First Reply The Shape of Tomorrow

[Corazona von Ascania]

Ukatis
Nuvar province​

When the great galactic war machine churned in the core, it spat out a host of problems. Problems that reverberated through the galaxy, far beyond the killing fields of the Empire.

Ukatis was no stranger to extra-galactic threats. First came the Mandalorians, then the Sith. They'd rained down fire, cut with steel, and choked with toxins. After each attack, the little agriworld slowly began to rise from the ashes, blooming a little brighter every time. The people here, though cautious of an influx of outsiders, knew what it was like to be stripped of all normalcy.

Cora's boots struck the mud as she made her way down the central lane of Nuvar Hollow, the High Republic's latest refugee camp established to accommodate the influx of displaced sentients fleeing the core. While Ukatis had neither the capital nor the infrastructure, they did have the space. Raw materials, food, and medicine were supplied by Naboo's coffers.

To say that the people of Ukatis welcomed refugees with open arms would be an exaggeration. They were tentative. Perhaps a bit standoffish, even, concerned about what strange customs or even ills that the strangers from beyond the stars would bring. Still, they tended to their work with pride, raising shelter and cooking meals.

Slowly, though, they were beginning to thaw. Not always with smiles and kind words, but through actions.

Cora passed by the bones of what was slated to become a schoolhouse, tended to by a crew of local and off-world muscle. Several of the workers lingered near the foot of the building, perched on a piece of scaffolding for their break. A Ukatian contractor with a greying beard broke his scone in half, and handed the piece to a Rodian refugee.

All around them, the settlement buzzed with the steady hum of rebuilding lives.

 

[Durak'Tur]

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UKATIS
Tagging: Corazona von Ascania
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Durak'Tur moved with deliberate grace through the heart of the refugee camp, his tall, fur-cloaked frame cutting a solemn figure among the wounded. The scent of bacta hung heavy in the air, mingling with the low murmur of displaced families and the hum of portable generators. His deep amber eyes scanned the rows of makeshift cots, metal stretchers laid out beneath tattered canvas, each occupied by beings scarred by blasterfire or fear. A healer’s hand rested on one patient’s chest; a faint shimmer of blue light pulsed beneath his palm. “Easy,” he rumbled in a low voice, more felt than heard. “You’re safe now. Breathe with the Force.”

He had seen too many camps like this, across the galaxy, and now here on Ukatis. War always came dressed in new colors, but its shape never changed. He moved to the next cot, where a young Twi’lek clutched her brother’s hand, the boy’s leg wrapped in crude synth-bandages. The Jedi knelt beside them, his shadow swallowing the cot, yet his touch was gentle as falling snow. “He will walk again,” he said, his tusked muzzle dipping as he focused. The Force flowed through him, a river of warmth that mended torn muscle and quieted pain. The boy’s breathing steadied, his small fingers loosening their desperate grip.

Outside the tent, rain began to fall, soft at first, then heavier, drumming against the tarp overhead. Durak'Tur rose, his silhouette framed against the glow of lanterns as he looked beyond the perimeter. Med-transports glided overhead, their thrusters stirring the wet dust, while volunteers ferried food and supplies through the mud. He could sense exhaustion and fear in every heartbeat around him, but beneath it all, something brighter. Hope. The same fragile, stubborn spark that had survived every war the galaxy had ever thrown at itself.

He was a warrior by nature, a healer by choice, and a guardian by oath. Every cry he eased, every wound he mended, reminded him why the Jedi endured, not for glory, nor the politics, but for the simple act of standing between suffering and silence. His gaze lifted toward the dark sky, toward distant stars still burning despite it all. “May the Force keep them,” he murmured, and for a moment, the rain seemed to still in reverence.

May the Force Keep them All.​

​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

There was an order to the refugee camp, even as it grew day by day, sprawling over the open fields of Ukatis like a tangle of fast-growing vines.

Vines that, she hoped, would bear more flowers than thorns.

Cora pivoted onto a the packed dirt of a side path, boots squelching in the mud as she made her way down an artery that fed the tent city for new arrivals. Each individual would receive a general health exam, after which they'd be sorted into housing - or relayed to a medical facility, if necessary.

It wasn't a perfect system, but neither was war. Cora hefted the bundle tucked beneath her arm a bit higher, careful to keep it away from splashes of mud and rain water.

The tent flap shifted as she passed through, stirring stray drops that streaked along the canvas. The air might've been cool and clammy, but her smile was warm.

"I've brought some blankets," she said as she took a knee before the children and helped to wrap them each in a wool afghan. As her hands moved, that placid smile never left her face, not even when she looked to the Whiphid.

