Objective III: Shine Some Light.
Opposition:
Loske Treicolt
"You're wrong." His voice was quiet, but there was steel behind his tone. He could still feel it, so deeply hidden it was almost impossible to perceive. But there was doubt in her. And that only caused the shard of faith in her hands to nearly sing in triumph as it found itself reassured with every word.
"You're one of the strongest people I know Loske. With everything that happened, you just kept moving forward."
He would keep saying her name. She may have been convinced that the only way forward was to cut away her own past. But her old friend vehemently disagreed. There was strength in one's memories. Learning from past mistakes, growing past their flaws. Acknowledging when they messed up and vowing to do better next time. Forgiving oneself and others. Cooperating, joining, caring. All of those wonderful connections and experiences were what made life worth living.
So there was no way in hell he was going to let Raaf's poison take those connections away from Loske.
Her attempts to pour fear into the blade were as effective as if she had been in physical contact with Aaran himself. Dark miasma went to battle against the Jedi's inner light and fortitude. Fear warring with focus.And from there she would certainly notice that he was afraid. So deeply afraid of losing his friends. But not because he enjoyed the feeling they gave him.
He feared them being in pain. Not losing them. All of his friends, everyone he cared for. They could all vanish into smoke and never been seen again. But his feelings would still remain, the memories and bonds he forged, they would still have existed. What he feared instead was for Loske's pain. But that fear only empowered his drive. It broke his connection to the Force for a moment yes. But as the terror warred with determination. Faith only grew, he would not allow it to slip through his fingers. For he knew that his friend was not lost. It was deeper than the truth-seeking technique. Deeper than the Force.
Because if she was truly gone. Why did she not just kill him when she appeared? Why taunt or announce herself? She needed his validation to assure herself that the path she walked on was the right one. But all Aaran did was deny her. Refusing to give up on her. Urging her against this path.
And when she lunged forward, he stepped back, attempting to lean out of the way of the oncoming blade. But the onslaught of fear had dulled his reflexes. And while she did not carve his head from his shoulders. With one monstrous slash, the extension of his own soul sliced cleanly across his face. Right over his eyes.
Pain exploded through him. Something she could feel through the link of the blade. It wailed in protest as it was used against its other half. Blood pouring down the Battlemaster's face as his vision was stolen from him.
But he did not cry out. Simply stumbling back, his footing lost as he fell against a nearby rock. But something was wrong. While the physical pain was great, the emotional pain lacked the same purity. A curious disconnect between heart and body. Even as one hand reached to cover his damaged eyes. Blood leaking through the gaps of his fingers, the other was held out. Offered to her.
Because in the time it took him to stumble and fall over. He had already forgiven her. An impossible display in such a short period of time. No doubt something that in her current state, seemed impossible
"Loske." He breathed out, voice strained as he tried to bite down the pain.
"Its okay."
"Because I still see you."
It was a good thing that the link between Arete and Aaran was a two way street. Because in the brief moment when he stumbled, when Shursia was no doubt revelling in her attack and the damage dealt. His own memories lashed out. Attempting to show her something from his perspective. Of what exactly he thought of her. And how much she meant to him.
His Reason said:
He wasnt sure if Life Day was the best time to make his reappearance. But the old hag insisted. Telling him it was dramatically appropriate before kicking him into his ship and sending him back to Coruscant.
Ryv had seemed to be excited to see him. Which was certainly a relief. The Sword of the Jedi was probably among the most gregarious people he knew. So it certainly eased the tention in his gut at his acceptance. But when he saw the others, the feeling of dread only intensified. Would they resent him? Kick him out? Was he gone too long and the connections they shared had faded?
With one simply response, Loske wiped away all fear and worry with one gesture. Her embrace was a breath of fresh air. A dose of life saving medicine. She called it a miracle. No questions, No anger, no frustration. Just simply acceptance. If not for the crowd around him. He probably would have burst into tears that the first person who ever accepted him still did so. And seemingly always would.
"You're always reaching out to others." He rasped, now attempting to force himself to his feet. Struggling through the pain.
"Now its my turn." He spoke.
"Take my hand. Throwing away the past won’t make you stronger. You're trying to pick at the scab until it becomes infected and numb. Convincing yourself its healed."
"That's the wonderful thing about being alive Loske. We heal from our wounds and become stronger for it. But you don’t have to be alone to do so. But you have to let it heal." Philia, the love of friendship. Many philosophers consider it to be the least biological, organic, instinctive, gregarious and necessary. The least
natural of loves between sentients. It was something that needed to be worked towards. To strive towards, to invest in.
And Loske was the first person to invest such a thing in him. The first person to connect with him simply because she wanted to. So Shursia would know, on a deep fundamental level. Through the link of the blade and the distant memories buried inside her. He was not going to give up that easily.
Rynn Vizsla
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Romund Sro
