Private Trauma Loves Company

[Michael Barran]

Exegol's Outer Orbital-Sphere
The Gaping Gap of the Maw
Leaving the Unknown Regions
Vectored for Galidraan III

Civilisation had stood, and civilisation had finally triumphed in the years of the Lord-Regent's reign.

But at what cost? And of what,"Civilisation", to fight for?
Fractured, feudal and failing - despite the last great triumph.

Leaving all behind but that one burning question,"Did we really win at all, in all honesty?"​

Returning with tired, wounded, dead and a slew of still-unnamed prisoners of war, on a star-destroyer filled to the brim with morose, sore and broken people, Serenno's warfighting caste would let the silence speak for them, letting the sheer lack of noise ring louder than an air-raid siren as the NIV: Tigress wrestled against the last of the gravitational pressure on it's way out. It was clear to the officers' clique that none were under any illusions of victory, not after all the provocations and hostilities with the Galactic Alliance considered, disheartened even farther by the fact it was obvious the Coruscantine senate had the propagandist's advantage, showing that there was nothing that could be said or done about the matter until everyone was rested and recovered sufficiently.

"Only the dead have seen the end of war." - Plato

INTRODUCING....

The Galaxy has won, and with an explosive end to the Second Great Hyperspace War, it seems there is an agreement between the victorious ones, tense and untrusting though it may be. Leaving no doubts that the route back will certainly bare it's fair share of threats along the way, and in the process of passing through former-Mawite and GA territories, all the necessary hands will be at the ready, with many among them sleeping just metres away from their equipment in full-commitment to their slots in the full-day rotations. Some will be in fighting shape, others perhaps not so much, just be sure to check the pulses of the overly-quiet sleepers as you walk around, as it may turn out that some could be dead - and maybe on account of medical-bay avoidance.

Some battalions have been active since the NIV: Tigress pushed out towards the boundaries of the Unknown Regions, with one boarding-party and two defensive contingents readied for anything unexpected, though most are just resting or trying to forget, with the Warden choosing to silently try the latter. It is to be expected for a contingent so heavily engrained and embedded in the war effort, and of one so contrastingly thrown into frontline warfare without readiness, and all despite the extensive training and previous deployments of hostile nature.

Even at the bridge, all is quiet and duly tense for their homeward shift-patterns, so in addition to the still, tensile quiet, much within it has since offered much in the lack of sudden movement or outburst alike. But in consideration of the circumstances, its all anyone seems to have the energy for, but in good time, all will likely sting a little less when they see the hills of Galidraan III again. After that, come what may, the Highlands and all the wondrous landscapes they would get to experience again on leave (distant though they might seem to all the Goidels aboard the Tigress) retain potential enough to perhaps even heal the hearts and minds of the Wanderer's brethren with the recently-earned time to allow it. But for as long as the dead remain unburied in the star-destroyer's cargo bay, sleep could be more difficult for some than it might be for others, especially for the likes of the Warden and his trusty Shadow.

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

The wounds she had sustained not so serious. Some bacta shots and self medicated Force Healing, and Aoki was back on her feet. Of course, she looked like bantha poodoo, but she was on her feet. And so, there she was, walking the halls slowly. She had changed into her imperial uniform; but it looked wrinkled and uneven. Her hair was both greasy and messy, like a terrible bedhead with no shower in days. Her face was patched up, but there was a dash of dirt on her cheek. Not to mention, her pearly whites were red from exhaustion, and she had circles under her eyes. For such a powerful warrior, she looked frail and thin. She slowly walked through the hallway, boots scruffing against the floor. One hand brushed against the wall. She was remembering too well the way she dragged herself through the Maw's dark halls. But here, no Mawite abominations were attacking. No stormtroopers lay dead at her feet. No Highlanders stared up at her with lifeless eyes and cold faces. Instead, the surviving members of the Highland Brotherhood were dutifully running around the ship, performing duties in preparation for their next destination. Aoki had heard whispers that they were going to "home," but not her home at Serenno. No, they were instead headed to a place Mira had not visited yet. Galidraan III.

Was she even worthy of going with them? After her failures today? The way time worked for her, in battle, was that everything happened in a moment yet felt like forever. It felt like she had run and fought for ages, but it was a snap of the finger before and after the battle as well. It all played back to her like a hazy yet unforgettable nightmare. Unable to sleep or eat, the weakened shell of the usually reserved and diligent Aoki Mira aimlessly wandered. Hallway after hallway, in the ship, she turned the corner every time in fear of more Moon Children and Eburchized, but they were never there. Nor was the Sith Lord she had failed to kill for unleashing them.

Eventually, Aoki turned one corner. The smell of smoke filled the air, but not the smoke of a fire. It was a distinct smell she was still unable to get used to, as her parents were health conscious enough to ban them from the household. Cigarra smoke. Someone was smoking...

Mira turned the corner, only to see Michael karking Barran leaning against the wall, alone, smoking.

She froze.

How could she possibly face him right now? She had last contacted him asking permission to hunt down whatever was unleashing the monsters on the Highlanders. He had not only given her the permission, but given her a squadron to help her. A squadron now dead, another pile of biological waste in the grand graveyard of Exegol's destruction. She had failed to kill the Sith Lord responsible for unleashing the monsters. She had been unable to save her unit from the abominations. She had failed.

Here was a failure, standing before Michael Barran . The man she had sworn everything to. For his cause. She was a failed swordarm, and his failed shadow.

She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding. Then, noticing something off, she just spit it out.

"You look like a gundark ate you then vomited you back up."

Yeah, he looked worse than even she did.

But the moment the words had left her lips, her eyes widened. Silence broken, she was unable to run from him now. She looked to the floor, shame berating her inside. And so, with shaking knees, she knelt down. Head towards the floor, back arched downwards, she felt the tears flood her eyes.

"My lord... I..."

She gulped harshly, swallowing bile she had not realized bubbled up her throat.

"I apologize. I failed my task..."

​

 

[Michael Barran]

1ST POST

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 1

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

An overpowered enemy, former ally-
An' more a danger to itself than it ever has been to the Empire....

An' still, as they wield morality like a hammer, the Jedi are more frightening than the Maw ever could be.
​

'Feth's sake, man....', the Wanderer muttered to himself, cutting himself short from ranting away to nobody in sight, lest someone walked up at a rather inopportune moment for the Woad. Though fortunately for Lord Michael, all the nearest ears were fast asleep and gone to happenings small and great alike by then, each to a man exhausted and battered from a battle that had concluded only a few hours before Barran's little outburst to himself. Also adding to the Druid's good fortune was the fact none were awake to see the sorry state their Warden was in either, appearing quite unhinged and worse for wear as he stared at the structural workings of the access-hallway's adjacent wall, zoned out as if by way of thousand-yard stare and with nothing and nobody around to snap him out of it.

