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| - “All rise.” The quiet command echoed through the solemn courtroom and two dozen people rose in a muted rustle of fabric. Their eyes focused on a single person sitting at the witness stand, who was flanked by a pair of Elite Guardians standing vigilant guard and whose sentence was about to be pronounced. Ariada stood quietly, her eyes locked straight ahead. She had a sense of foreboding about the outcome of her trial. She’d read the relevant regulations before her ill-fated attempt to crack the data files from Psykith. She had been denied contact with anyone other than her legal counsel or her superiors, until now. However, even though the members of her team were present, she did not look to them for strength now. She could expect scarce support from that direction. She had sensed they did not sympathize with her rash actions. Then she considered Ryion and Ariada’s resolve almost faltered at the thought of what she had inflicted upon him. She had deceived him, used him, and shut him out of her plans. He was deeply wounded even if though wanted to help her—his testimony had conveyed that much earlier, how resistant he’d been to detailing her full involvement—but it was pointless to justify her actions unless he understood the gravity of her mission. She already knew she was guilty; she had admitted as much in her questioning. It had been a short trial and an even shorter deliberation, so it was beyond a remote chance that the jury had somehow been swayed by her justification of achieving a greater good through her various crimes. “Has the sentence for the defendant been reached?” asked the presiding officer, a distinguished female Falleen Elite Guardian named Xlora, one of the senior members of the entire order. “It has,” announced one of the jury members. “Then let it be read.” “We find Ariada Cerulaen guilty of three counts of insubordination, one count of assaulting an Elite Guardian, two counts of breaching a secure facility without authorization, two counts of misappropriating Elite Guardian equipment for personal use, and an elevated count of computer misconduct. We find her state of mind to be unrepentant and judge that she is no longer fit to continue serving as an Elite Guardian after abusing the trust placed in her.” “What is the recommendation of the panel?” Xlora asked. “We recommend that she be held at Haxares Station for at least five years without rank or privilege. We recommend that she be placed under constant supervision and regarded as a renegade Force-user until she has successfully proven that she has reformed her behavior and defeated the darkness within her.” Haxares Station. Ariada knew what that was, too. It was a polar monitoring station operated by the Yanibar Guard set in the middle of a frozen ice field with nothing else around for hundreds of kilometers. It also served as a special prison for Force-users, complete with guards trained in disabling such prisoners, Force-repelling ysalamiri, and powerful counselors well-trained in identifying and assisting troubled Force-users. It was much a prison as a reform center, but one either learned their lesson, or spent the rest of their days in an icy, desolate wasteland isolated from everything they ever knew before. Nobody had ever escaped, either, because there was nowhere to flee to and nowhere to hide. In that, Haxares was brutally effective. “The court approves your recommendation,” Xlora pronounced. “So it shall be done.” Then the senior Elite Guardian directed her reptilian gaze down to Ariada. “Does the defendant have any further words?” “I do,” Ariada replied calmly, making sure to sweep her eyes across the courtroom, though she skipped over Ryion. “You sentenced me for breaking all of the ordinances listed above. I’d like to add one more: of doing whatever I can to save this refuge and the galaxy from the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong. While you feel that justice is being done by shipping me to Haxares—and maybe you’re right—remember that the real enemy is still out there. Justice be done.” She was rewarded to see several people in the audience—including her teammates—shift uneasily at her words. They’d had the desired impact. “So noted,” Xlora said crisply. “Escort the prisoner to a holding area and prepare her for transport to Haxares. The court is dismissed.” The others gathered in the room mulled around before dispersing completely, and again none of them made eye contact with her. Ariada lowered her gaze to the floor and followed her two guards through the hallway that led to the holding area. As she walked through the heavily monitored security corridor, she heard a familiar voice. “Five minutes alone with her, that’s all I’m asking,” Ariada’s ears heard Ryion plead distantly. “I have specific instructions to keep all members of her team away from her, sir. Especially you,” she heard a guard reply. “I outrank you,” Ryion protested. “Which is irrelevant, as you have no authority here, and my superior directly ordered me not to listen to you. The only thing you’re getting from me is the ‘sir,’ sir.” “I can call my parents