Private The Reality of Defeat

[Jara D’Ao]

The night was cold, the air much colder than she remembered.

Or maybe it was that she had gotten so used to the jungle and its humidity, and the way the sun bore down on you to remind you that it was in control, not you.

Everything on Coruscant, by contrast - it was controlled. Carefully planned. Artificial. It was elegant but it was detached, and now - in the absence of the Jedi, in the absence of a home - it felt a little…foreign.

Master Jara bundled her cloak tighter around herself as she stepped down from the transport. Something shifted on the back of her trousers - carefully hidden from view by the curve of her cape. The lightsaber. It seemed to vibrate on its own accord, to remind her of the Jedi brothers or sisters who had been slain, refusing to budge from a home they were foolish to think would be theirs forever.

Nothing is forever, not even the Sith.

But the time to attack was not now. Tonight was a night for gentle surveillance, to see what had become of the places Jara had once loved.

Would the food still taste the same? Were the parks still somewhere you could lay about? Were the people here still kind - or had they become more jaded, more frightened since the Covenant had hammered their way in?

She kept her head slightly bowed and the edges of her hood obscuring the glow of her eyes as she found stone walkways and followed them in the general direction of the once-great Temple. Or, rather now, the Academy.

Perhaps it was insanity - it was reckless, at least - to show up here, among so many trained or un-trained acolytes of the dark arts - but who did she now know? Who else would prepare to stop them?

Who but the High Republic, so far away in their perches on Naboo!

She had to find contacts. Perhaps there were Senators or legislators - sympathetic aristocrats - whom she could call upon. The friends of the Jedi were not gone, even though now surely they hosted dinner parties with the very Sith who led this academy.

But there were others - she needed only to find them, to trust in the Force as it guided her feet.

But first - she must see it. She must return to the place where it ended.

Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Jara D’Ao​

Coruscant was different now. The city’s hum was muted in the late hour. There was, of course, an occasional sigh between the massive spires. But for Lysander nights like these were when he found the most clarity.

Adjusting to what would be his new home had taken longer than expected. The streets, the history, it was just different than other planets. Here, he had once begun as a Padawan. Now, he was a Sith Knight with countless battle scars pressed into his memory from skirmishes that ranged from duels to planetary campaigns. But.. some things remained unchanged.. such as training.

So, a deep breath escaped Lysander as he called upon the Force, its dark current flowing down his spine, unraveling tension from muscles and burning the fog from his mind.

Naturally, the first movements were Shii-Cho. The form before any idealogy, any darkness. Feet were shoulder width apart, knees flexed, his saber pointing forward. Weight shifted with small adjustments, bending his ankle, and even subtle pivots of the hip. The cuts were basic, left, right, upward, parry. His wrist flexed, and every arc became smoother.

These katas were cycled through three times.. though each repetition was different. Of course, he was conscious of his movements, tightening an elbow when necessary, releasing the shoulder when needed. And by the fourth, a transition began. Defense was equally important, if not more, to him, which was why he opted for Form III. He would place an imaginary opponent before him, something to align with his sightline. Lysander’s chin dipped, his neck angling just so. Horizontal parries cut to both sides, and vertical blocks rose overhead like a shield. Deflections angled toward the corners. Every step became more precise.

Only a handful of acolytes filled the chamber. Though he guided some of them in the past, he was currently indifferent to their gathering.. focused elsewhere. It was nice to feel alive, stripped of titles, history, and any expectation. Just a body in a different kind of conversation.

 

[Jara D’Ao]

Jara was not sure exactly what she was looking for here - maybe it was just confirmation that the war really had been lost, and there was no stone left to turn over. But either way….

At last she quieted her mind and looked upward. Black, sloping spires and sharp silhouettes jutted toward the night sky - replacing the ancient stone that had once held the Jedi aloft. Everything about the Covenant's academy boasted long angles and larger-than-life shadows - a void as black as the dark side itself.

She was a tiny bead - a seashell - cast against a raging tide. Looking up, the tallest tower seemed to grow obscenely taller.

The light dies here, it seemed to say.

But still - there was the Force.

For some time she had been walking alone, and as the night claimed Coruscant's manufactured skyline, most citizens were turning home or off to conduct their business in the lower districts.

After a quick glance around she left the ground, her cloak fluttering with the wind as she pounced from one foothold to another. She was a blur of blue fabric as the Force guided her body - careening from the shoulder of a stone Sith Lord to a shadowy ledge hardly visible in the starlight.

She moved up one gigantic wall after another, her fingernails barely grazing the Academy as she used it to gain a better vantage point. The Force told her exactly where she needed to land, and she simply followed it.

With a final breath of effort she launched from one corner to another, and at last found a resting spot astride one of the shorter towers.

She huddled in the cold breeze, her fingers hovering near her feet to keep her steady. Her eyes scanned.

What sort of place was this?

She could see one or two students milling around on a garden path far below, and one or two conversing as they pored over tablets taken from their library.

A crimson flash of light caught her eye. The hiss of a lightsaber cutting the air. She looked upward and saw the shadow of someone performing the militaristic dance of a well-disciplined warrior.

Jara watched the young human male for a moment, his robe fluttering as his movements brought him out toward the balcony of his tower. His hair was carried on the breeze, but he paid it no mind, as he ran through the same limbering exercises Jedi had performed in those very halls.

Unmistakably Sith, however. Seeing his bolder, more serpentine movements gave her a small pang. She was sure this one had murdered Jedi, even as young as he was.

How terrible, the choice…she reflected to herself. And look at the adolescents, down there. They are training them even younger.

She frowned.








Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Jara D’Ao​

The chin dipped just so, downward with natural ease. Brows lowered just enough to shield his emerald orbsthe harsh neon glare flickering overhead. Lips parted softly, breath escaping through the nose in time with each and every step. Shoulders shifted with grace, perhaps a result of one heavily influenced by Makashi for so long. Even in defense, it became a dance of balance. Lysander’s entire being.. body, mind, blade, moved as a single entity.

Alive and attuned.. he flowed effortlessly.

Neabry an acolyte committed too eagerly to a strike.. boots scraping against the floor as they scrambled and nearly lost balance. Another lingered mid-strike, breath already ragged.. too loud. Lysander would not offer them a single glance, even if their energy unfortunately brushed his consciousness. It was like static.

Even the wind that tugged at his robes. All around, the Academy’s pulse simply ebbed and flowed.. practice, stumble, a correction when needed.

After a while, sweat began to form on his brow despite the chill in the air. A slender bead traced a path down his temple as he finished the final Soresu kata. Finally, he lowered the saber, not letting it fall, fingers relaxing bit by bit.

That was when it emerged; there was a subtle dissonance at the periphery of his senses.

A faint furrow crossed his brow.

Then again, this was Coruscant.. crowded, too loud, and forever scarred. And he hadn’t quite recovered from the battle that had torn through it either. That memory was heavy in his mind, which might’ve explained why he arrived here so late.

Either way, he allowed the thought to drift without a note of resistance. Surely, there was no cause for alarm. What was meant to unfold would, no? More often than not, he was probably conjuring a ghost.. echoes left by wars fought too young.. and far too many times. If he even more truthful with himself, it was PTSD.. a survival reflex etched deep.

The saber’s crimson glow winked out with a hiss as a thumb slid over the activator. Turning away from the training room, he moved for the winding garden paths, drawn to the allure of cool air and of course, solitude. these gardens were remnants, echoes, left behind by another era.

 

[Jara D’Ao]

Jara stayed as still as a statue as she watched the young Sith Lord extinguish his lightsaber. She watched him make his way down a spiral staircase until he was alone down into the garden.

The atmosphere of this place had certainly changed. It carried a darkness that empowered young people like him. It made them proud and indifferent, but something else…something she could barely detect in the Force. Inner turmoil? It was nothing like the serenity she had known here.

Perhaps the Temple really was gone. Perhaps Coruscant really was lost, forever.

But she would still find the Senators - whoever was left among them - and ask for their help.

And Jara really was going to leave at that moment.

But then the cool shade of the Hova tree caught her eye.

The Hova was in full bloom at this season, birthing white flowers that shed fragrant seeds, with petals that were as soft and malleable as Peccoppi feathers.

She remembered the Jedi who had planted that tree, and how painstakingly he had cared for it every day. Master Achee.

She had not felt his presence in some time. He deserved better than to have his flowers - his tree - enjoyed by the Sith, who knew nothing of his achievements.

She would not let it be so.

Keeping one eye on the young Sith Lord, Jara began the careful descent down, fluttering from one stone to the next, feeling something other than the Force guiding her.

Now it was a form of revenge, as much as she hated to allow it into her mind.

She dropped into a nearby shrub with the softest of thuds, and began the work of untangling her garb from the thorny branches, stripped of their leaves by wind. At least the students had retreated indoors, and all she had to mind was this young man, his hair glowing in the night.

Well, she only wanted a flower - one flower to show to the Senators. To tell them that she had been here, and the Sith were not impenetrable. Right now, getting this flower meant everything.

She settled near the trunk of the tree - thinking of Master Achee only, and inhaling the earthy musk that coated the garden like a fine snow.

Her fingers closed around one white flower, and pulled.

There was a gentle snapping of twigs. One of her eyes opened wider and slid to look at the Sith Lord walking away.

"These flowers are much too beautiful for the Covenant," she hissed quietly, more to herself than the young man walking away.

She held her breath, and pulled again - and the flower came free - but with a snap that put her stomach into knots.


















Lysander von Ascania

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Jara D’Ao​

In some ways, the dark settled quieter than usual. Unusual for Coruscant. The traffic didn’t flow here the way it once had. He’d bristled at that back when he was a Padawan. Before Naboo. Before realizing the Light failed him.

Lysander's boots met the walkways with grace. The chill nipped at any skin left bare, though it contrasted with the warmth pulsing through his muscles from the completed katas. It wasn’t a real training session, nowhere near his normal output; maybe he just needed something to burn off the edge, some way to shut the night down.

Drawing in a deep breath, he took in the mingling aroma of night blooming blossoms, the moist earth. Something to bring forth echoes of another time.

The blonde scanned the winding paths, catching the delicate dance between shadow and starlight. Admittingly, it was a nice sight.

But suddenly, the night fractured.

A crack shattered the calm, sharp.. almost like ice snapping underfoot. Lysander froze, every fiber of his being alert. Not out of fear. Never. Ears captured a rustle; so, his senses reached out, weaving through the currents of the Force as they'd done so only moments ago..

Neither friend nor foe.. yet.

But nothing moved in the direct line of sight.

Still.. Something did not belong.

Wind? Lysander considered. Doubtful. Animal? An acolyte?

Another sound followed.. quieter.

This time, Lysander knew without a doubt. Just past the big Hova tree, something shifted.. a quick shadow, a touch of blue blending in. So, he lowered his chin, and began to press forward.

“Careful,” a low voice carried across the night. “I would not take that if I were you. Not all eyes are so forgiving.”

A gamble for them both, and he knew it. As an academy instructor, the consequences.. whatever form they took.. would find him once everything settled.