Covered in dried mud, rock-dust, sweat, blood and particles of elements that turned his stomach just to think about, Barran's momentary distraction from his own dark thoughts was unwelcome enough that he lit his first cigarra in hours, even going so far that he brought out a hipflask full to the brim with Prastaig black-label whiskey to numb and dumb himself to the odious reminder of the fight he was trying so desperately to forget at the time. Though as much as he knew he would benefit from facing his troubles head-on, the last moments of the brutes' leader, the wall of light they both gazed upon with almost mirror-like, mutually-intense horror, was too much to overcome so soon, and gut-wrenching enough that it still toyed with his emotions - and would for decades after the fact.

Disgusted though I am.... I don't want to move.
I don't want to sleep, heavy though my eyelids are becoming.

Not that the Wanderer wanted to do much in the way of thinking either.
​

So smoke he would, and smoke he did, chain-smoking to himself in maintained wordlessness; thinking on the events of the battle that occurred from the moment the Highland Brotherhood first landed, and on the happenings that were expected but never occurred as predicted, especially those pertaining to the denizens of the Bloodhound. Even the Wanderer's older brother himself was expected, but from the moment Lord Michael stepped onto the off-ramp, not a trace of the one-eyed Warlord could be found, even with all their known brands of monsters known to have been unleashed from unknown origin-points on Exegol's surface early on. There were no doubts in Barran's mind that his elder brother's machinations were at work from the first outbreaks of contested hostilities, but in remembering the telepathic searching for the soul of Thomas had yielded not a single trace of the one he was seeking most of all, it all served to raise more questions than it answered.

Whether his soul can be redeemed or not, he must be found first.
I need to see, I need to understand what he is now.

To know if it really is Thomas, or if I'm sending back a demon instead.
​

As things stood by then, enough were losing their lives against the seemingly-unsolvable puzzle that were the Scar Hounds of Mar'Zambul, and in consideration of the bodies down below, (thoughts of those who inhabited the body-bags in the star-destroyer's morgue) it hurt all the more to consider that others would join his brethren in the following years. They were all the Warden's responsibility as their elected Druid-Grandmaster, they were Michael's personal responsibility to honour in the hopes their deaths wouldn't be in vain, and still they were dropping like flies around the Wanderer, perishing one by one and with no way of stemming the tide of young replacements who stepped up to serve after them.

'You look like a gundark ate you then vomited you back up.'

Jolted into cohesion suddenly, the voice of his knighted student initially surprised the Warden, but in processing the content of Mira's statement, a wheezing chuckle and a nod of appreciation followed. The ways of the Highland brethren were evidently growing on the young Hybrid, and in this particular way, the Warden couldn't help but admit to himself that he approved, as it was a great means of indicating the young Knight's quiet, often-suppressed need to express herself in an outward, open way. Aoki deserved that comfort and so much more for the honour she upheld, and in giving a damn about her mentor's health and wellbeing, Barran couldn't help but wonder what it would take to help his Shadow see (and with her own two eyes to erase every last shred of self-doubt and uncertainty) the legend she was clearly destined to become.

However, as far as the self-actualised, renowned legend sitting next to Mira's boots was concerned, it was clear to the Shadow that the Warden was somewhere a few steps back from his best - again.

Caught red-handed, too-heavily trapped in his own thoughts to hear the footsteps of his trusty Shadow, (laser-focused to such an extent that he didn't even feel her approaching presence through the Force) the usually-coherent Barran had let his first and only student get the drop on him, a rarity for most let alone one so skilled as Aoki; but in consideration of the state Lord Michael was in at the time, not only exhausted but certainly worse for wear, (still sporting some wounds and injuries of which he was not yet aware) it would be easy for Mira to understand why it had been so easy to approach so close unnoticed. Though it wasn't like there were any surfaces shiny enough in area to offer insight to that effect, so in continued cluelessness of his own issues, the Druid was quite content sitting in silent, oblivious ignorance of the peril he was slowly but surely inviting, all as a result of one particular knock to the back of the Warden's head among other, lesser wounds and injuries.

But in changing focus from inward to outward matters, further ignorance of his own condition took precedence as Lord Michael looked up in time to hear Mira continue,'My lord... I...', only to notice she had involuntarily trailed off in an attempt to keep a hold of her emotions. Barran was unable to see properly with blurred vision at the time, but in hearing Aoki words as she declared,'I apologize. I failed my task...', enough dread, and enough anguish could be felt in her voice, her demeanour, and even in the flutterings of her heartache as it resonated in ripples from the surface of the Shadow's soul.

'Its alright, set yersel a pew next t'me for a while. Seems as though you could use a little serenity.... Come, still the waves of the pond in your mind - even if only for a little while. Better than nothin' anyways.'

​

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

A small sense of relief came over her as Barran showed no hard feelings. Memories flickered before her eyes of her uncle gently lifting her from the ground when she was a child.

"You have done your best, dear. That is all I could ask of you."

It warmed her, the memory. But it made her shiver as well. She was positive that her uncle was not proud of her now. And yet, Michael was overcoming her dread with warmth. A small candle lit on a cold winter's night. She weakly stood up again, sighing in exhaustion. She was always settled by his strangely casual dialect and tone. One would expect such a high ranking official to be nothing but proper. But Michael made her feel something more personal than that, something home. He was always a force to be reckoned with, but his mannerisms made him approachable and even kind. She admired it, was even drawn to it. She did not realize herself how much he had become a father to her; she was always so professional. But it was there, and it soothed her.

At more ease with her leader, though still wrecked inside, the shadow took a couple steps forward. She leaned on the wall next to him, resting her head against the wall. The cigarra smoke swirled around him, and a morbid curiosity was triggered.

I apologize, uncle and auntie. But if this helps me feel better right now...

She looked to Michael Barran with drooping, tired eyes. She pointed sloppily to his cigarra, "Can I try?"

His response was to pull a second cigarra out and light that as well. Mira took it with delicate, shaky hands and held the small, warm object in her fingers. She looked down at the smoke. She could see explosions and ash in her memories. Exegol...

Faces of the deceased flashed rapidly before her eyes, making her ever so slightly flinch in a subtle change of expression. That dull expression returned as fast as it had disappeared, and Mira mourned. She consulted Barran, both reporting her mission and venting in guilt.

"I was caught off guard for one moment. One, miniscule, little moment." She spoke harshly, all anger towards herself. "One puny moment was all it took."

She looked straight ahead, to her memories, as she slowly lifted the cigarra. "The squadron was struck by a Mawite monster. I was the only survivor."

She drew the cigarra closer to her mouth, "I identified the person letting the monsters out as a Sith, but I failed to kill him in the cellar."

She placed the foreign object against her lips, still looking ahead in a tired, stoic horror. "I am sure you met more monsters on your way as well. I had not stopped the onslaught"

She attempted to smoke the cigarra - and upon inhaling the fumes, coughed horribly. She hunched over, the coughing fit brutal like she was hacking up a lung. She recovered eventually, leaning against the wall as she weakly held onto the cigarra.

"Mnph!" She rasped, "I had never smoked before. My family barred smoking and drinking from the household growing up."