and have you demoted down to my personal janitor if you keep this up.” “Oooh, the young gurrcat is making threats,” the guard snickered nastily. “Go ahead, call mommy on me, sir.” “Dammit!” she heard Ryion shout, obviously frustrated, then his tone softened as he realized that petulance would be futile in obtaining his request. “That is my partner and my girlfriend we are talking about here. Five minutes, please! I agree to whatever conditions you want, just let me talk to her this one last time. You’d want someone to do the same thing for you!” Ariada kept her eyes locked on the tile even as she was marched along. “Fine,” the guard said with a sigh. “You’ll be alone, unarmed, and monitored. You’ll also be in a room equipped with ysalamiri so don’t try anything cute. Five minutes, no more. Starting now, sir.” “Thank you, thank you very much,” Ryion replied gratefully. The Wroonian prisoner looked up to see Ryion gesture and his lightsaber hilt flew blindingly fast from his belt to land in the guard’s hand, such that if Ryion had wanted the burly Twi’lek dead, he’d have had his head severed before he realized he was decapitated. Ryion then unbuckled the rest of his utility belt and allowed himself to be scanned thoroughly. By that point, the guards had already ushered Ariada into a small room bereft of any furnishing save a table and two chairs. A dizzying thickness swept over her mind as she entered, the nauseating sensation of a ysalamiri bubble. The alien creatures, imported from Myrkr, repelled the Force in a small region around them, making them extremely useful for controlling rogue Force-users. She’d been exposed to them before, in training, and so resisted the gag reflex that swelled within her throat. Still, it felt like she’d been blinded as the comforting currents of the Force were severed from her mind. Ariada sat in one of the chairs and kept her gaze on the dirty floor, steeling herself against the inevitable painful conversation. A minute later, Ryion entered and sat down in the other chair, dragging it up closer to her. He looked haggard and tired, and she wondered if the emotional burden of the past weeks was weighing on him too heavily, or if there was some other reason he wasn’t sleeping well. “Hey,” he said. She gave no response initially, though Ariada knew her hands were trembling. She hadn’t spoken a word to Ryion in the two weeks since her arrest and now here he was, doubtless with a hundred questions. He’d ask her if she’d lost her mind, if she hadn’t valued their relationship or her oaths to the Yanibar Guard. If he was feeling vindictive, he’d say he never wanted to see her again. “Hey,” Ryion said again, taking her slender hands in his own callused ones and lifting them up. “It’s me.” Ariada slowly brought her gaze up to meet his, a blank expression on her face. “Talk to me, Ari,” Ryion urged quietly. “We don’t have much time, but I’m listening.” “I had to do it,” Ariada whispered fiercely, choking up with emotion upon seeing him, upon touching him again after deeply hurting him. “There was no other way, Ryion.” “You saw that in a vision?” Ryion asked. She shook her head. “I just know. The Vong are going to destroy everything, Ryion, unless we do something to stop them. Something drastic.” “I promise you, I won’t let that happen,” he answered quickly. “We’ve fought too hard for that.” “Don’t make a promise if there’s no hope of keeping it,” Ariada said forlornly. “We’ll handle the Vong,” Ryion reiterated. “They haven’t won yet.” She shrugged hopelessly, knowing that he would never understand, that he’d keep fighting and believing he could win until there were a dozen amphistaffs stabbed through him. There was no point discussing that matter further and both of them knew it. “What about us?” Ryion asked gently. That startled her—she’d been operating under the assumption that he’d already considered the relationship over when she’d lied to him, stolen from him, and betrayed everything he held dear. “I thought—I thought . . .” she mumbled. “It’s not over until we say it’s over,” Ryion said flatly. “I hurt you,” she said, in a quizzical manner that conveyed a question beyond just the simple statement. “Yes, yes you did,” Ryion answered and Ariada knew that the admission alone pained him to say as much it pained her to hear. “But I’m willing to overlook that if you are. So, what about us?” Her gaze dropped as she considered the words she was about to tell him. Ryion was at heart an idealist, and unwaveringly loyal to people or ideas if he thought they were worth preserving. This time, though, Ariada knew that he was chasing an ethereal dream long since bereft of fulfillment. She had to stop him from wasting his life. “I think I made that decision two weeks ago,” Ariada said slowly. “Ryion, I am sorry. I know you won’t understand . . . and I’m so sorry.” The tears flowed freely from both eyes, while Ryion stared at her with a mixture of horror and confusion on his face. “I think it’s over between us,” Ariada choked out against the thick feeling in her throat and tightness in her chest that threatened to constrict her voice. “It’s been an honor, Ryion Kraen.” “No,” Ryion