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Jasper Kai'el
Thelma Goth
Braze's face was a picture of calm, but beneath the serene exterior raged a storm of emotions.
A profound disquiet overtook Braze as the words settled in the air. The implications of confinement within the temple walls hit him like a physical blow, triggering a visceral, near-primal desire to rebel.
And yet It was as if each syllable was a confirmation of what he had dreaded: confinement, restraint, and the gnawing reality of his restricted freedom loomed in his mind. The very walls of the temple seemed to close in on him, a prison of stone and unyielding expectations.
But as he sought to speak, to contest the decision that felt like shackles being tightened around him, he found himself voiceless. Master Jasper's command was clear, unequivocal, and layered with a kindness that made speaking against him feel like betrayal.
For a few fleeting moments, Braze lost his hold on his mental shields, allowing the torrent of his emotions to spill forth like water from a ruptured dam. To anyone sensitive to the Force around him, it was akin to a sudden, turbulent whirlpool, a swirling chaos of fear, indignation, and raw, unfiltered resentment.
His emotional turmoil just could no longer be concealed; His intense emotions flooding the area with his unshielded Force presence. The impact was palpable, almost tangible, as the torrential storm was unleashed in the space of a heartbeat. Yet on the outside, he appeared eerily serene, a statue embodying composure even as his internal world crumbled.
Frozen, he swallowed audibly, grappling to find his voice amid a silence that grew increasingly tense with each passing second. His emotions swirled like a tempest--anger, resentment, helplessness--all fighting for control.
Eventually, his eyes flicked toward the man who had accosted him, and a rare, incandescent fury ignited within his usually subdued jade gaze. He memorized the man's features with a seething intensity, locking them away for another time, another place. Almost as quickly, his gaze shifted back to his Master, and he took a deep, laborious breath.
But then, with an effort that seemed almost superhuman, he slammed his mental shields back into place, restoring them to the staunch steely fortress they once were. Putting his emotional strength behind the action, quelling the emotional maelstrom that had momentarily broken free. The atmosphere around him shifted palpably as he exhaled a carefully measured breath, a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval he had just forcibly subdued.
Braze cleared his mind refocusing his thoughts on the here and now, on what had to be done.
He bowed his head, the physical movement almost painful in its formality, as he spoke in a voice stripped bare of all emotion.
"Yes, Master Kai'el."
The words were like shards of glass in his mouth, every syllable a sacrifice, but he managed to get them out.
Sheathing his blade with a muted whisper, he glanced briefly at Thelma, his expression unreadable. His eyes, usually vibrant and expressive seemed dull and cold; they were devoid of emotion, hiding the inner turmoil he felt. Then, shoulders rigid as though carrying an unbearable weight, he departed. Each step was heavy with reluctant compliance, even as every fiber of his being screamed against it.
As Braze retreated from the intense confrontation, he couldn't help but feel the weight of Jasper's orders sink into the pit of his stomach. Every step toward the medical unit and away from the pulsating tension of the meeting felt like a march toward captivity. The atmosphere of the camp felt almost oppressive now, as if thickening in response to his inner turmoil.
Being grounded at the temple—the thought alone chafed against the very core of his being. The stark contrast between the stale, structured life within those walls and the refreshing freedom he'd recently found on Lothal gnawed at him. On Lothal, he had experienced moments of liberation, a sense of autonomy that was intoxicating in its novelty. And now, it felt as if that tantalizing taste of freedom was going to be viciously ripped away from him. The sense of loss he was feeling was so acute it was manifesting in a physical response that sickened him.
His mind churned with distress, like a storm gathering intensity, and an underlying current of anxiety surged within him. Yet, even amid the overwhelming dread, a thin thread of humility wove itself through his thoughts. He couldn't escape the self-reproach stemming from how he had acted toward Master Koschei and Padawan Thelma. 'Is there a way I could've behaved differently?' he mused, the question prompting a painful replay of his indiscretions. Eavesdropping had violated not just etiquette but a trust, an unspoken boundary he had willingly crossed. He'd violated their privacy, eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for his ears.