​

 

[Michael Barran]

2ND POST

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 2

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

'Can I try?'
​

Still halfway down his own cigarra, the Wanderer listened to the sweet, innocent voice of his Shadow, sheepishly revealing,'I was caught off guard for one moment. One, miniscule, little moment.', from the basis of her near-sheepish request. Then after lighting the requested cigarra with his own, puffing it's first draws into flame-headed life, Lord Michael maintained his attentive, wordless silence as Mira accepted the lit deathstick and admitted,'One puny moment was all it took.', taking it all as a burden as most budding commanders would in her predicament.

'The squadron was struck by a Mawite monster. I was the only survivor.'

Rough, and to such an extent Barran could already tell that Aoki could have done nothing to change such circumstances, a judgement call the Warden himself ordained, and all recorded in the comm-link archives for the operation. This was certainly one of those circumstances which absolved Mira of any semblance of blame or penalisation, just like the other Free-State officers in the Battle for the Goshen Rainforest on Lao-Mon, freed from any charge on account of the Wanderer's previous volatilities, his hubris and inexperience with ground-doctrinal technicality. Yet despite this situation bearing great resemblance to his dark first days as a warfighter, it was clear that much had been learned of prudence, patience and cunning since, and even clearer yet still to see that he would be quick to learn his lesson this time - and in contrastingly quicker time than that of yesteryear's roguish, amoral drug-addict.

'I identified the person letting the monsters out as a Sith, but I failed to kill him in the cellar.', the Atrisian hybrid continued, marking the beginnings of a revelation that would make more sense to the Half-Woad than it would to his Shadow in the beginning, though Lord Michael surely didn't mind enlightening Mira if it meant putting her heart and mind at ease. But never being one to interrupt a warrior mid-report, the Wanderer held firm to his wordlessness as his Shadow correctly presumed,'I am sure you met more monsters on your way as well. I had not stopped the onslaught.', though the tattooed hybrid was much too heartbroken to recall that she was ordered specifically to evade and flank around the monsters' swarm.

'Mnph!'

The kind-hearted Warden was on the very verge of assurance on the issue, but before he could get to replying in the silence he was offered, an unexpected interruption would take precedence in the form of a coughing-fit, most-notably that which was often attributed to experiencing the burn of one's first cigarra. Another (though lesser) example of Barran's mind being wayward at the time, failing to piece together certain facts like those pertaining to Lord Michael never once seeing a cigarra or the likes in Mira's hand before, and never once even assuming her to have smoked in her life, especially on account of the fact Aoki had not yet frequented the Hookah Den with the others.

'I had never smoked before. My family barred smoking and drinking from the household growing up.'

Chuckling as he politely took the deathstick away, Barran warmly replied,'Just as well, Mira. As any such bans within the household, strict though they might seem, are marks of a loving parentage in some cultures.', before replacing it with a hipflask and a roguish smirk as if to suggest that his was not one of these stricter cultures to which he referred. Then after stubbing out the remnants of his own cigarra, Lord Michael then put Mira's to his lips, smoked a few draws in silence then calmly drawled,'An' besides, there are smoother, less-intrusive smoky fumes to inhale back on Serenno. An' speaking of which, you haven't frequented our wee Hookah Den yet.... A wee place for Serennoan knights to escape whenever the Galaxy's events are just that wee bit too intense, a place you might prefer to the drinking-establishments I dare say.', taking the talk between them to a welcome place of distraction in their minds with little more effort than a segue.

'We can hold off on the morbid matters for now, even if only for a little while, a bridge we can cross when we get to it.... Oh, an' that whiskey in yer grasp is to be treated with care. Sip it like medicine a few times - then you can pass it back so your Warden can do the same.'

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

"Just as well, Mira. As any such bans within the household, strict though they might seem, are marks of a [I[loving parentage[/I] in some cultures."

Mira smiled. She had never been tempted by such items anyway. She found it easy to live clean, especially when it brought less stress to her family. Her family's love was very strong, and she still missed them dreadfully. Years after their passing, she missed them...

"An' besides, there are smoother, less-intrusive smoky fumes to inhale back on Serenno. An' speaking of which, you haven't frequented our wee Hookah Den yet.... A wee place for Serennoan knights to escape whenever the Galaxy's events are just that wee bit too intense, a place you might prefer to the drinking-establishments I dare say."

Mira appeared unmoving in her demeanor as he took the cigarra and started smoking it himself. All between talking about drinking, bars, a cigars. She only slowly blinked as she listened, but she was confused and uninterested inside. Just what did this have to do with her mission? She looked at him with a resting face that slightly hinted at her bewilderment.

"We can hold off on the morbid matters for now, even if only for a little while, a bridge we can cross when we get to it..."

Oh. He was changing the topic? So suddenly and towards something she was mostly disinterested in? Why? She had always been a very straight to the point, no nonsense kind of person. Then again, she had to remember that Michael Barran was a vastly different person than herself. While he never lacked discipline, he was more like a free eagle than a caged songbird. Far more spontaneous, he struck her as the kind of person who would jump into a lake with zero hesitation.

Mira looked away, looked down at her hand. How could she simply parkour from her heaviness to Michael's more casual discussion? She still have those dead faces. The cold, soulless eyes. The-

"Oh, an' that whiskey in yer grasp is to be treated with care. Sip it like medicine a few times - then you can pass it back so your Warden can do the same."

Mira smiled the tiniest of smiles, scoffing. "I will keep that in mind."

The hybrid frowned again, looking down as silence threatened to overtake the conversation. She sighed, letting her weight rest against the wall as she slid her feet out. She slid down to the floor, sitting. She sighed again, her exhaustion seeping through her voice.

"I want to sleep, I want to eat. I just cannot."

She huffed, "That Hooker Den sounds like a good place to relax. For an extrovert."

She was getting sassier every day. Side effect of spending so much time with the Highland Brotherhood.

"But maybe, a busy enough environment could also drown out the noise in the mind. I do not know. I just wish I could sleep right now..."

​

 

[Michael Barran]

3RD POST

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 3

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

'I will keep that in mind.'
​

Letting out the fatigue with a long, relaxing sigh, it was clear the ordeal had exhausted Mira, and when she admitted,'I want to sleep, I want to eat. I just cannot.', it was clear there was more to consider than just the rigors of fighting specifically. Perhaps even clearer to a concussion-hindered Barran as his shadow veered away from morbid matters, continuing,'That Hookah Den sounds like a good place to relax. For an extrovert.', making an admirable effort to think on something else besides the war for a change. But in the process of remarking,'But maybe, a busy enough environment could also drown out the noise in the mind. I do not know. I just wish I could sleep right now...', it became apparent to Lord Michael that there may have been no way for Mira to escape the horrors in her mind just yet.

'I feel that in my soul, so I do.... An' by the way, you'll be relieved to know you'd be wrong about the Hookah Den we often escape to; operative word being,"Escape", in this case.'

