Private The Roads We Choose

[Zesiro]

For several long moments, Zesiro forgot to breathe.

Her eyes wandered across the countless crystals suspended above them, each one holding a life, a story, a memory that refused to be surrendered to time. They glowed like a second night sky, not cold or distant, but warm, each light representing someone whose existence still mattered because someone had chosen to remember. The room possessed a reverence she had only ever felt in the oldest temples and among the crystal caverns of Kesh. It wasn't a mausoleum. It wasn't a museum. It was something altogether different.

It was love made tangible.

As Dresdin's image faded, her gaze remained fixed upon the constellation overhead. The Vanyans and Charrs had always spoken of crystals with a reverence that bordered on the spiritual. They remembered. They endured. They carried echoes long after voices had fallen silent. Edric had once told her that the right crystal wasn't merely found; it chose to become part of someone's story. Standing here, surrounded by thousands of them, she finally understood that Muad had built something remarkably similar. Not a collection of gems, but a family history that could never truly be erased.

Slowly, she turned toward him, wonder softening her features in a way he had not seen all day, and in a quiet, almost reverent whisper she said, "You built a sky. A place where no one is ever truly lost."

Her eyes drifted upward once more, lingering on the lights before returning to her father. She thought of Arabella. Of Dresdin. Of names she had never known and lives she never would. Then, inevitably, her thoughts found Edric.

Not dead, not alive, simply... waiting, and her voice softened. "You said these crystals are for those lost to death... to time..." She hesitated, emotion catching briefly in her throat. "Even to uncertainty."

She met his eyes then and asked softly, "How do I put one there, buir?"—not because she had given up hope or believed Edric was gone, but because she finally understood that remembrance did not require certainty, that love alone was reason enough.

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

He reached out then, fingers curled inward to his palm, and lightly caressed the cheek of his daughter. Love swelled in his chest. He remembered the emotion that swelled over him that day he spoke the words that made her his child. Of all the choices he made over a long life, that was one decision he never regretted. Muad smiled. Not the madness-infused grin or the sarcastic smirk. This was the smile only shared with the few he cherished more than life itself.

“We always remember. It doesn't matter if they are gone, missing, or still with us. This place is remembrance.”

Muad stretched out a hand and brushed two more jewels. Two more figures popped into being. One was his brother Derek, serving as President on Olanet. The other was a shimmering blue figure Zesiro would recognize. She should; she saw the figure every time she saw her reflection. This wasn't a mausoleum of the dead but a monument to loved ones. A wave of his hand deactivated the apparition of two who yet still lived.

“Our loved ones will be remembered forever, some while they live. I visit this place and keep my memory alive, even if we are only marching far away. Watch.”

His hands pressed on the sides of one of the well’s stones. The top swirled with energy as the green streaks coalesced into a circle. A flash of jade light blanketed the room before a blue gem rose from the hidden recess. It could have been random, but it wasn't. As Muad pressed the stone, he opened himself to the Force and sent a tendril toward the woman. Not to invade but to allow her to see and feel what he was about to do—a tether to his actions.

Callused fingers gripped the crystal gently as he lifted it from the cradle. In his mind, he remembered Arabella. The softness of her smile. How with a turn of her head a curtain of ebony locks would fall in her face until she swept them up behind her ear. Of her eyes, so full of life and excitement at the simplest thing, like the bloom of a flower. He remembered her smile and how little dimples would crease her cheeks at the motion. The touch of her skin was softer than velvet. And that laugh, which sounded as clear and beautiful as kyber-forged wind chimes.

Softly he lowered his hands into the pool of ichor, the jewel cupped within them. The ichor covered the crystal and rose to mid forearms. The liquid was warm as he continued to imagine his riduur. Ripples of yellow shimmered with forks of energy reminiscent of lightning. The glow pulsed with a beat as he let the Force flow through the ichor, which acted as a conductor for all his thoughts, feelings, emotions, and memories.

A brilliant sunset as the couple leaned against a tree, Arabella’s head resting on his shoulder. Flashes from their lightsabers as they sparred without any inhibitions. A dance where they moved slowly to the music, his hands resting on her hips while her arms were about his neck. The joy of finding someone who never looked at you in appalling judgment but with a love that accepted him for who he was: the good and the bad.

As he fueled the crystal with all that was Arabella, the gem rose from his grasp and slowly ascended from his hands and the well. When the last forks of yellow energy abated, he felt the pull, the connection, between the crystal and himself stretching to the breaking point. There was one last piece required. To speak their name and seal the ichor to the crystal.

“Arabella Darkhold.”

And then it was finished. The ritual completed. He removed his hands from the well and watched as the jewel rose to the height of the other gems and found its place. He knew Zesiro would have seen how to perform the ritual. He also knew she would have been able to view the memories of Arabella while he infused the crystal with the force and an identity.

