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

 

[Kelan Dhal]

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

They could not be more opposite.

One had lost faith in the Jedi title. The other idolized and believed it to be all he was.

But they shared pain.
​

Kelan listened quietly to his new companion. It was as if he could see right through him, describing precisely what was eating away at Kelan, but that went both ways. He could see that Kael also carried a weight on his mind, perhaps more than the Jedi exile could ever possibly understand. Still, he could not help but offer a sad chuckle when Kael encouraged him to keep going.

"I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. But thank you for your kind words."

With some difficulty, the Kelan rose to his feet, though he simply continued to watch the refugees unload from their ships and aid workers rush to help them.

"For what it's worth, you deserve to live to. There is nothing to be ashamed of in seeking a respite from the chaos, even for a time. I have not been to war, but I know the weight you carry. I know that we cannot save everyone, but the force wants you to be more than a soldier. You deserve to enjoy life too."

Bold words from a man who had spent nearly a decade in the Outer Rim trying to atone for his failure, but in the end, the mind of a man was a complicated thing. Kael served the Republic, and Kelan assumed that he also had the Jedi Order to turn to, a true hero that little kids spoke of in the Outer Rim and made stories about. Kelan was unknown here, Knighted on some backwater by a man he could not even be certain was a true Jedi himself.

But that was not to be spoken of. That weight could not be so easily addressed in a simple conversation.

"They are going to need a lot more help. The Core is ablaze, and the Empire isn't going to stop advancing anytime soon."

Kelan turned to his concerns for the refugees. Though he had his quest, he still held true to his duties to defend the weak and innocent, even if they were not in immediate danger.

"These people were lucky. Pirates and slavers have taken to raiding hyperlanes and assembly points for refugees. I know the Republic is not officially able to do anything about it, but surely there must be something the Jedi can do?"

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael studied him for a long moment, the hard set of his jaw softening just slightly at Kelan's words. It wasn't often someone tried to turn his own advice back on him, and for a heartbeat, it almost disarmed him.

Without a word, Kael stepped forward, closing the space between them. He set a scarred hand on Kelan's shoulder—firm, steady, not asking permission but offering anchor. Then he pulled him into a rough embrace, more like a brother-in-arms than some gentle comfort.

"You don't have to choke it back," Kael muttered, voice low enough that only Kelan would hear. "We've all been there—every Jedi, every soldier, every poor bastard who's lived through fire. If the tears come, let them. I won't judge you. Not for that."

He pulled back just enough to look Kelan in the eye. There was no pity in his expression, just the steady gaze of someone who had stood where Kelan now stood.

"I once held someone I loved in my arms as she bled out," Kael said, the words rasping out like they cost him to speak. "She smiled at me before the end, as if to say it was all right. But it wasn't. It never will be. And I still carry her ghost every time I close my eyes."

A faint smile touched his lips, bitter and tired. "So cry if you must. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."


He released Kelan's shoulder at last, glancing toward the refugees. "As for the pirates and slavers—we'll deal with them. Together, if you've still got some fight left in you."

Kelan Dhal

 

[Kelan Dhal]

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

Kael had known love.

Fleeting and tragic, but love all the same.
​

Kelan took his fellow Jedi's words to heart, even if all he did was nod. Though small, to feel even the slightest kind touch meant much to a man who had been alone for a very long time. He was right, of course; no matter what he did, there would always be pain, there would always be the tragedy of past mistakes that could never be undone. But Kelan was alive, and while he was alive, he could make sure others did not suffer as he had.

"There's enough fight, but how useful I'll be is the real question."

His voice was quiet, determined, and yet still unsteady with emotion. Kelan had been warned by his Master many times that emotion, when allowed to fester, would lead him down a dark path. The same could be said for connections, but his master had not told him to abhor friendship and love, only to ensure that he did not become consumed by it.

But that scared Kelan the most. That his connection to others would only lead them to ruin.

His fears were well-founded. His village was destroyed. His parents were butchered.

He might as well have signed their death warrants when he stole his master's weapon and played at being a hero. ​

"The woman you spoke of-"

He had begun to speak before he considered what he was going to ask, but it was too late to turn back now.

"What was she to you?"

The Jedi exile turned to face his companion; he could almost see the same tired face that he wore reflected in Kael's eyes. Both had been worn down by their own personal demons, but in the end, they appeared to have arrived in a similar position.

"I have not known love. Kindness, generosity, and compassion, yes, but that sort of connection is-'

Again, he paused, perhaps lacking words or simply pained by having to consider them once more.

"-It isn't something I can have. Not ever. But I tell you this because I have seen my fair share of death, and to have one who cares so deeply stay with you in your final moments is a gift. It may not feel like it, and it probably never will, but there is a kind of peace in what you did."

 

[Kael Varnok]

Kael didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted away, past the bustle of the landing site, to someplace far beyond Naboo's sunlit plains. His hand flexed once at his side, as if memory alone made his muscles ache.

"She was… everything the Order hated in me, and everything I needed," he said at last, voice low and rough. "Her name was Vara. A Keldor knight. Stubborn as durasteel. Beautiful in her own way—the kind of beauty you don't see in holovids. Her presence filled a room. Eyes sharp enough to cut through your armor, voice soft enough to make you forget the galaxy outside."

His jaw tightened, but there was the ghost of a smile too. "On missions, she was fire. Would dive headlong into danger, reckless as a comet. Behind closed doors…" He huffed a humorless chuckle. "She was softer. Patient. And when she wasn't being patient—" Kael shot Kelan a dry look, just enough of a spark to show he hadn't forgotten how to tease. "Let's just say she was… spirited. Crazy in bed, as I used to tell her, though she'd smack me for saying it out loud."

The humor faded, leaving only the weight of memory. "But the part that mattered was this: when the Council turned their backs on me, she didn't. Not once. She never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself. And in the end, I failed her anyway."

Kael exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "You're right about peace, Kelan. She had it. But I'll never forgive myself for not tearing the galaxy apart to keep her breathing."


His gaze met Kelan's again, steady, unflinching. "That's the kind of love you say you can't have. Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not. But don't let fear be the reason you deny yourself. Fear is a slow death."

Kelan Dhal