Then with a long, fatigued sigh of his own, the Druid looked up to the dimmed lighting of the hallway above his head, but then smiled as he inhaled a fresh lungful of smoke, dipping his head in happy recollection as visions of the lounging chairs, the Hookah pipe and it's swirling, flavoured wisps of smoke surged with joyous abandon towards the forefront of his thoughts. The warmest sort Lord Michael's mind had experienced in days by then, and in the process of drawling,'Aye, quite the quiet spot t'say the least.... Not much talking or socialising done by folks in our wee back-alley haunt, an' that suits us Imperial Knights jus' fine - we need that quiet calm after all.', the Wanderer himself would reveal his own hampered ability to find peace and serenity in the mind-storm.

'My orders, my permissions, my actions an' inactions alike - all have merit, but all have a fair share o' losses to weigh against the successes. A particular lesson of which you learned all too soon, Mira. This was your,"Lao-Mon", an' once again, the blame should only rest with me.... You are absolved on account of my failings, and to farther put your mind at rest - you've likely earned the respect o' your peers, so rest easy.... You've done all you can for now, an' thats good enough for me.'

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

If only it was that easy to believe him.

She wanted to feel pardoned. She wanted to be relinquished of guilt. And yet, she was unable to accept that it was all Michael. She looked down to her hand, gazing into her palm. Her limp fingers were loosely curled. She felt her songsteel sword clashing with the Sith's weapon even now. The feeling of her own incompetence.

"You gave the orders." She responded, "You gave the commands, yes. But I,"

She clenched her fist, "I was the one trusted to follow them."

She looked up to Michael, her eyes slitted in self loathing, though half covered by her messy hair. "You were the brain. I was the sword arm."

Shame softened her eyes before she looked away again, "And I was a weak sword arm."

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. Her closed eyes replayed the battle back in her mind at lightspeeds, over and over again. Every flaw in her judgement, every misstep and mistake.

"I keep looking back. What could I have done differently? Should I have told the men to let me turn corners before them as cover? Should I have conserved more energy fighting instead of trying to frighten my opposition? Should I have fired that arrow at him instead of firing at the chain of the lift? Should I have jumped more to the left to dodge that scrap metal? Should I have swung from beneath instead of above? Should I still have stayed to fight him; even though it would have cost me my life?"

She opened her eyes, vision blurry. "If I was stronger, wiser, could I-"

She felt something wet slide down her cheek. She unclenched her hand and lifted it to her face. She was crying? She wiped the tear away, falling silent as she tried to stop her incoming sobs. She swallowed multiple times, refusing to let herself cave to that feeling in her back. She had always been so disciplined, so stoic and calm. She had cried once upon reaching this ship. In a conversation with her leader, as undignified as she already was, she did not need to feel even more like an underweight, sick dog.

Michael Barran

​

 

[Michael Barran]

4TH POST

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 4

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

'You gave the orders.'
​

Deep-seated though the evident self-doubt was to see, the Wanderer couldn't but smile in relief that his Shadow still had a heart as she continued,'You gave the commands, yes. But I,', still taking the solemn weight of soldier's guilt like a knife to the gut, though making an admirable effort of fighting against the urge to let it consume her mind. Emotions and statements of which Barran was all too familiar with, though in understanding of the early-service difficulties Aoki faced at the time, Michael kept his mouth shut as Mira further vented,'I was the one trusted to follow them.', letting his most-trusted subordinate get as much as possible off her already-burdened shoulders.

'You were the brain. I was the sword arm.'

As the Warden of the Empire turned his head to make eye-contact with his trusty Shadow again, he was quick to note the emotional pressure was reaching critical mass, the vital turning point visibly in reach, and to the extent Lord Michael continued to keep his words to himself - understanding that this stage of Mira's grief was not to be disturbed or impeded in the slightest.

'And I was a weak sword arm.'

Believing none of it, and especially after seeing the potential for himself in the moment she challenged his beliefs a few years before that night, Lord Michael would know better than to interrupt the process of seeing the realities in her own perspective, especially not with one he considered family already. A reality of which Barran was quite willing to accept, and in stark contrast like before, this would be endeavoured every part as easily as the final puzzle-piece of acquiescence, and all the better off for having his mother's dirk still strapped to his boot at the time. An item of which that just so happened to be intended for ancestral bequeathing to the second son at the right time, but it was earned in valour all the same, coincidentally receiving his heirloom by the old custom, appeasing gods, traditions and the like and making the process all the easier for Lady Carla to justify in the years following her wise choice.

Lord Michael saved her life, and in the process of defending the Jewel of the Mountains from Royalist assassins, had also carved out his right to own a Highlander's dirk as the blood of his mother's clan and in the blood of their enemies alike, a righteous, sanguine ink of the likes his elders had awaited for years.

'I keep looking back. What could I have done differently? Should I have told the men to let me turn corners before them as cover? Should I have conserved more energy fighting instead of trying to frighten my opposition? Should I have fired that arrow at him instead of firing at the chain of the lift? Should I have jumped more to the left to dodge that scrap metal? Should I have swung from beneath instead of above? Should I still have stayed to fight him; even though it would have cost me my life?'

Almost there, Mira....
We need you to grow from this after all.​

And though young Mira didn't know it at the time, her unconditional devotion to cause and mentor alike had inadvertently saved the one who would pass the blade down to her hands in turn, enough to keep the despair of existential and celestial extremes from consuming the Wanderer, and perhaps even enough to keep Lord Michael from making the mistakes that needlessly cost souls to corrects. A profound difference for a humble Imperial Knight to make, and especially in a time when the Warden's own mentors were either missing or too far away to keep the pain from consuming him, giving Barran all the reason he needed to let nature take it's course, as Aoki's lowest of low-points was just seconds away from being reached.

And only then could the Wanderer dare to bring his Shadow back from those depths.

'If I was stronger, wiser, could I-'

There she is....
I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see your soul again.

The heart o' hearts, that which finds strength in honour.
​

Then just as the Half-Woad expected, the young Hybrid's waterworks began, with eyes unleashing a torrent before long; though just as expected was the effort to stem the tide, to hold back the flood of emotions to admirable effect, but such emotion was always the most difficult to fend off in life. These were tears of the likes the Druid had seen before in others in the field, such that had been seen in himself as Lord Michael stared his own face down in the mirror after the accursed first conventional deployments, a bitterness that somehow strengthened the heart and soul if address in a proper and healthy manner, as grief and regret always worked in mysterious ways - and always would.

'Caked in sweat, bruises. dust and the smell of burning flesh that could only come from continued use of your lightsabre, telling of an opponent who needed to exit and retreat as you did.... You not only fought like a warrior, but it would appear quite evident to me that you fought your adversary to an inconclusive draw.'

