First Reply To Breathe || THR Preferred!

[Kelan Dhal]

NABOO || REFUGEE STATION
TAGS: OPEN
THEME: AN EXILE IN CRISIS

Kelan hadn't spoken in three days.

No kind words, no idle conversation.

Just silence. Contemplation.
​

He had never seen the carnage of war. Certainly, he'd seen people die, seen them writhing in pain, but to see thousands of men, women, and innocent little children dead and dying for the dream of tyranny? That was entirely different. He had come to the Core upon hearing of the defeats of the Galactic Alliance, believing this was his time to play hero, to swoop in and save the day like the stories he had been told as a child. He arrived in time to witness the aftermath of the fall of Coruscant, to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of wounded, of dead, of orphans left in the wake of the Empire's violent rebirth. He thought himself a healer, but soon enough, his limited abilities were overwhelmed, and he found himself shutting down, huddled in a corner as chaos continued to erupt around him.

Eventually, he found himself escorting wounded civilians aboard a refugee transport, and he just didn't get off when it departed. He was of no use to real Jedi; they would be the ones to stand against tyranny and confront evil. Kelan was little more than a hack, a two-bit pretender who hardly deserved the title he thought about discarding entirely.

He had felt the call of the force. He wanted to help.

He just made things worse. Like he always did.

His exile had to go on. It would never end. ​

Truthfully, he didn't care where the ship was going. When it finally exited hyperspace and began its landing sequence, he didn't crowd around viewports like the others; instead, he hid himself beneath his cloak and tucked away in the back of the makeshift sleeping bay and waited for the deboarding procedure to begin. To his credit, Kelan managed to snap out of whatever stupor he was in to help carry an elderly human male off the vessel. He was nearly blinded by the sunshine when he stepped off the refugee ship, his senses overwhelmed by the vibrant surface of Naboo. He had heard tell of this world, legendary hundreds of years in the past during the days of the Galactic Republic and turmoil of the Galactic Civil War. It had been reforged into the heart of a coalition of worlds, united in the face of evil on all sides.

Good people, as far as Kelan could tell. He didn't belong among them. ​

Gently, he let the old man rest on a hover stretcher that two volunteers brought. It was clear that this ship was not the first and would not be the last arriving from the Core, all fleeing the rise of an ancient evil come back to haunt them once again. The exile would not take up any of the resources that were desperately needed for the refugees; he would go about finding a passage off-world and return to his wandering. But for the time being, he was stuck on Naboo, not that he intended to enjoy the peace that many seemed to find on the grassy plains or amongst the finery of Theed.

He was about to leave the makeshift landing grounds when he noticed a young Ithorian boy, half his face covered in white bandages, being held close by what appeared to be his mother and father based on how they interacted.

Kelan had tried to save this boy. He had used every teqinuqe available to him, and yet he thought he had let an innocent child die.

A trembling hand rose to cover his mouth, though he did not know why he did so. All he felt was relief and a wave of exhaustion he had been fighting off for several days. He was ragged, his tattered cloak and robes made him appear as little more than a vagrant, if not for the lightsaber tucked at his side.

He stumbled away to find a quiet spot, succumbing and leaning on a stone wall for support. Eventually, he slid down and found himself leaning back, head falling into his hands as he quietly wept.

Some Jedi he was. ​

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael had been watching from the edge of the landing site, silent as the streams of refugees shuffled past. His scarred hands rested on the hilt of his sheathed vibroblade, helmet tucked under his arm. He looked more like a mercenary than a Jedi—sun-scorched skin, the jagged tattoos across his forearms, and the crimson glint in his eyes marking him as something other.

He wasn't here for the speeches, or the pity. He'd seen enough wars to know words rarely saved anyone.

But he noticed the man slumped against the stone wall, shoulders trembling, cloak ragged, a lightsaber catching the sunlight for a moment before being hidden again.

Kael approached with a slow, heavy step, the kind that carried weight without needing to announce itself. He stopped just a few paces away, arms folding across his chest.

"You cry like a man who's been carrying too much for too long," Kael said, his voice low, gravelly from years of smoke and war. "Tell me, stranger—are you grieving the dead, or yourself?

 

[Kelan Dhal]

NABOO || REFUGEE STATION
TAGS: Kael Varnok
THEME: AN EXILE IN CRISIS

Kelan hadn't cried in a long time. Perhaps not since the day he was knighted in the ruins of his home.

It wasn't a pretty sight.​

He hadn't even noticed anyone approaching, not until a voice like that of his father spoke, shaking him from his sorrow. Kelan quickly wiped the evidence of his emotional state away with little success before quickly attempting to clear his throat and steady himself. The exile lowered his hood and allowed his dark locks to flow, though it was clear he required a long session in a refresher and a tailor to appear presentable once again.

"I grieve for the living. I fear that is far worse than mourning the dead."

Kelan spoke as if he were a million miles away, his mind focused on the death and destruction found in the core rather than the relative peace of Naboo. He looked up at the stranger, the force binding them as kindred, servants of light who had seen much and tucked it away for the sake of others. He did not know this Jedi's story, but it was clear he was far more familiar with war than the false knight who sat huddled against a wall.

"The Core burns. The Empire has destroyed so much, and in my hubris, I thought I could play hero. It is only by sheer luck that I didn't usher a child to his grave because of my failure."

But it was not simply that. Kelan hid much more, a past filled with regret and sorrow. He had spent years hunting for those who had destroyed his village, desperate to find any survivors taken as slaves, and yet he had failed to do so. Every lead he followed, every contact he made, all told him the same thing.

It was a big galaxy. They were gone. ​

What kind of Jedi was he if he could not protect his own kin from the chains of slavery? But another failure to add to his long list, another decade added to his eternal exile.

"I'm sorry, I should not burden you with my troubles. My name is Kelan. Might I ask your name?"

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael's expression didn't change as Kelan spoke. His golden-red eyes studied him, the way a warrior sizes up another fighter—not for strength, but for the weight they carry. When the name was offered, Kael inclined his head once, slow and deliberate.

"Kael," he said simply. "Some call me Jedi, though I stopped putting much stock in titles long ago."

He shifted, leaning one shoulder against the same stone wall Kelan sat slumped against, as if to share in the weight rather than stand over him. His arms crossed loosely, and his voice carried the rough edge of someone who had seen too many campaigns and buried too many brothers.

"You think yourself a failure because you lived where others did not. That shame is a poison. It eats at you until all you can taste is ash." His gaze flicked toward the families still unloading from the ship. "But those people you carried off that vessel? They'll remember a hand that lifted them up, not the thousand you couldn't save. The dead don't need us. The living do."

He let the words hang there for a moment, then added, quieter, almost as if admitting something he rarely shared:

"I've buried whole squads, whole villages. Still hear their screams when I close my eyes. But I keep walking. Because if I stop, then their deaths meant nothing."

Kael turned his head, finally meeting Kelan's weary gaze.

"You've got the look of someone ready to stop. Don't. Not yet."

Kelan Dhal