Private What Remains of the Blade

[Vizion Trozky]

COUNCIL CHAMBERS
SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
NABOO

​

At most hours outside of a set meeting, the main chamber of the Council was in a state of dormant peace, its lights dimmed and doors shut. But after the morning’s meeting, a gentle glow remained for the Grandmaster, one councillor, and the Jedi coming to meet them in the afternoon.

Well, to meet her. Vizion just happened to be there to discuss the council meeting with her, like they often did between themselves, but not usually here. Wasn’t most days Briana had meetings almost book-ended like this, but it was what it was. Wasn’t most days she delegated enough, either, but that was something else entirely.

Change took time, even on the broader scale she’d instituted earlier. It wasn’t at all like flipping a switch. There was going to be a lot of work to do to turn that 'vision' into reality, and still one of them wasn't convinced: Bran, ever the contrarian.

“I got it in mind to visit Jakku soon,” speaking of far-flung enclaves, “Master Hallas wants to do a closer check on my progress with the seventh form,” Viz shifted in his seat - she'd decided it, when he told her he'd be there anyway, “and I feel pulled there. Don’t know why.”

That was the way of it for a Jedi, sometimes. He’d have to go and find out, but he didn't get any feeling of unease from this call, and time in the peace of the sands was always welcome.

“If you get the proposal for the enclaves nailed down while I’m there, send it,” he glanced down at his chrono, then at Briana, “it’s almost time.”

His head cocked slightly to one side, listening to the approaching footfalls.

“And that must be him.”

The son of a Jedi he'd never met... not that this was unusual, for him.

Briana Sal-Soren • Kyric​

 

[Kyric]

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 | Vizion Trozky
Honorable Mentions: Auteme

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

“Jakku, hm?” Briana repeated with a musical-hmm, the corners of her lips ticking up ever so slightly and the fondness in her tone unmistakable. It was almost strange, in a way, to think back on just how much time passed since she’d first asked him to leave that post, of the harrowing circumstances surrounding it, and of all the events that’d followed, while at the same time feeling as though no time had passed, if hardly at all.

"Sounds like she has good reason to ask you there. You should especially go if you're feeling drawn to go back. Though, I have to admit, I hate to see you leave again so soon." He'd only arrived back on Naboo a few days ago after his assignment on the Five Veils route. It seemed, more often than not, that they were apart than together lately. Stealing moments here and there, when and wherever they could. Vizion's restlessness, and the very nature of his position, bore most of the weight from that, but she knew not all of the blame could be laid at his feet alone.

The Republic was growing and reshaping, but so too were the Jedi, and with that reshaping came additional responsibilities of her own. Obtaining the cooperation of the different Enclaves to establish a network for the Underground, was still a work in progress. Still fragile. Every step forward took patience, persistence, and her undivided attention. At least until it was strong enough to stand on its own two feet.

Beyond that, it wasn't as though the two of them owed anything to each other. The nature of what laid between them, was yet undefined. A line that she'd drawn, and redrawn, whenever the subject pressed too close to the surface. Surely, she had no right to complain about his comings and goings.

“And that must be him.”

Vizion's words, paired with the soft cadence of approaching footfalls managed to pull Briana out of her musings, the Jedi Knight rising elegantly to her feet as Kyric approached to enter the chamber, smoothing down the front of her tunic and setting her posture straight. A habit ingrained in her since childhood: the importance of appearance and how one presents themselves on first impression. That was the most important impression, her father used to say, for you never got a second chance to make another one.

Getting ready to stand before the son of the former Sword of the Jedi, who'd helped shape the New Jedi Order that she'd served and trained under for the majority of her Padawan years... Briana thought she knew what to expect, and what might be expected of her in return. Kyric was a few years younger than her, she knew, but no doubt bearing the sort of fire she'd expect from the son of Ryv Karis, whose stories still carried across the galaxy.

But, when Kyric finally stepped into the council chamber, Briana faltered for a heartbeat, lashes blinking a few times as what she expected, and reality, tried to reconcile. Not because of the bandages, nor the scars that adorned him — these were unfortunately all too common among many of the Jedi these days — but because of the sight of tears streaking down his face.

The vulnerability of it was startling, and certainly not the first impression she'd ever imagined of Ryv Karis' son. There was no grandeur, no air of legend clinging to him, only a quiet sort of humility, unpretentious and modest. And yet, beneath that, the Force painted another picture entirely, one that was vast and thrumming with strength; like a river running swift and deep beneath still waters.

Whatever he had endured, and whatever lay ahead in the grand scheme of the Force, he was in no way small. Not in the slightest.

"Knight Karis," she greeted, her surprise softening into something gentler as she inclined her head in a show of respect towards him. "I'm glad we finally have the chance to speak, and I'm sorry it didn't happen sooner. I understand you've been with us for a time now and I've been looking forward to hearing from you directly." A gentle warmth carried in the cadence of her voice, her head tilting and brow raising a tick. "Would you like to sit? As you tell us what it is you have to say?"

TAG: Vizion Trozky , Kyric | EQUIPMENT: Ligthsaber, Echo Stone, Astor's Dagger



​

 

[Vizion Trozky]

COUNCIL CHAMBERS
SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
NABOO

​

Vizion followed suit, rising along with Briana, similarly smouthing out his own tunic. Though he’d left home in childhood to begin his Jedi training, his own master was of the nobility himself, and had continued ingraining in him the same matters of appearance and presentation that his parents had started, though because they were Jedi, and these things mattered as much in that case.

When Kyric entered the room, the sight of the younger man’s bandages didn’t surprise him, though something compelled him to pay close attention to the ravaged knight as the Denonite’s words failed him when he fixed on Briana. Vizion coild clock that as predictable.

But.

Though he had seen the way others gawked at her aplenty over the years, this was no such thing, not when his own perception shifted in the same moment. Not when the Force painted Kyric in such a manner he’d seen but a handful of times — Hapes. His coma. His old apartment on Coruscant. The Enclave on Jakku. Time spent in this very chamber, subjected to the roil of disagreement and the glimmer of rare, thin consensus. Yet this, here, made no sense.

It wasn’t until either of the two of them spoke that Vizion was made to refocus, his gaze slipping toward Briana in the midst of her greeting to their guest. He turned his attention back to Kyric just as slowly, then glanced down for the short moment it took to put fist to mouth, and softly clear his throat.

What did this mean?

“Please,” he echoed, lifting his eyes again and gesturing to one of the seats at the table, “you’ve the look of a man who could use it.”

Briana Sal-Soren • Kyric​