The Wanderer knew he needed to get the matter-of-fact content of his response out of the way first, knowing it would cut off the despair at it's boiling-point and keep it in place, and perhaps for long enough to guide his Shadow through the process of affirmation without any halts of side-tracking to slow her progress. Mira needed this, as this would help towards the slow and steady aim of helping her break out of her reserved shell, and even if only a little in the end, it would still be enough to give the Shadow the freedom of expression the Wanderer always wanted for her. Enough perhaps that she could enjoy life as a normal individual from time to time, well-adjusted in manner and social decorum as Mira was, and for all the balanced morals and attributes that many around her still lacked, Barran was confident enough that Aoki could settle down and start a clan of her own someday.

Distant though such life-pursuits were in the grand scheme of things, the Warden knew his Shadow would eventually garner loving, romantic thoughts for people whilst Lord Michael himself was off pursuing relationships of his own in turn, as the Empire never once lacked for photogenic bachelors and the likes, and naturally something would take precedence over their Imperial duties eventually. And in Barran's perspective, the Pellaeonist caste were always somewhat-better prepared for integration with the civilian, family elements in the Galaxy around them, or at least, much more so than their Felist and Tarkinist counterparts, and perhaps a lion's share in comparison to the Galaxy resting beyond the Imperial frontier.

'You ask yourself,"If I was, could I change anything?", and yet my answer might surprise you.... You are stronger, and you have changed the course of the fight in our defence - we were forewarned by your diligence after all.... You stemmed the tide for your part in it, though I understand it might not feel that way at the moment. This is perfectly normal, an' this is also normal for most folks after battles of that magnitude. We've jus' fought in the gapin' mouth o' the Maw, in case ye haven't noticed.'

Remembering his own fight against the planet's brutes, and perhaps against the toughest common denominator as they swarmed him en masse, the aches and the pains would make their presence felt, though all but in one spot in particular. Numb to the injury sustained in his fight against the worst of the Mawite denizens around the citadel, along with the blood he was losing as a result, none of the proper alarm-bells were ringing in the Druid's mind yet, a slow-trickling reminder that corporeal souls were often too tough for their own good. Yet with Goidelic-born Humans, there was no discernible way to escape this fact, as it would have gone against their very cultural traditions to expect anything lesser of themselves - or their kin for that matter.

Another proof of sorts, though perhaps in more than just the evidencing of the mortal, sentient pain-thresholds of Michael's compatriots.

Handy though it would be as a tool for survival in Lord Michael's case, it often ended up panning out quite differently for his clansmen, his tribal brethren and every other ethnic group living on Galidraan III at the time, revealing quite a disturbing truth every time. As it was no secret to the native Galidraani from the Prime planet that the best Forlorn Hopes were Goidelic-led every time, the fact such realities weren't lost on men like the Wanderer's kin created an issue of even-greater implication, showing as a sort of proof that the Blue-Hearts, Wildcats and their ilk cared little for as long as it kept their comrades in the fight, and with it revealing a common disregard for their own wellbeing in combat - mostly reported as being the perception of incurring benign injuries and the like.

'Heh! Wildest o' the wild, so it was.... Stuff ye'd only expect the likes o' General Gowrie t'see, an' we were right at the beating heart of evil incarnate, so don't be judgin' yersel too harshly now. You ideally want that channelled, transmuted intae yer training - as it jus' so happens that an Imperial Knight's training is a never-ending process, mind?'

An apt point for one such as the Wanderer to make, ever at risk of being tortured, brutalised and killed by his own powers without it, ever at risk of incurring the agonies of hosting the struggle of Druidic and Force-Wielding power. Agonies of which his Shadow had seen before.

Agonies of which, in the following years, the Shadow was likely to see again in the eyes of her Mentor.

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

"Caked in sweat, bruises. dust and the smell of burning flesh that could only come from continued use of your lightsabre, telling of an opponent who needed to exit and retreat as you did.... You not only fought like a warrior, but it would appear quite evident to me that you fought your adversary to an inconclusive draw."

Mira sniffled, looking down as she reflected off these words; reflected off of how exhausted and beaten both fighters were. She remembered the two on their knees, panting as their weapons shook in their hands. The promises of death, the next time they met. Was Mira truly wise to leave, as he put it? Or would it have been better off if she stayed and killed him in her final breaths. Had she made a difference in the battle at all? Would have-

"You ask yourself, "If I was, could I change anything?", and yet my answer might surprise you.... You are stronger, and you have changed the course of the fight in our defense - we were forewarned by your diligence after all.... You stemmed the tide for your part in it, though I understand it might not feel that way at the moment. This is perfectly normal, an' this is also normal for most folks after battles of that magnitude. We've jus' fought in the gapin' mouth o' the Maw, in case ye haven't noticed. Heh!"

Mira could not help but scoff in amusement at the more snarky edge to his words. True. They had fought in the heart of enemy lines. But being reassured that her warnings and efforts saved Barran's men and himself, it was… well… a dim but warm light hummed in her heart. She finally had the strength to look up to him again, even if her heart was still sore.

"Wildest o' the wild, so it was.... Stuff ye'd only expect the likes o' General Gowrie t'see, an' we were right at the beating heart of evil incarnate, so don't be judgin' yersel too harshly now. You ideally want that channelled, transmuted intae yer training - as it jus' so happens that an Imperial Knight's training is a never-ending process, mind?"

Mira briefly showed a small, sad smile. She looked ahead and leaned her head against the wall. She blinked tiredly. She had always been dead on serious in training, Disciplined, poised. So why did she feel like a lifetime of training got her nowhere? She sighed, all of her frustrations, self-hate, and shame heaved like a heavy box laid on her chest. In just a short amount of time, Michael Barran managed to ease some of her guilt. At least, her contribution to the battle has saved some lives. And yet, she still saw her squadron dead on the ground.

"I am used to battle." She responded, "I watched my hometown burn, my family die before me. I fought countless times for the Empire, cutting down criminals and defending in battles. So why…"

She reached up, touching the scarred side of her face, "Ilum, Exegol. This same feelings of remorse, even if for different reasons. On Ilum, it was a battle of morality. Exegol? This was the first time I lead soldiers. I most certainly let them down. They will never see their-"

-Her aunt. Her uncle. Her father. Her mother. She had been so confused and hurt, when her mother had died all that time ago. Went off on a mission, never came back. This was a twisted feeling of wretched fate. She had fought so hard, so tragedies like that would not affect more families like her's! The tears swelled and finally took over. A rush of tears flooded her eyes and rained down her face.

"This war is sick!"

A sob shook her back, making her vibrate, "This war! Was it worth it to those karking Mawites! I still don't understand! Why would you hurt someone like that!"

She gripped her head, eyes shut as the little child in her broke from her cage of serenity and calm. "My soldiers, the other soldiers I saw, even the moon children! How did it come to all this! The galaxy was too caught up squabbling over other things less important than the mount of victims they created!"

She cursed the Empire and Galactic Alliance's ongoing feud. She cursed the Galactic Alliance's inability to stop the Maw in its tracks. She cursed the Silver Jedi, the Ashlan Crusade, all of them for not taking a stand sooner. "Damn! Damn! Damn!"