said resolutely. “No, it’s more than honor. It’s a dream come true.” He reached up to brush the tears from her face, his fingers gently caressing her cheek affectionately. “At one point, we shared everything with each other. We had something special. We can still have that.” Ariada bit her lip, steeling herself against the words she had to say. Her heart shattered anew with each word she spoke, each tone of the death knell for their relationship that she was sounding. Even without the Force, the Wroonian knew that Ryion would experience the same torment and she hated herself for grieving him like this. The fact that she had broken all those rules was nothing to her, but hurting Ryion felt like stabbing herself. “Sometimes, Ryion, people change. Relationships can change as well,” she answered disconsolately. “What we had before is gone. The woman you fell in love with is gone.” “Why?” he asked, his face contorted with raw pain. “I know you, Ariada. Come back to me.” There was a pleading look on his face and Ariada averted her gaze, unsure if she could maintain her resolve while witnessing the destruction her words were causing reflected in his eyes. “It’s over, Ryion,” Ariada said bluntly. “You can’t just leave your responsibilities to chase me and I can’t just wish away what I’ve done. I’m sorry—I wish it could be different—but it’s not.” He fixed his eyes on her, boring deep into her as he asked her slowly. “If you had a chance to do it all again, would you still have done it?” he asked in a low voice. Ariada knew he was searching for some thread of hope, some vestige of penance. She knew she could lie to him with a straight face, but he deserved better than that. He deserved the truth. She shook her head slowly, mustering the courage to face him and deliver the last thing he wanted to hear. “You loved me, Ryion Kraen, and I loved you back, and at one point, that was enough for me.” He looked at her hopefully, anticipating a sign of repentance, but a simple gesture warned him to let her finish. “But if I don’t do my utmost to fight against the Yuuzhan Vong, I don’t think I could look at myself in the mirror knowing that I hadn’t done everything I could to stop them from enslaving another city, from burning another world, from sacrificing another thousand people. One day, you’ll understand that threat as I do.” “Are you saying I don’t already?” “No,” she answered flatly. “Unless you’ve faced the distinct and likely possibility of your entire species being wiped out like I have, I don’t think you can ever understand.” He nodded slowly, wiping all emotion from his countenance. “So I take it that the answer to my original question is yes.” A fresh tear dripped slowly off Ariada’s cheek as his words hung between them, but she had come this far. She had to press on—she had to, so that they both could move forward. Ariada had accepted her fate and now the best thing she could do was help Ryion do the same. “Yes,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “Damn me to the Nine Corellian Hells, I would.” She looked up at him, her face twisted into a miserable visage as she uttered the words, loathing herself for saying them. He had never done anything to deserve her actions and now here she was stabbing him with a lightsaber and twisting it around his heart. “I’m sorry, Ryion,” Ariada sobbed. “Don’t be,” he said coldly. “You made your point and you made it honestly.” He stood up abruptly and a sense of harsh, bitter rejection washed over her, a feeling she had already deluged him with. Ryion turned stiffly and walked out of the room. As the door opened, he turned back to her and she finally saw a flicker of something—maybe grief, maybe remorse, maybe longing—in his eyes. “Goodbye, Ariada,” Ryion told her softly. “May the Force be with you.” And with that, he was gone, leaving Ariada alone. Within the hour, she was on a transport, heavily guarded and bound for Haxares. Rishi Hobbie Klivian almost had a smile on his face as he walked through the crowded corridor to the conference room on the bulk cruiser where the viceroy and his officers spent most of their time. As the doors slid open, he noted that General Undukjavi and Colonel Previthevi were also there—good, he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. “Gentlemen, for once, I don’t come with bad news,” he said. “The planetary government of Rishi was very sympathetic to our plight. They’ve agreed to harbor us for as long as we need.” “That is excellent news,” the viceroy replied, his weathered face lighting up with happiness. “And what about the Vong?” General Undukjavi grumbled. “What happens when they track us here? Is Rishi well-defended?” “If the Vong are going to chase us across this many sectors, well, there’s not much we can do anyway, General, unless you know of a nearby sympathetic fortress world or battle fleet. Fact is, supplies are running low and a lot of people are sick. The people of Rishi have opened their arms to help us—we just have to tell them our decision.” “Tell them that we accept,” the viceroy instructed. “I cannot let the suffering of our people continue as we wander from system to system in light