A silent acknowledgment passed between them - something grave and sincere - before she turned back to the Twi'lek children with a tone that was both bright and soft.

"How would you two like to get out of this muddy old tent and into some place dry?"

Cora tilted her gaze to the healer beside her.
"We've been able to expand the semi-permanent housing bloc, so there's more room available now."

Durak'Tur

 

[Durak'Tur]

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Ukatis​

Tag: Corazona von Ascania​

The Whippid Jedi’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice, a melody of calm amid the distant clamor of field medics and shuttles. His great hands stilled their motion as he looked toward her, the soft light filtering through the tent’s seams painting streaks of gold across his fur. “Good,” he rumbled, his tone low and thoughtful. “They need something to hold on to besides ration packs and old stories.” The faintest curl of tusked amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her drape another blanket over a child’s shoulders. “And you bring warmth, not just in the fabric.”

He moved closer, the ground trembling faintly under his weight as he knelt beside the Twi’lek boy he had just healed. The boy’s eyes fluttered open at last, confusion giving way to shy recognition as he met the Whippid’s gaze. “See?” the Jedi said quietly. “The galaxy still has kind souls left in it.” His amber eyes flicked to Cora, the tone not just one of gratitude but a shared understanding, an unspoken truth between Jedi who had both seen too much of the galaxy’s pain.

The tent flaps stirred again as a breeze carried in the scent of rain-soaked grass and ozone. Beyond, the sun was still strong, breaking through the thinning clouds in pale shafts of light that cut through the gloom of the camp. The Whippid rose, his massive silhouette framed in the light as he nodded toward her words. “Then let’s move them. They’ll heal better beneath the open sky than trapped in shadow.” He turned slightly, signaling to a medic to prepare a stretcher for another wounded refugee.

As the children rose, clutching the wool blankets around their small shoulders, the Whippid stepped aside to let them pass, lowering his head respectfully. The hum of generators and the rhythmic patter of rain seemed to fade for a moment, leaving only the quiet sound of young footsteps squelching through the mud toward shelter. When he looked back at her, his eyes carried both fatigue and faith. “Perhaps,” he said, voice roughened but sincere, “it is not the Jedi who bring balance, but those we protect.”

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's smile, calm as a summer's breeze, seemed to gain a measure of gratitude at the Whipid's words. "Ukatis is not a planet that has much," she murmured, "but perhaps that is why the people here understand the importance of giving."

Of course, an incredible influx of foodstuffs and supplies now flowed into the little agriworld while it struggled to modernize. It wouldn't do to house and feed refugees while their own people starved. Cora moved to adjust the blanket over the boy's shoulders, ensuring that he was snug as could be, especially around his healing leg.

The Twi'lek boy, his skin a dusky blue, looked up to the strange Jedi Master in a mix of awe and admiration. Never had he witnessed someone's simple touch mend flesh and bone before. Cora's lips quirked into a knowing smile.

"I think he'd fare better traveling with you," she insisted kindly. Indeed, the boy nodded eagerly, clutching the blanket a little tighter as he was lifted in the Whipid master's arms.

Cora held the tent flap open, grasping the girl's hand gently in her own. As they moved through the muddied streets, the camp flowed easily around them. Things were busy here, but the seeds of life were beginning to flourish.

Cora could not help but think that she would much rather be here than on some far-flung battlefield full of Sith and imperials and death.

The Whipid spoke, and she tilted her head, neck craning slightly. "You could say that," she considered after a long moment in thought. "To serve the galaxy, we must not forget what it is like for those who live in it. Their struggles are our struggles."

Her thumb brushed the girl's hand idly, watching as the child seemed to have gained a curiosity in her active surroundings.

"From which sect do you hail, Master Jedi? Or are you the nomadic sort?"

Durak'Tur

 

[Durak'Tur]

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Ukatis​

Tag: Corazona von Ascania​

Durak’Tur adjusted his hold on the boy with a careful, practiced gentleness, his broad arm serving as both perch and shelter as they stepped back into the light. Mid-day sun had returned in soft patches through tattered cloud cover, gilding the puddles and glistening off refugee tarps like dew on stone. His long strides slowed to match Cora’s and the young Twi’lek at her side, making a corridor of calm between the bustle of carts, medics, and slow-moving families.

“I have worn many banners in my life,” he answered after a moment, voice deep as distant thunder. “The Temple on Coruscant taught me form. The enclaves of Ossus taught me stillness. The Guardians of Tython taught me patience.” His gaze swept the camp, not in vigilance, but in witness. “And when war burned them down, I learned how little banners matter beside the ones made of compassion.”