She lowered her head. Her body was still shaking as the tears continued to fall.

"Michael…"

The voice that came out sounded nothing like the cool headed, collected Shadow Michael had come to know. It did not even sound like the passionate Pellaeonist whom Michael had met in his home after the Battle of Ilum. This was someone who ad lived before all of that. The three year old toddler who had lost her mother. The stricken teenager shocked at the loss of her home and family. The girl who kept dying inside, again and again, by the time her father had saved her. Beneath the depressive shell, beneath the traditional and stoic Imperial Knight. The soft, sweet little girl once again spoke. Her voice almost squeaked. She sounded way younger than she actually was. An innocent child with a thorn in her heart.

"Is my family proud of me? For what I've become? An Imperial Knight trying to salvage a broken but promising system that could save the galaxy? Were they watching me then? In the halls of the Sith Citadel? Did they see me? Were they… disappointed?"

Slumped, with tears still crashing down, Mira looked up to Michael with pleading eyes. "How could they be proud of me? When the weight of the whole galaxy keeps crushing me? When every downfall and mistake I make breaks my bones?"

​

 

[Michael Barran]

5th Post

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 5

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

'I am used to battle.'
There we go!

Jus' let 'er indulge it, dinnae spoil the moment noo....​

'I watched my hometown burn, my family die before me. I fought countless times for the Empire, cutting down criminals and defending in battles. So why…'

The Warden's Shadow was allowing everything to spill out by then, as anyone would in Miras's predicament.
But just as according to Lord Michael's method, there was purpose to the conscious act of allowing it.​

'Ilum, Exegol. This same feelings of remorse, even if for different reasons. On Ilum, it was a battle of morality. Exegol? This was the first time I lead soldiers. I most certainly let them down. They will never see their-'

​

In Galidraani cultures, it was once referred to as Messenger's Guilt, but as the centuries passed, the,"Messenger's", variety gradually became that of the,"Warrior's", then the,"Sailor's", sort. Then after reaching the stars, such specific feelings were attributed simply to Soldiers to round it off in a fittingly-generalised description, continuing in folkloric fashion until it mutated into the universal term that all would describe as Survivor's Guilt. A particular term with which many across the Galaxy had become acquainted, and though such psychological reactions were mostly known only to the afflicted and the psychologists who studied and treated them accordingly, the concept had certainly travelled far and wide in lingual searches for the proper relevant articulation, though it needn't have travelled so far in Lord Michael's case.

'This war is sick!'

As things stand, up until this point, Mira is right.
But do not interrupt 'er now. Not at the cusp of a turning point like this.
​

'This war! Was it worth it to those karking Mawites! I still don't understand! Why would you hurt someone like that!'

The intensity of the young Hybrid's weeping, even though she was still trying to keep it all from spilling out at once, was visible enough despite the fact her eyes and posture were facing toward the floor, holding her head in her hands as Barran watched on attentively. And yet, despite the Wanderer's diligent efforts to offer a pillar of emotional strength to his honour-bound Shadow, a slow-creeping realisation would begin to crawl it's way toward the forefront of his mind, one such that was poised to change both their lives for the better.

'My soldiers, the other soldiers I saw, even the moon children! How did it come to all this! The galaxy was too caught up squabbling over other things less important than the mount of victims they created!'

Each and every last word the Shadow spoke, and right down to the last syllable, lashed at the tough exterior of the Druid's mind as he listened on, struck by the resonating truth of the Hybrid's heart as she exclaimed,'Damn! Damn! Damn!', hearing and feeling what Mira herself was feeling as it reminded Michael of his own self-condemnation near the end of the Second Imperial Civil War. It was all beginning to stem back to the touchy subject of family by then, a subject of which had only been spoken in Highland House of the likes of King Lucien Dooku before this moment, and of the brother who was resurrected somewhere in the Unknown Region, spurring the realisation on to a quicker (though still somewhat slow and steady) realisation within the Warden's soul.

'Michael…'

Even in the way she appealed to the Warden, the young Shadow's ventings somehow managed to resonate beyond the mind and the heart-of-hearts, reaching into the soul of one who was fast realising the Hybrid herself was one he saw as family, like a daughter who deserved a family more than most. A realisation unlike any other in the Wanderer's mind, and the creeping momentum with which it moved to the fore was picking up speed, reminding Lord Michael that he also had to think of his clan's next generation as his father had in 862 ABY, instilling a specific need he spurned for decades before that night. Clan Barran was at it's most-vulnerable state, and the most-vulnerable since the bastard-born progenitor was first exiled from the family who betrayed him, and in the understanding that Lord Erskine himself had expressed intent to adopt a daughter of his own, the Lord-Regent's second son quickly understood the necessity that drove it.

The pride that fuelled old Barran's five-year intention, as that same pride just so happened to flow (in it's own way) through the Wanderer's veins in turn, an evolution of the bloodline that none could have foreseen, a little gift of the father's faith that spoke through him in traditional and moral behaviours already. The same gift of which his own mother adhered, but in that lay the last puzzle-piece, awaiting him to grasp the sheathe and detach the dirk it held from the utility-belt it was bound to, a brave's dirk that meant more to the Goidels than any of their cousin-like ilk in the Galaxy. As like the dirk that was passed from mother to son in the earlier years of their exile from Galidraan, a small semblance of the faith that guided Lady Carla's Force-Sensitive soul was guiding Lord Michael in these moments as well, a little morsel of St. Anne's brave kindness that had been passed down to the second son, though every part as much as it had to the firstborn.

A familial complication of which was still yet to transpire by then, one for which the Wanderer could never prepare - one for which none could in Barran's accursed predicament.

As such is the way of a mother's mercy.
Seemingly callous at the surface - but beneficial for the soul in the long-run.​

'Is my family proud of me? For what I've become? An Imperial Knight trying to salvage a broken but promising system that could save the galaxy? Were they watching me then? In the halls of the Sith Citadel? Did they see me? Were they… disappointed?'

If they were, then they would do well to beg my forgiveness.
But I know this is not the case.
Let 'er finish, your daughter-to-be has earned this mu-

Oh.... So that's how it goes.
​

'How could they be proud of me? When the weight of the whole galaxy keeps crushing me? When every downfall and mistake I make breaks my bones?'

It was time to stop the pain, it was but only on account of the fact it was starting to hurt Lord Michael to see such pain assailing his daughter-to-be, reaching around to Lady Mira's arm on the other side to pull her in for a one-armed hug, and a gifted kiss to the top of her head to calm her heart even further before he finally answered,'Well, I can't speak for how proud they were without any o' those Arkanian herbs in my system.... But if they're with you now as I suspect, I'll openly state they had better be proud o' ye - as the alternative would mean the Galaxy's first ever recorded case of reverse-haunting. An' they better be listenin' loud an' clear, I tell ye.', jokingly offering the honesty of a would-be father's heart as any loving parent would in his shoes. If a little abrasive, it still showed heart enough to the spirits who watched over their daughter, heart enough to prove his devotion as a father in his own right - in the willed endeavour to keep her safe as they had in their last living years.