of their generous offer. Give them our humble gratitude as well.” “I’ll give them the short version,” Hobbie replied. “The governor said he’d be honored if you and your family were guests at his home, and he said that his people are setting up refugee camps for the rest of the Chalactans.” “I do not see why I should get special treatment over the rest of my people,” the viceroy said humbly. “Tell him that I must decline, but that his invitation is very hospitable.” “Beg pardon, sir,” Hobbie answered regretfully, wishing he didn’t have to deal with these diplomatic intricacies. “The governor said that by taking you in, he’d be setting an example to the rest of Rishi as congenial hosts. Rejecting him would probably be seen as a snub.” Great, now I’m a diplomat, Hobbie thought with disgust. He’d never been one for that kind of subtlety—he was a fighter pilot, not a negotiator. Shoot the bad guys, save the good guys, do it again the next day if you were lucky enough to survive. Now he’d been thrust into mediating between two planetary leaders. “Of course, how thoughtless of me,” the viceroy conceded. “In that case, tell the governor that we accept his invitation and that we will abide by all the pertinent statutes while we are here.” Couldn’t he just go up to the bridge and tell him that himself? Hobbie considered, but outwardly, he nodded obediently. “I’ll get right on it,” he answered. “In other news, our patrols have seen no sign of Vong. We may have actually lost them, but then again, I doubt that given our luck thus far.” “Thank you for your report, Colonel,” the viceroy said with a nod. Understanding that he’d been dismissed, Hobbie turned and left. As he exited the conference room, Anja Gallandro fell in beside him, her lanky stride easily matching his. He turned and gave her an arch look. “You weren’t eavesdropping, were you, Gallandro?” “Me? I’d never do a thing like that, boss,” she replied lightly. “So, what do you think about setting down on Rishi?” “It’s isolated enough,” Hobbie replied. “And far from the current battle planes, which means if the Vong come for us, we’ll be dead before any kind of reinforcements can arrive.” “And the defenses?” “Rishi is sparsely populated and most of the people are peaceful,” Hobbie answered. “Probably a few tough local pilots, maybe an old starfighter squadron or two. Nothing particularly worth mentioning.” “So why are we landing here then?” Hobbie shrugged fatalistically. “We have nothing better to do and nowhere better to go. It’s as good a place to die as any, Gallandro.” “What kind of answer is that?” she asked. He gave her a long face. “A truthful one.” “A depressing one, more like. Those are the only reasons?” “Well, it is a fairly comfortable world and they did offer to let us stay there,” Hobbie admitted. “It saves us from a death by starvation, heat exposure, or carbon dioxide poisoning. That won’t help much when it comes to the Vong, though.” “What makes you so sure that the scarheads are going to chase us out here?” “Pride.” “Sir?” Hobbie shook his head regretfully. “The Vong think they are so superior to us that any insult to their conquest—for example, snatching a few thousand people off a planet that had surrendered to them—has to be repaid ten times over. Their only response to defeat thus far has been doubled aggression. I have every reason to think they’re coming after us right as we speak.” “Then I hope there’s still a few things that we don’t know about the Yuuzhan Vong mindset.” “We’ll see, now won’t we? Get going, go help coordinate the landing effort. It’s going to take some effort to get all these ships down and people unloaded without causing a riot.” “Sure thing, boss,” Gallandro said, throwing him a casual salute as she sauntered off. Once she was out of view, Hobbie leaned heavily against the wall. He wasn’t particularly confident that landing on Rishi was the best course of action, despite his recommendation to the viceroy. There was too much at stake for him to err in judgment now, not with so many lives hanging in the balance. Had he just doomed the people of Rishi to suffer a Yuuzhan Vong invasion that almost certainly crush them? By allowing the Chalactans to land on Rishi, was he just keeping them in position for the aliens to come and enslave them again? Life had been a lot easier when he was merely an ace fighter pilot and eternal pessimist, who did his job well and tried to avoid being shot down. The responsibility of his current position weighed on his shoulders. Looking at his reflection on a mirrored porthole, Hobbie was dismayed to see how quickly he’d aged in the last few months, how many worry lines and wrinkles now creased his face. This war was taking a toll on him, on all of them. In that sense, death at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong would at least end his slow degeneration from anxiety and overwork. With these dour thoughts swimming through his mind, he sighed and headed back to work. At this rate, he could work nonstop for ten years and never be finished. Borleias The officer’s mess in the newly recovered biotics facility had not been located in a room originally intended