Zesiro

 

[Zesiro]

For a long moment, Zesiro remained utterly still.

She had felt memories through the Force before. Fleeting impressions left upon objects. Echoes lingering in places where powerful emotions had once existed. This was nothing like that. Muad had not merely shown her a memory. He had entrusted her with a lifetime.

She had seen Arabella's smile through his eyes, felt the quiet certainty that settled over him whenever she entered a room, and understood, without a single spoken explanation, what he had meant when he called her the missing piece of his soul. There had been no grand declarations within those memories. No impossible heroics. Just countless ordinary moments stitched together by unwavering love. A sunset beneath a tree. A dance. Laughter. A hand finding another without thought. It was those simple things that struck her hardest.

When the crystal found its place among the others and the final threads of ichor released it, Zesiro stepped forward without saying a word. She closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around her father, and held him. There was nothing she could say that would lessen the years he had carried Arabella's absence. Nothing that could repay him for sharing something so deeply personal. So she simply remained there for a few quiet moments, hoping the embrace alone would tell him what words could not.

Only then did she step back, her eyes lingering on the newest light among the countless stars suspended above them. Slowly she nodded, less to Muad than to herself, before approaching the ancient well. Her fingers rested against the worn stone as she closed her eyes. She had watched every movement, felt every intention through the bond he had willingly opened between them. There was no uncertainty in the ritual itself. Only in the man she carried within her heart.

She reached into the warm ichor and accepted the crystal waiting beneath its surface. As her hands disappeared beneath the glowing liquid, she let herself stop fighting the memories she had guarded for seven years.

A distant desert world came first.

She remembered the heat shimmering across endless sands and the man who had looked at her without hunger, without suspicion, without trying to possess or fix what he saw. Others had admired her beauty or feared her reputation. Edric had done neither. Somehow he had looked beyond both, seeing only the woman standing before him. It had unsettled her then because she had spent so much of her life believing she was either a weapon or an object to be desired. He had quietly refused both. He had spoken to her as though she had always deserved dignity, as though compassion required no explanation.

The memories flowed more freely now. Standing beside him as his guardian. Watching him lead people not through fear but through conviction. The day they became husband and wife. Hannah's birth. The countless evenings that would have seemed insignificant to anyone else but had somehow become the foundation of a life together. Then came Kesh. The alarms. The impossible certainty in his eyes as he placed Hannah into her arms and told them to leave while he stayed behind. She remembered arguing. She remembered refusing. Most of all, she remembered the final look they shared before the transport doors closed between them. Seven years had passed since that moment, yet the ache remained as sharp as the day it happened.

The ichor shimmered with a deep blue light as the Force carried every memory, every hope, every unanswered prayer into the crystal cupped within her hands. She felt the connection forming, delicate yet enduring, and understood now why Muad had called this a place of remembrance rather than farewell. This wasn't letting Edric go. It was refusing to let time erase him.

When the crystal finally rose from her palms, she watched it ascend with tears quietly tracing her cheeks.

"Edric Vanyan."

The words were almost a whisper.

"I'll always remember you."

Muad Dib

 

[Muad Dib]

Despite it being an action of remembrance, he felt the weight of the moment. The emotions flowed from them both. A heavy silence fell after she uttered the name of her love. Unbidden, his arms went around the woman, and he gently rubbed her back.

"Remember, Zes'ika, this isn't a goodbye; it's until we meet again. In this life or the next. In this form or another."

He let the love he held for his daughter flow, allowing her to feel it too. No matter how dark things got or how alone she felt, she would always have her buir. Muad made that vow silently. He would always be there. A final pat, and he released her, allowing her to move several meters away, giving her a moment of solitude. Whether to speak unheard words to the person she loved or gather herself, he would give her whatever time she needed.

"When you're ready, take the turbo lift to level one and find the lift for skyhook thirty-three. You'll find a suite there with a bedroom, a refresher unit, and any clothes you may wish for. I'll find you in about an hour, and maybe we can have a nice dinner and catch up some more."

He gave her a nod and a small smile before departing for the turbo lift. Inside, he closed his eyes as it moved. Letting go was something he never intended to do. But with his daughter there, he found the strength and resolve to release her. The pain still echoed inside, yet there was a salve on the wound. The saying that time healed all wounds was more or less true. However, the bards never spoke about the scar that remained. A symbol to remind one never to forget. And he wouldn't.

The door of the lift opened, and he moved through the crowds of people, a distracted look on his face. At others' greetings, he returned the salutations. Finally he reached his quarters and slowly moved in. The room was spartan, with almost nothing that reflected the quarters of a specific individual. It was only one of several places he laid his head. Taking the advice he gave Zesiro, he availed himself of the facilities to clean up a bit and get dressed. It would be a fine evening of visitation, reminiscences, and spirited talks, most likely long into the night. He looked forward to it.

Zesiro