'An' besides, there's something else I must openly state in sight of the living and the dead alike.... An' it all starts wae this wee wonder - the dirk my mother gifted me for my bravery.'

Detaching the small, though long-bladed dagger from the utility belt, the Wanderer didn't even need to unsheathe it for the dirk to have an effect on his already-emotional state of mind, as it went much deeper than a matrilineal bond to the tribe and all the meaning they gave to the blade he held in his off-hand, much deeper than the status that went with receiving one through acts of valour. The blade itself, in Barran's perspective, was more like a little time-capsule, reminding himself of the fear, the horror and the sudden rush of cathartic rage that unleashed every disruptor round in the throng of wicked assassins approaching from the foyer. That same cathartic rage of which that took Lord Michael almost thirty-five years to conquer within himself, but with it, a fleeting, joyful memory of Lady Carla's second wind, that which slaughtered all who remained to try their luck - of the smile and embrace they both shared just seconds after the last assailant dropped to the floor.

And if Lady Carla could be that pillar of strength for her second son, then Lord Michael would make every effort to be that pillar for his Shadow, continuing a near-obscure tradition in the most heartfelt way imaginable.

'I was barely even nine summers passed at the time this was handed down to me, an exile just like everyone else in my family in those days, hidden behind the shadowy veil of the Wild Space planets on the Galactic outer-rim, moving from household to household like damned nomads.... I do not recall my childhood with any fondness but for those who made it worth enduring, but I recall this one memory like it were only yesterday, as if these scarred hands of mine were halving in size before my very eyes.'

Gripping at the hilt, and so tightly it may have been audible enough for a distraught Shadow to overhear, showing apparent evidence that the Warden himself was fighting back tears of his own by then, as despite all he learned from the experience, it no doubt left a trauma that the boy took into adulthood with him. Likely there to haunt Lord Michael for the rest of his life, as the destruction wrought by Lord Erskine's pistol on it's own would've been too much for any such lad to experience at that age, let alone an exiled little Lordling of the would-be Wanderer's sort; and in the act itself, there was a chance Lady Carla saw a reason to delay the Force-training of her second son, begging her own fate to let little Michael live a life with at least some amount of normalcy - even if it wasn't fated to last very long.

'The greatest living Goidelwife, even now, and the greatest of her sort with a sword, surrounded on three sides by foes who intended to murder us both - all up until they saw me pick up my father's Fragarach.... I was too young to go fishing with my father at the time, as he also wanted time to talk to my brother about grownup stuff as far as I recall, so it stands to reason that if I had persisted in joining them - my mother would not be with us now. Damned with regret either way, seen? Damned with the,"What ifs", for as long as we let it assail us, but those days are done now - an' here's why.'

Laying the sheathed dirk in the palm of his Shadow's left hand, closing her fingers around it in confirmation of it's changing ownership, the Wanderer's tears would then start to flow as he finally declared,'You've been brave for my sake, as I was for - a woman who will become your grandmother, by way of adoption.... My five-year intention - to become your father.', starting the very first moments of his five-year intention as the very last of the Second Great Hyperspace War drew to their natural conclusion. Like a phoenix rising from it's own ashes, life would thrive where death once prevailed, and in this realisation the Warden had his sign from the cosmos, that one irrefutable proof they were finally safe from pain, death and destruction.

Or so they thought, as there was still an unnoticed matter to which Barran was dangerously numb at the time

 

[Aoki-Barran Mira]

She had always been so obsessed with the past. Obsessed with tradition and culture, obsessed with customs and mannerisms. Obsessed with her family, her old home, and their legacy. She was steeped deep in Atrisian ways, doing everything she could to keep her family's memory alive. She had been a model citizen, the perfect child, and the most dedicated of warriors. She was so obsessed with the past, however, that when something new showed up, she often times failed to read its significance to her.

That was, until, it slapped her in the face.

With the knife in her closed hand, Mira looked down in dumb shock. It would appear as if she had zero reaction to Michael's powerful, heartfelt proclamation at all. In reality, she was just in a state of shock. Shock, with her mind racing rapidly as she connected dots and caught up with her own unrealized emotions. Up to this point, she had thought of herself merely as a tool for Michael's design. The sword arm in his grand scheme to usher in a benevolent and compassionate Empire. She had thought, that if she was sacrificed for his goal, she would be at peace with it. She was his pawn, his weapon, his tool.

Of course, she still valued him. Not just as her leader, but as her mentor and ally. She was simply so used to the Empire's stoic, proactive ways of life that she failed to let herself realize it. But all the signs were there. Her striving to personally make him proud; her fears for his safety and very life; her unending dedication to him and his cause, beyond mere political leanings. She looked up to him, cared for him, and viewed him in the same light she had looked up to her own family. She... loved him.

But a father? It was an amazing bewilderment to her. He saw her as far more than just some tool. She was more than just his sword arm. Far more, in fact. The girl so obsessed with her dead family, she had been blind to the newfound family right in front of her face. Michael Barran actually saw her as something personally significant, his daughter. She was stunned into silence.

Her hand limply held the dagger in her hand as her thoughts raced. She had not necessarily been blindsided by this revelation. Though, it shook her with surprise. He told her of his own memories, his own sufferings as a child, and how his mother shaped him into the person he was today. He also spoke of regret.

"Damned with regret either way, seen? Damned with the, "What ifs", for as long as we let it assail us, but those days are done now"

She finally looked up to Michael as more and more of his wisdom slowly sunk in. She was so obsessed with the past. She was obsessed with unanswering ghosts. She was obsessed with all the things she was now unable to change. That set in stone state of misery usually threatened to overtake her. But now? For the first time, a sense of optimism arose from her downtrodden heart.

"To become your father."

Perhaps, it was okay if her parents did not one hundred percent agree with her. Perhaps, it was okay if she chose a different path. Perhaps, even if she felt remorse for the past, there was still a future to look forward to. Perhaps, her life was meant to be something more than this misery. Perhaps, she had something to look forward to after all. Perhaps, she was not the failure she thought she was.

Maybe she was not worthy of Utaken. Not yet. Maybe, she was not a good Aoki. But a good Barran? Maybe, just maybe, she was worthy of the dirk in her hand.

After long last, her face displayed a noticable response.

She sniffled, tears still streaming down her face. She clenched the dirk, her face hardening in determination. Loyalty shone in her red shot eyes as she pulled the dirk to her chest in a salute. It was a move made with power and energy behind it. Purposeful and direct. She gulped, trying to ease her tight throat. Still holding the dagger, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Michael. Sobs shook her body as she held onto him, heart pounding. She was not giving him some formal bow or usual militant motion. This was far more personal. The hug of a daughter finding safety and reassurance in her father. She buried her face in his shoulder, muffled as she finally parted her lips to speak.

"..."

