Private We, The Unwilling

[Xashe Tistya]

Xashe may have been an exile to the New Jedi Order, but she had learned about the network of enclaves and lesser orders long before she left their service. Creaut’s warning signs should have been clear when he shunned their peers, appearing in the Coruscant Temple as little as possible. The two had sought refuge amongst the weary and seeking, a habit she continued through her knighthood. So when she had escaped that space station, coordinates were ready to go, punched in before she collapsed on the flooor of the cockpit.

She did not remember her arrival on Naboo. She did not know who pulled her from her ship after it crash landed, nor what healer had brought the burns that marred her body to angry scars. The med staff reported it was weeks since her arrival, but she only recalled the few days since her wakening. Not yet strong enough to track her former master again, she filled her days wandering. The grounds outside the temple offered a trial of strength. When she had enough of sun and greenery, she retreated the libraries and forgotten corridors, avoiding the population at large.

It was on her way back from a walk of the grounds she saw him. The face hadn’t been clear in the vision, but the streaks of his hair - they were unique in the way they framed his face. Xashe stopped, staring at the figure walking opposite the sunlit hall. Rays danced in the distance between them.

“You.” The mirialan withdrew one hand from her pocket, touching at her chin contemplative. “What’s your name?”

Xashe stepped from her own lane of the corridor to the middle of the golden carpet that framed ivory walls, a stance that demanded an answer for passage.

“I think I’m supposed to know you.”

Kyric

 

[Kyric]

Being cooped up in temples did little to ease Kyric's growing tension. Great dangers lurked within the shaded corners of the galaxy, waiting patiently in preparation to strike out and sunder the Light anew. Threats new and old reared their ugly heads like a stubborn tumor. No level of treatment proved sufficient to root out the influence of the Dark Side, as even the staunchest protectors throughout the Jedi Order's storied history found themselves under fire by Bogan's machinations.

With each quiet nudge along Kyric's path by his enemies, he felt the temptation to give in to his darkest emotions grow stronger. They resided within the deepest parts of his mind like an unwanted memory. He shoved them down with certainty at first, confident the desire to break his foe was nothing more than an intrusive thought. But time—and captivity—changed him. Kyric knew now what his family fought tirelessly to protect him from for so long.

No one escaped the call of destiny.

Drawn out of his revere while wandering back from his own quiet study session, Kyric glanced up at an unfamiliar mirialan. Some childish part of him hoped beyond reason that Sol had finally found him after years apart, but the stranger's eyes lacked his friend's warmth and compassion with which he grew accustomed.

"Er-" Kyric held up a hand and pointed at himself like the gesture could free him from the encounter. He event went so far as to look to and fro in hopes of finding someone directly behind him.

No such luck.

"My name's Kyric—Kyric Karis. I can't say I'm familiar with ye, ma'am. Is there somethin' I can help ye with?" He began to fidget almost immediately, but he kept his eye locked on the woman before him.

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Tags: Xashe Tistya

 

[Xashe Tistya]

“Karis.”

The resemblance was uncanny - she should have seen it sooner. A half-smile cracked Xashe’s hardened demeanor. She was still half a child when she fled from her family estate, and couldn’t have understood the mantle of the sword fully. By the time she came into her apprentice ship, he was banished, his reputation tarnished - but a boy band poster with him as front man still hung on her wall for years.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t know me. I don’t think you fought along side the New Jedi before I left their ranks. I am Xashe Tistya.”

The poor boy looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin, wishing he could be anywhere but here. There was something beneath the surface of it Xashe recognized. An exhaustion he was too young to possess. She took a step back, coming off the attack, and considered how to broach the subject.

“I am on a mission. Do you perhaps know the former Jedi master Rhis Fisto? Nautolan, tattooed?”

Xashe refused to speak the dark sider’s new name. There was a power in that which she would not grant him.