoughtful now. "You told me that your people were already destroying themselves before the Republic arrived. That they had become consumed by hunger. By excess. By their own ambitions." Her eyes returned to his. "And when you describe that downfall, I noticed something curious. None of it sounds like the consequence of too many people asking difficult questions. It sounds like the consequence of too many people becoming convinced they already possessed the answers." The breeze stirred the awnings overhead. "The answer to power. The answer to purpose. The answer to superiority. The answer to who mattered and who did not." Paila's expression softened slightly. "The holocron may very well contain dangerous teachings. But dangerous teachings are rarely dangerous because they ask questions. They are dangerous because they convince people to stop asking them."

The market carried on around them. Unconcerned. Ordinary. For a moment she simply watched a pair of merchants continue their increasingly passionate dispute over fruit. Then she smiled faintly. "Your people did not perish because they lacked certainty, Wrathian." Her gaze settled on him once more. "If what you've told me is true....they perished because too many of them were absolutely certain that they were right."

And for the first time since the conversation began, there was no challenge in her voice at all. Only quiet consideration. "As civilizations go, they are hardly the only ones."

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

Wrathian watched the gathering of farmers while taking in her claim's and larger realizations. The spectators becoming witness to the event, others coming to audit the validity of the fruit. Mundane happenings... significant in the eyes of those present. Insignificant in the eyes of many others. His head tilting towards her. "The holocron is an instruction manual for self-destruction. Both its contents and its existence." That was the simplicity of it. In his eyes the Holocron contained no knowledge of any usefulness. Nothing that could be gleamed from it was worth the effort the individuals who sought it produced.

Even he was included in that. "I'm painfully aware my actions are no different than that of my forebearers. Yes. I would Curate the knowledge inside of it and pass it off as holy teachings from the Sith of old. And still it would not be false for i am a Sith of old. The difference? Perspective. It's Sith creators sought to perpetuate the cycle of wanton violence they developed though knowledge." He looked to the two farmers as one held a fruit and carefully explained how the firmness was somehow related to it's quality. "The Jedi would lock all that knowledge behind a door and fear what it could do without understanding it."

His face found hers once more. "I do not fear the knowledge itself, and I do not wish to put it under a zealous microscope." He inhaled sharply. "I Loath it and want it excised in it's entierty." Exhaled from the same breath. "Yet to destroy knowledge... is immoral. Which fundamental poses a conundrum for myself." The wind dropped for a moment, the flap of cloth halted, the only noise through the market became the crowd becoming ever more stout on their positions.

Then Wrathian had finally heard a moment where what she claimed, did not match her actions. "You take inaction, yet that itself is an action. By pausing for clarity you provide others time to act with a fervor that has already proven deadly on an astronomical scale." The basket creaked in his hand once and it subtlety shifted. "You say noble individuals becoming certain about knowledge is a tale is old as I. Correct, yet I would point out, that in my eyes? Your uncertainty falls under the very same umbrella. Uncertainty breeds the very thing those with conviction require the most... time. Your very inaction becomes invitation... even if inadvertently." It was not an accusation, simply an observation and diagnosis.

The hand that had been free and still against the flat of his back now came around and found itself on his chest. "And I know this because I have seen it. I was a ruler, and Kings do not have the luxury of endless debate. And that sometimes... Simply choosing not to act allows events to unfold on their own."

Wrathian then for the first time gave Paila a genuine smile. Not a large one, nor one that could read like she had proved another point of his inadvertently. No this smile was one of mutual agreeance. He let the basket swing gently in his hand as the wind picked up once more. "Then you see it as I do. Certainty killed my species, certainty of their values, of their absolutes. I am a product of that certainty and carry it with the same ego they did. On this you and I seem to see at an equal height... eye to eye as I believe it is put." He then looked to the ground at his feet, shifting the grass under his heel, that was much unlike the sand of his home.

She then mentioned how his people were far from the first, nor were they the last. "Yes. They are hardly the only ones to perish." He said under a hushed breath. "I strive to see that pattern ended. And I do so to the best of my ability and with a conviction that I cannot yield else another civilization would perish."

"In all honesty, outside of myself? The Jedi claiming and relegating it to a corner in a library is the healthiest course of action. But it does not aide my purpose in being. Again. I wish to reform the Sith of this era, the Holocron could help." His head finally raised from the floor. "It would let me gatekeep and curate my beliefs we're they to come for it. That is an intentional wrongdoing. One that would help me stem a much larger bleeding orifice. And where not doing so is a far worse outcome."

Finally he let his head tilt to the side. His golden eyes beaming towards her in recognition. "if this still has not convinced you, or informed to you what the Holocron is. Then the only way you can learn.... is to open it. For i truly cannot know what is inside, that information must be revealed by the holder, or the one most convicted to the object itself."

 

[Paila Dalle]

The market continued around them, blissfully unconcerned with civilizations that had risen and fallen thousands of years before. The fruit vendors had somehow acquired a referee. Someone else was now comparing the structural integrity of melons with an enthusiasm that bordered on scholarly research. Paila suspected the argument would outlive both of them.