Her throat throbbed. Words failed. Her voice briefly croaked, then fell silent. Her free hand clenched the back of his shirt. Was the shirt wet? She did not quite register it. She opened her mouth again, still unable to voice how she felt, except...

"Thank you... My knight commander, my leader, my mentor, my ally, my... my father."

She let herself fall silent again, still hugging him. But as she did, she realized that there was a scent of blood far fresher than all the rest. Furthermore, the shirt was wet, but not with water.

Suddenly, she tore from the hug with clear alarm on her face. She stood up, only to move behind him. She parted some of his hair and gasped at the bloody mess she saw.

"You're bleeding!"

She extended a hand and started on Force healing him. But fearing that it was not enough, she slipped his arm over her neck and stood, Still holding the dirt, she applied further Force healing as she spoke firmly.

"Infirmary. Now."

​

​

 

[Michael Barran]

6th Post

CAIRN_ONE
RINGLEADER OF THE PELLAEONIST CLIQUE
WARDEN OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
DRUID-GRANDMASTER OF THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Tags: Aoki-Barran Mira

BORN OF BRIGHT STARS VIII: SILENCE OF A CAIRNSMAN - PART 6

EXEGOL'S OUTER ORBIT,
THE UNKNOWN REGIONS (LATE-878 ABY)

'...'
​

At first, it seemed as though the Wanderer had perhaps expressed too much too soon, as anyone could have been forgiven for being taken aback, even shocked by such a life-changing revelation in his Shadow's shoes. But then an affectionate hand reached out and grabbed the back of Lord Michael's shirt, revealing the impact the truth had left on Lady Mira's soul, warming his own as the Shadow finally replied,'Thank you... My knight commander, my leader, my mentor, my ally, my... my father.', in turn handing her would-be adopted father a revelation of the likes he never imagined he would hear in his lifetime. Even in his sharp descent into shock, creeping with each and every passing second, the Wanderer was once again reduced to tears, realising the true extent of his inherent need to nurture and protect.

The true power of that little boy who shot his mother's assailants, that brave little boy who did it all without so much as a second thought.

Just when all the Galaxy seemed to be crashing down around him, in moments when even the last battle of a War is concluded, with the last, distant shots ringing out in their last acts of defiance, all was beginning to feel as if the multitude of breaks and cracks within Barran's mind were healing. Soothing all the hurts in his mind like a salve on irritated skin, bringing about a soul-deep serenity that seemed to pulsate calmly light from within the mind that suffered so much until that point, a feeling unlike any other in life; but in this wonder, in this most-glorious reminder of life's greatest rewards, lethality's brightest warning-signs had been left to needless chance in the folly of the Wanderer's unwitting distraction.

'You're bleeding!'

He hadn't even felt the hand touch or withdraw from the back of his head, and without so much as a tingle when the hair on the crown of his skull was parted to find the source of the bleeding, Barran's consequent (and pointless-) attempt to check for a nosebleed only served to further-compound the worries that were running through Aoki's mind on the matter, made all the worse for his daughter-to-be when finding no blood on his fingers still wasn't enough for it all to click in his mind. Seeing this for herself, it was then that the Shadow's sense of initiative kicked into overdrive, firmly ordering,'Infirmary. now.', doing all that was in her power to keep from losing another parent in a single lifetime. No heart was ever made to withstand such grief, such anguish, a specific truth to the soul of the likes Lady Mira was unwilling to reacquaint with, and especially not if she had the power to prevent such misfortune from befalling an already-tragic lifespan.

'Oh.... I see.... Finally, an injury worse than those I got on Lao-Mon. But where-?'

Barely even aware of being lifted up to his feet, and just slightly more in the motion of being laid out on a hover-stretcher, the whole time his fingers were prodding different suspected spots on his head and checking for blood; but when the Wanderer eventually stretched out his legs, taking a few slow-breathing moments then to check farther back, a sharp, stinging pain eventually told the Imperial Warden all that he needed to know. Head trauma, and of the likes that made all the others pale in comparison, and even with all the combined nose-bleeding agonies that pushed Barran beyond his pain-threshold, none could even hope to hold a candle to the damage incurred by that one clash with the back of his head. The warriors of Exegol's last stand, wild and destructive though they had been in life, had shown something of an honour that the Wanderer hoped the Empire would display in it's last moments, whenever that ill fate was to befall the realm.

'Heh! So the Brutes left their mark after all.... Fair - play.... Here's hopin' - the war.... Is ended now.'

Slurring speech, dropping into yet another lethal phase of his approach to a sleep the Wanderer knew he would never wake up from, but it was in this quickening loss of function and coherence that something new began to take Barran by surprise, a form of sight previously unknown to him began to reveal things as if he were looking to the world around him from beyond the existential veil. Lord Michael could see, and even feel the candle-flames within the beating hearts of his comrades, as if he were a ghost or a celestial, watching and waiting for all the flames to flutter and die in little wisps of smoke, snuffed out one-by-one and seemingly with no way to stop it.

Little did the Warden know that this was a natural part of post-battle hours playing out, with some of the sleepers in the halls just being too far gone to wake again, bleeding out without asking or even wishing for medical-assistance, as such was the way of the proud, tribalistic archetype. It was always,"Nuthin' t'worry yersel aboot, survived worse than iss on many a deployment afore.", or,"Aye, settle doun. It was jus' a through-an'-through, see?", and never at any point sounding off with,"Mate, I think I'm in a bad way. Get a triage-medic down here just in case.", both a blessing and a blight for suchlike contingents that had risen high in the Empire over the years. This mindset was always (and from the offset of their Imperial presence in 864ABY at that) considered to be a Field-Surgeon's Recurring Nightmare for most medics in the Empire, but much to the dismay of most, this would never change for as long as Goidels were permitted to fight.

'Mira - something's happening to me, something - new.... An'.... An' I'm not - so sure - I like it.... Feels - like - I'm the one - dying on Ilum instead.'

By then the only thing keeping the Wanderer from giving in to grief or anguish completely were the small pockets of strong, sturdy souls in differing parts of the ship, even gathering around the boarding-pod bays and the suspected weak-points on the ship that protected them in turn, instilling at least a small hope that the Highland Brotherhood had survived enough to fight again someday. But the realisation of his predicament overshadowed and distracted Barran from that hope, as there was something altogether more important to consider in that moment, a specific matter that overshadowed all the things of which the bloodied Druid could not control, with that matter being coincidental nearness to a fate he almost could control in contrast.

Sinnsear'an....
Whether I survive this - or not.... Watch for me in the stars.​

A fate Lord Michael so desperately tried to make his own with lasting finality, a fate that assured lasting prosperity, and for a realm in dire need of such rewards - and all was approaching the greatest risk of vanishing like the flames within the deeps of the Warden's own heart.

Snuffed out, smothered like daybreak's lingering candle-light.

'I - I can feel, even see - the souls of my - comrades.... Dying - around us..... You need to hurry!'

Watch - for me.... In the stars.

​