Shiraya's Sanctuary stood in stark contrast to what Kyric considered appropriate for the likes of a Jedi Order. It stretched across a mountainous region of Naboo that served to protect the temple from unwanted attention, providing its many adherents with a peaceful place to study and grow. Vast and open-air facilities provided a naturalist touch, connecting those within to the world beyond. Few knew of its existence. Even fewer have seen it. The Light shone strong from this hidden gem buried deep within the Gallo Mountains, a true testament to perseverance and artisanal mastery. Yet, the kiffar struggled to overcome a sense of trepidation seeded within him.
The Sanctuary was opulent beyond belief and out of reach from those the Order was sworn to protect. Even if the Jedi were to throw open the doors of the temple to the Naboo, the difficulties one faced in reaching the Sanctuary barred them from whatever safety to find within its hallowed halls.
Lost in equal parts to the storm within his mind and the lush greenery pouring over the distant Meditation Summit, Kyric's gaze inevitably found his reflection in the glass panes before him. He lifted his bandage-wrapped hand and gently pressed it against the glass, covering his scarred visage with a wry smile. These thoughts served no greater purpose than to distance himself from the Jedi who called the Sanctuary home; as if his haunted gaze and ragged attire weren't enough.
Kyric turned away from the window and moved with quiet purpose for the Council Chambers. Weeks had pissed since he first arrived within the Sanctuary—more than the kiffar found reasonable, really, but he wasn't the type to complain. He found purpose elsewhere in the meantime. Darkness beckoned him forth to face the inexplicable. To cross blades with threats new and old. Serenity escaped him. The trappings of peace were a gift meant not for the Jedi Knight who stood in service to the greater good, no. They were the purpose for which Kyric took up his sword in the first place, no different than what drove his father into an early grave.
The kiffar stood before the Council Chambers with a hand wrapped tight around Resolute's hilt. He felt a sense of calm wash over him as the force-imbued blade soothed his mind and washed away his more troubling thoughts.
Hesitation is defeat.
He found strength in Inosuke's words even separated from the old atrisian Master all these years. They preserved the student through his darkest hours, stretched indiscriminately over the two years since Coruscant.
Kyric stepped into the chamber proper, his single eye scanning first Vizion, then Briana, where it lingered for several heartbeats. The kiffar opened his mouth to announce himself, but his voice failed him. The Grandmaster shone like a living star. Her warmth filled the room and chased away any lingering doubts within Kyric's mind.
Before he knew it, he no longer stood within the chambers.
The room was replaced with an old bar on Denon, freshly renovated by his father. One of the many holoprojectors displayed another senate hearing. The contents of the discussion still escaped Kyric to this day, but it wasn't the debate that mattered. It was the woman at the center of it all who Ryv Karis watched with unabashed joy. She spoke with certainty. Her voice carried over the convocation hall like the roar of the wind. With each word she uttered, his smile grew. By the end of Auteme's speech, tears streaked down the exile's face. When a younger Kyric asked why of his father, Ryv's words failed him, too.
When the memory faded and Kyric once again stood within the Council Chambers of the Sanctuary, he felt them there. Blood rolled down his right cheek from his ruined socket in tiny rivulets, salt-stained tears his left. He lifted his bandaged arm and wiped away the streaky mess with a weak chuckle.
"Afternoon, councilors," Kyric began without further acknowledgment of his sudden display. "I've come to discuss matters of great import."
Tags:
Briana Sal-Soren
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Vizion Trozky
Honorable Mentions:
Auteme