Only then did she look back toward Wrathian. "I think," she said softly, "that this is the first thing you've asked of me that I actually find reasonable. Not because I agree that it should be opened. But because I cannot spend the rest of my life debating the contents of a thing neither of us has actually seen."

The breeze stirred between them. "You have spent this entire conversation telling me what you believe it is." Her eyes remained steady upon his. "And I have spent it telling you what I fear people become around it. Neither of us has spoken to the holocron itself."

She glanced around the bustling marketplace. Children ran between stalls. Merchants argued with theatrical seriousness over produce. An elderly woman laughed so hard at something her companion had said that she nearly dropped her basket.

"No." Her voice remained calm. "Not here." She gestured lightly toward the ordinary lives surrounding them. "If there is even the smallest possibility that the holocron contains what you believe it contains; then these people deserve better than to become bystanders to our curiosity." Her attention then returned to him. "If it is opened, it will be somewhere quiet. Somewhere isolated. Somewhere that neither its teachings nor whatever protections may rest within it, can endanger anyone except the people who willingly chose to be there."

For a moment she simply watched him. "I still do not know whether opening it is the correct decision. But I do know with absolute certainty..." Her gaze drifted briefly toward the increasingly animated fruit debate. "...that the middle of a market is the wrong one."

For the first time since they had met, there was no distance in her expression. Only that of a thoughtful resolve. "If we are going to seek an answer then let us at least have enough respect for the question to ask it somewhere worthy of it."

Tag: Wrathian Kell

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Paila Dalle

Wrathian watched her flirt with the idea. But she did not treat it with the irreverence the Sith Born half expected. It was not age old bottle of spirits to be opened on a whim, Something wrathian was deeply aware of, and was deeply thankful for Paila taking into consideration.

"Agreed. It would be unwise." he voiced patiently. He was increasingly curious about what exactly was inside the object. Plans? Force laden teachings? Records? It could be all of those things and none. Which caused a hint of fear to bubble in the young Sith.

Wrathian was quite capable in his own eyes. He believed himself capable of judging all and being right for doing so. But how could he possibly prepare for something he could not yet know.

He had answers to everything, or at the very least he came up with those answers and internalized them with such passion that if they were false he could file it as a simple mistake. The holocron wasn't that by any means. Wrathian had no idea what was in it, and while convinced he'd know what to do without hesitation, how much trouble it could cause was the very problem they prepared for.

"I share the sentiment." A shallow breath left him. "Perhaps opening it causes a whole new host of issue... perhaps it is simply empty, or useless. But there is but one way to learn of those truths." He nodded in tune with his words.

"Did you have a destination in mind?"

 

[Paila Dalle]

Around them, the market continued exactly as it had before; merchants haggled over prices, children darted between stalls, and somewhere behind them the spirited debate over fruit showed no signs of reaching a diplomatic conclusion. Paila found the normalcy comforting. It reminded her that whatever waited inside the holocron had already remained hidden for generations. It was in no danger of escaping simply because they took another day to think.

"I do," she answered him at last. Her eyes drifted beyond the market toward the distant hills that rose gently against the horizon. Somewhere beyond them, forgotten ruins dotted the countryside; places long abandoned where the only witnesses would be weathered stone and passing winds. "There are old settlements several hours from here. They've stood empty for longer than anyone living can remember." She looked back to him. "If we decide to open it, I would rather it be somewhere that offers silence instead of spectators. And somewhere that cannot interrupt a disagreement over melons." The humor lingered only a moment before her expression settled once more into thoughtful calm.

"I should warn you of something, however. When I accepted responsibility for safeguarding the holocron, I made certain that no single place; not even my home, would become it's prison." She gave a small shake of her head. "It rests somewhere else. Somewhere that only I know, for when others began asking after it, I realized that they eventually would come looking for me." Her gaze met his steadily. "I would rather they leave disappointed than rewarded."

The breeze stirred between them once again. "I don't intend to retrieve it today. And not because I distrust you." She considered that for a moment before adding, "Though we have only just met, and trust deserves time." Her attention wandered briefly across the bustling market before returning. "But because once it leaves it's hiding place...." she said quietly, "...there will be no pretending that choice was easily undone."

She fell silent, considering a thought that had remained with her throughout their conversation. "You've spent much of today telling me what you believe waits inside." A faint smile touched her features. "And perhaps you're right. But perhaps we're both wrong." She looked toward the distant horizon again. "What if it contains no instructions for conquest?" she asked. "No forgotten rituals. No terrible weapon." Her voice grew quieter. "And what if it is simply the testimony of someone who came to understand, too late, that every generation repeats the same mistakes while believing itself different from the last? A warning can survive inside a Sith holocron just as easily as ambition can."

She turned back to him. "If we are going to open it..." she said, "...then I would rather meet whatever truth it contains without already deciding what it must be." For a moment she simply regarded him. "Give me a few days. I will retrieve it." A faint, and almost hopeful smile returned. "And then, Wrathian..." She glanced once more toward the ordinary lives unfolding around them. "...we'll allow the holocron to speak for itself."

Tag: Wrathian Kell