for that use, but it was serviceable enough, albeit cluttered and noisy. The food was nothing to celebrate—mostly prepackaged rations—but Lando Calrissian had done an admirable job in assembling it with the time and resources available to him. Not that Tycho Celchu had much interest in the ambience or gourmet food at the moment. For him, meals were mere sustenance for another day of the New Republic’s re-capture of Borleias from the Yuuzhan Vong, a move that was sure to draw the ire of the invaders. A shadow fell across his table as Wedge sat down in the chair across from him. It was the first that Tycho had seen him since Wedge’s wife and children had been retrieved from Coruscant and ferried to Borleias, and the general looked much more energetic, hopeful even. “Good morning, General,” Tycho greeted him. “Sleep well?” Wedge gave him a small smile. “Best since Coruscant fell,” he replied affably. “What’s on the agenda today?” Tycho asked his superior. “I want a full update on where our defenses stand,” Wedge said. “The Vong are coming for us. We knew that when we took this place from us. I want to be ready for them. We need our defenses to hold long enough.” “Long enough for what?” Tycho inquired bluntly. The two had been friends and partners in the military long enough that they could discuss such matters openly without the need for protocol. It was rare that Wedge would hide something from Tycho, and since the two had practically strong-armed the interim ruling council of the New Republic into sending reinforcements, there was no doubt of their unity on the defense of Borleias. “Long enough to make a difference,” Wedge said slowly. Tycho nodded, his eyes keenly focused on Wedge. “What’s that mean? Give me some specifics,” Tycho replied. “We need to focus the Vong’s attention on Borleias so that the rest of the New Republic can regroup. That means the government needs to re-establish itself and the military needs to be unified and able to act.” “That could be a long time, given the current situation,” Tycho remarked, leaving it unsaid that the provisional council had basically hung the entire Borleias garrison out to dry. “Then we do what we can from here to influence those factors,” Wedge answered. “We bleed the Yuuzhan Vong out here on Borleias, give our troops something to rally around, and then we find a way to kick-start the government back into breathing again.” “Maybe Leia could be persuaded to accept office again,” Tycho mused. Wedge shook his head. He’d seen holovids of Leia Organa in the Senate, seen her in person and knew there was no way she would accept that responsibility again. The recent loss of at least one of her children on a deep strike mission would make her even more distanced from an official leadership role. “I doubt it,” Wedge answered. “This isn’t her war any more than it is ours.” “Yet we’re all fighting it together,” Tycho commented pointedly. “Play the hand you’re dealt,” Wedge said curtly, waving off his friend’s remark. “We stay alive and fighting here long enough, maybe even the government can sort itself out without our help.” “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Tycho remarked cynically. “The New Republic may not have that kind of time.” Wedge shrugged remorsefully. “I’m fresh out of miracles,” he said. “If I find a spare one, I’ll let you know. Until then, we’re stuck doing things the Rogue Squadron way.” “Impossible is our stock in trade,” Tycho said as he took a sip of the hot caf. “I understand.” “Good,” Wedge replied, standing up. “I have a meeting with Danni Quee in a few minutes that I need to head off to. She’s going to brief me on the yammosk jammers she and her team have developed. Want to come?” “I have other duties,” Tycho said. “I’ll have that report to you by 0700 tomorrow, though, and you can fill me on the details.” Wedge nodded, then shook Tycho’s hand. “Good luck, Colonel.” Yanibar Sleep did not come easily to Ryion these days, haunted as he was by thoughts and regrets over Ariada. There was no one he dared confide his emotional difficulties with, and he didn’t think he could discuss losing her anyway. He’d been lonely and confused, his turmoil resulting in unresolved emotional strain burdening his mind. Meditation and Force-usage had also been encumbered due to an inability to properly concentrate on the Force. So when he finally drifted off, he tried to prolong the scant hours of slumber in order to rejuvenate his body and mind so he could continue his normal duties. However, even asleep, he’d trained his mind to have a minimal awareness of his surroundings as part of his Elite Guardian skills. That was how he sensed her, a female presence stealing quietly into his room. He couldn’t tell if it was Ariada or not—he did not recognize her immediately—but Ariada could have easily been disguising her presence. Ryion woke with a start, the sheets falling away from his bare chest as he sat up quickly. His eyes darted around the room, seeking out the disturbance that had interrupted his rest. Then he saw her, the same ghostly blue outline of a woman that he’d seen many times over the last few weeks, in his dreams, sometimes