The complexity of his emotions was further muddied by the jarring revelation about Master Koschei and Padawan Thelma. The concept was chilling, surreal, and laden with a form of terror he hadn't previously contemplated until Master Koschei was upppon him. He was now grappling with the monumental responsibility of being perhaps the only one privy to this secret.
The idea that they were memory-feeding vampires was not just unsettling but also profoundly terrifying. The ethical and moral implications were a labyrinth he couldn't navigate, and the weight of holding onto this dark secret felt like a shackle around his conscience. Could he shoulder such a revelation? Was he even afforded a choice?
As he continued his strained trek back to the medical unit, these questions swirled in his mind, each unanswered, each amplifying the last. His eyes scanned ahead for Knight Toth, and for a moment, he felt a strange, dislocated sensation wash over the entirety of his being—as if he were about to meet his judge, the arbiter of his yet-to-be-determined future.
His thoughts began to spiral out of control, tangentially leaping from one dire consideration to the next. The repercussions of his actions loomed large, burgeoning into an emotional maelstrom. For a moment, he felt as though he was suffocating, drowning in his own swirling emotions and incessant thoughts. It was as if the walls of his own mind were closing in on him, much like how the walls of the temple threatened to.
As his thoughts cycled through regret, anxiety, and a modicum of humility, Braze took a deep breath. It was as if he were trying to inhale some semblance of peace before facing what awaited him. And so he walked on, each step a reluctant march toward an increasingly uncertain future. Ahead, he saw the figure of Knight Toth approaching.
Taking a deeper, laborious breath, Braze attempted yet still to find some fragment of serenity, something to steady himself before confronting this path. But the air he drew into his lungs was simply that—air, indifferent and devoid of comfort. Consequences were waiting, and all he could do was meet them. Each step he took was a reluctant crawl of progression toward a future awash with uncertainty, a future now darkened by his own actions.
As Braze continued his uneasy trek towards Knight Toth, the order for silence reverberated within him, each echo turning into a haunting reminder of his folly. 'Not a word of what you heard passes your lips,' Master Jasper had said, and the weight of that instruction began to sink its roots deeper into Braze's psyche. Was it not this absence of silence, this heedless trespass into matters that weren't his concern, that had led to his current predicament?
The idea gnawed at him as he trudged on, his boots seeming to gain weight with every step. Had he remained silent, refrained from humor at Thelma's expense, he would not be facing the possibility of his newfound freedom being stripped away from him. His jest, however unintended, had a ripple effect, unsettling the waters that should have remained still.
Suddenly, the notion of a temporary vow of silence struck him as a means to internalize this hard lesson. The thought resonated with a part of him, urging him to take the idea seriously. Silence was not just an absence of sound; it was the womb of thoughtfulness, the incubator of discretion. Perhaps the enforced quietude would be the crucible in which he could learn to measure the weight of his words, to grasp the unspoken power and potential consequences that came with speech.
For, at the crux of it all, that was his problem: the failure to understand the depth and the reach of his own words, the inability to foresee how his voice could ripple through the lives and events around him, shifting the air, altering the course. Words were not just words; they were actions, decisions, responsibilities.
The notion was no longer just a fleeting consideration; it had taken form as a tangible resolve. The vow of silence seemed like a path, albeit a challenging one, to mindfulness—to thinking before speaking, to understanding the sheer gravitas of expression. Maybe silence would teach him what recklessness could not, and help him correct his course before the map of his future was irrevocably altered.
Braze finally reached Knight Toth, and as they exchanged a cursory greeting, he found himself already practicing this new creed. He responded minimally with a bow of his head, keeping his thoughts and feelings meticulously guarded. Each word unspoken became a brick in the fortress he was building around his impulses, each second of silence a step towards the wisdom he sorely needed.
Braze could feel the faintest glimmer of something that long eluded him; control.
