Private The Lost Bloodline

[Katarine Ryiah]

Location: Tython - Jedi Archives
Objective: Find Information About Past
Tags: N/A

Tython – Jedi Archives, 902 ABY

The vast stone halls of the Jedi Archives hummed with a quiet, reverent energy. Shelves of ancient tomes and flickering holocrons lined the walls, each a silent guardian of the galaxy's long, fractured history. Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah stood at the center of it all—still, focused, yet inwardly adrift. Her cloak whispered as she stepped closer to a massive data console, its glow casting long shadows across her face. The air smelled faintly of old dust and ozone, the scent of forgotten knowledge waiting to be remembered.

"I was hoping… maybe there would be something here. A trace of who I was before."

The librarian, a serene Cerean named Master Vilo, shook his head slowly, his tall cranium bowing with regret. "Master Ryiah… the Gulag Virus destroyed much of the historical records from before 835 ABY. Tython was all but abandoned for centuries. Many archives were corrupted, lost, or sealed."

Katarine's eyes narrowed with uncertainty. "There's nothing? No mention of me before I was found in carbonite?"

Vilo tapped thoughtfully at the console, scanning fragmented data clusters. "No official Jedi record. No Council logs. It's as though you were a ghost."

A silence stretched between them. Finally she nodded solemnly and thanked the librarian. Katarine turned, stepping slowly between rows of archive columns, her fingertips brushing the edges of dusty datacards. The Force murmured faint echoes around her, flickers of memory, emotion, pain, and purpose just out of reach. She had awakened from carbonite stasis with only fragments: a saber in her hand, a name on her lips, and an ache in her chest that whispered she had once mattered. But the woman knew little else. She knew not the planet she was born from, who her parents were, who trained her in the ways of the Force, what time period she was from, or even how she found the path of the Jedi. It was as if her past was a blank canvas waiting to be painted by the Force.

Now she had questions no one could answer.

But she would find the truth, even if it meant searching every ruined temple and forgotten world in the galaxy.

Even if it meant discovering a past that didn't want to be found.

"The Force brought me here for a reason," she murmured. "And I will not rest until I find a trace of who I was."

And so her quest begins​

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

The twin moons of Tython cast a cool light across the ancient stone corridors of the Jedi Temple, their pale glow filtering through the arched windows of the meditation chambers. Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah sat cross-legged on the floor of her quarters, the room dim save for the gentle hum of a small, floating meditation lamp. Her mind was heavy despite the serenity around her, weighed down by questions that no record or scroll could answer. The Temple Archives—vast, exhaustive, and sacred—had revealed nothing. No birth record, no training history, not even a mention of her name. It was as though she had emerged from the Force itself, untethered from the threads of history.

Three years ago, she had awoken in a medcenter on Theed, her limbs aching, her breath shallow, her memory fractured. The physicians had told her she had been found encased in carbonite, drifting in the marshy waters of the Gungan swamps, preserved but forgotten. The freezing had taken much from her—faces, names, fragments of a life that now seemed like it had belonged to someone else. Yet she had felt the Force within her, vibrant and responsive, guiding her even as her identity slipped through her fingers like desert sand. It hadn't taken long for the Jedi to sense her presence, to recognize her skill, her connection. They had welcomed her as one of their own, and her instincts had affirmed the truth of that path.

But knowing she was a Jedi and knowing who she had been were not the same. In her quarters, the quiet hum of the stone walls did little to soothe the gnawing emptiness she felt inside. Meditation helped—in glimpses, she saw a skyline of towers she could not name, a green-bladed lightsaber clashing in a duel she could not recall, the sound of someone calling her name with a voice she could almost remember. But nothing solid. Nothing certain. Tonight, as she lay back on the simple cot in her room, Katarine closed her eyes and let the Force wash over her like a tide, hoping it might carry a piece of her past back to shore. The archives had failed her. But the Force was not done speaking. Tomorrow, she would listen more deeply. And perhaps it would lead her to the truth.

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

Location: Theed General Hospital
Objective: Speak to Medical Personnel
Tags: N/A

Jedi Master Katarine Ryiah stepped off the public transport shuttle with the grace of someone trained in patience rather than prestige. Her robes fluttered lightly in the Naboo breeze as she made her way through the sun-dappled plazas of Theed. This city, with its familiar domes and waterfalls, stirred vague echoes in her memory. Yet it was all too clean, too modern. As if time had passed her by while she wasn't looking.

She entered Theed General Hospital quietly, the receptionist recognizing her from a recent stay and directing her to the upper levels. There, in a private consultation room with high, arched windows, two human doctors and a Mon Calamari healer waited with her file already pulled up on a datapad.

"We believe your carbination chamber drifted up from the Gungan swamplands during the first cataclysm of Naboo," the Mon Calamari began gently, tapping through scans and reports. "You were found disoriented, speaking in fragmented sentences. No identification, wearing robes centuries out of date. At first, we assumed you were playing a part for a historical reenactment."

"But when we ran your bloodwork," the human physician continued, "the symptoms were unmistakable. Classic carbination sickness, severe neural shock, pigment loss, muscle degradation. We estimate you were frozen for at least three hundred standard years just based on the pigmentation loss alone. Add in your other symptoms and we could be looking at triple that number."

Katarine listened in silence, the only betrayal of emotion a flicker across her eyes. Her hand brushed against her side, where she used to clip her lightsaber. The weapon she had now was one from the New Jedi Order, but she wondered if at one time she'd built her own?

"You lost a lot of the pigmentation in your hair. Permanent, I'm afraid," the healer added. "And your muscles… well, you've made remarkable progress. Most patients in your condition would still be in a wheelchair."

They left the room briefly and returned with a sealed package wrapped in plastine and labeled with an old archive stamp. Inside was her clothing, the ancient tunic and leather utility belt she'd been found in. The fabric was faded, the stitching frayed, but it was hers. She ran her fingers over the coarse cloth slowly, as if it might unlock the gap in her memory. As if it might remind her what her last mission had been… and why she'd never returned.