The little Twi’lek boy shifted against his furred chest, peeking out from beneath the blanket. Durak’Tur lowered his tusked muzzle slightly, speaking in a tone meant for ears smaller than his own. “When your leg is strong again, you will help someone else stand. That is how the galaxy remains whole.” The boy blinked, startled, but he nodded, as if accepting a vow he did not yet have words for. The Whiphid’s warm breath eased the nervous tension in his shoulders.

Only then did he return his regard to Cora, walking beside him through the ruts of soft mud and sunlit rainwater. “I wander now,” he said, unhurried. “Not as one without a place, but as one whose duty is where suffering gathers. Some orders root themselves in temples or councils. Mine is wherever a soul cries out and is not heard.” There was no pride in it, only truth, worn smooth by time.

He paused as they reached a rise in the path, a vantage where the refugee camp curved out across the fields like a living tapestry. Children’s laughter mixed with hoversled hums, with soft prayer chants, with moments of peace stitched between ache. Durak’Tur watched it all with the quiet fondness of a guardian who did not need to own what he protected.

“Nomadic,” he rumbled at last, a glint of dry humor flickering in his eyes. “Though the word is small for what the galaxy asks of us, hm?” His voice softened again as he nodded toward her. “And you, Cora, do you serve a temple, or have you chosen the road as well?”

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Coruscant. Ossus. Tython.

Something sobered in Cora's expression as the Whipid recounted three beacon worlds of the Jedi - all fallen to war. It was difficult to parse out which loss had stung the most. Coruscant had been home. Tython, she'd fought for on several fronts - only for it to fall into the Empire's grasp shortly after. Ossus, changing hands between imperials.

The New Jedi Order had hemorrhaged. Those who'd survived the imperial incursion were scattered across the galaxy, many gathering just beyond the edge of Alliance territory to regroup. Cora and a handful of remaining Jedi did what they could to try and stem the imperial tide with their allies, but they too had become overwhelmed.

Was it smarter to have their smaller numbers dispersed among the galaxy, or should they try and consolidate what remained? On Ilum, they'd chosen the former.

"I serve the New Jedi Order," she decided. "What remains of it."

The answer felt strangely hollow, almost like a lament. Instead of mourning too long for what they'd lost, she tried to shift her focus toward what remained. "My priority now is tending to the enclave here. It's a small thing, no grand temples and such. We tend to the land and give back to the community. You're more than welcome to stop by if you need a place to stay. Or, if you'd like to impart some wisdom unto our students."

Again, she had to crane her neck back in order to look up to the Whipid. They were nearing the housing bloc, where identical wooden structures stood in rows of brown and grey. They weren't the prettiest sight, but far more comfortable and sturdier than the tents.

"Cora," she offered her name. "Jedi aren't supposed to play favorites, but Ukatis is my homeworld. I suppose that makes me rather soft to her plight."

Durak'Tur

 

[Durak'Tur]

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Ukatis​

Tag: Corazona von Ascania​

Durak’Tur slowed his pace as she spoke of the New Jedi Order, of what had survived, and what still clung to purpose through sheer will. There was a steadiness in his gaze, but also a quiet sorrow shared between veterans of too many broken sanctuaries. “Walls can be rebuilt,” he murmured. “But the spirit that built them must live somewhere while the stones are scattered.” It was not praise, simply truth, spoken by one who had seen ruin and rebirth enough times to know which outlasted the other.

When the housing bloc came into view, the Whiphid shifted his weight slightly to support the Twi’lek boy, his voice softening as he regarded the structures. “This is more than shelter. It is breathing room… the kind hearts need before they remember how to stand tall again.” The child looked up at him, and Durak’Tur gave a small nod, gentling his presence until the fear slipped further from the boy’s shoulders.

He inclined his head when she extended the invitation.“Your enclave’s hearthlight is a rare gift in days such as these,” he said, baritone warm with sincerity. “I will accept a stay among you for a time, long enough to rest, to heal a few souls, and to share what teachings may be useful to those walking their first steps along the path.” There was respect in his phrasing, not possession, not presumption, only an honored guest answering kindness with dignity.

“And when the road calls me onward,” he added gently, “I will carry your people’s resilience with me, so that others remember such places still exist.” He looked down to her, eyes kind beneath the weight of years. “Ukatis has roots still growing. I would walk beside them awhile… before the wind takes me elsewhere.”

He stepped forward toward the doorway, pausing only long enough to offer the faintest ghost of a smile.

“Lead on, Cora. Your hearth welcomes strangers well.”