waking him up, sometimes even when he was awake. Just as before, she was dressed like a Jedi, her dark hair in braided loops around her head. She turned and looked at him with a serene expression, then started to walk off. Immediately, Ryion got out of bed, trying to reach out to her with his mental senses. He wasn’t exactly sure why the apparition had visited him, but her repeated appearances had only stiffened his resolve to decipher her identity and purpose. The woman paid him no heed, but simply kept walking away. Ryion swept up a cloak from the dresser, threw it over his shoulders and followed her out from his apartment. She led away from his quad of apartments in the Jedi enclave, across the courtyard and away onto one of the winding paths intertwined throughout the vicinity. He followed her for nearly a quarter kilometer, seeing no one else, down to a secluded circular garden marked by a ring of stones and shrubberies surrounding a small bubbling pool. The moons’ light shone off the stones, illuminating the circle with an eerie glow and casting silver sparkles on the water. Ryion was unsure if the woman would vanish, as she often did, but she finally stopped to float by the edge of the pool, her head down as if gazing into its depths. “Who are you?” he asked as he too came to a stop a few meters away from her. She turned back to look at him mournfully. “I am She Who Damned Herself,” she told him. They were the first words he’d heard the apparition speak. “You were a Jedi?” he asked. “I have been many things to many people,” she told him. “What do these labels matter to one who is dead?” “If it doesn’t matter, why are you wearing Jedi robes?” Ryion countered. “I appear this way to draw your attention,” she said. “Were I garbed otherwise, you might not have noticed.” “You have my attention,” Ryion answered. “What do you want from me? Why do I keep seeing you?” “Because you are the only one who can possibly help me,” she told him solemnly. “What are you talking about?” Ryion asked. “Who are you?” “I told you, I am She Who Damned Herself,” the woman replied. “And who were you before that?” Ryion inquired. She heaved a sigh, looking even more mournful than before. “My name is not important. And yet, years ago, when I still trod among the living, they called me a Master among the Jedi.” “What happened?” Ryion asked. Her tone turned bitter, yet laced with sadness and regret. “I fell, young Jedi. I fell into a darkness that words cannot describe. A darkness that not even my closest friend and master could retrieve me from.” She shuddered at the painful memories. “Is that how you were damned?” Ryion asked. The woman gave no answer, but the look on her face was enough. “Never give in to it,” she said bluntly. “No matter what.” “Is that why you’re here?” Ryion asked. “To warn me about the dark side?” “Not for that reason alone,” she told him. “I am here to seek your help.” “What can I do?” Ryion asked. “I mean, you’re uh . . . dead and all.” She fixed him with a serious facial expression. “You can save my people, and in doing so, allow me a measure of rest, Ryion Kraen. I am damned to wander the stars, tormented by memories of the destruction I wrought, of the lives I ended, until that all I have done is answered for.” “Who are your people?” Ryion probed. “They are the last remnant of those who were once my people,” the apparition told him, “hiding on Rishi, defenseless against the powers arrayed against them.” “And why me?” Ryion asked. “You could have gone to my father, or any of the more powerful or influential Force-users here.” “Because, you are the only one with enough power and will to influence the situation and yet would also consider my request with pure motives,” she said. “And because you, especially, might benefit from a gift I can give you.” “What kind of gift might this be?” Ryion inquired. She transfixed him with a direct stare that seemed to bore right through him, a penetrating look designed to evaluate him and focus his entire attention on her. “The only kind of gift one might expect from the dead, Ryion Kraen. One powerful and perilous, terrifying and treacherous, magnificent and malevolent. Such is the gift I offer you.” Ryion took a step forward, his dark eyes searching deeply as he gazed intently at the woman. “Tell me more,” he said. She shook her head. “Not yet,” she answered. “There is still turmoil flowing within you, and you cannot use my gift with such conflicting emotions. It would consume you, as it did me.” “Then what am I supposed to do?” he asked. “Prepare yourself,” the woman said simply. “As a proper Jedi would. Your heart and mind must be ready before you can face the trials ahead.” “Ready for what?” Ryion asked. “What does that even mean?” “You must be at peace, Ryion Kraen. Peace with yourself, with your actions, with others, and with how things have come to pass. Seek serenity.” The apparition started to sink into the bubbling pool as she spoke. “Wait,” Ryion told her, but she continued to dissolve into the water. “How will I know?” “I will return . . . if there is still hope,” she said with finality even as her ghostly head slipped under the water. Ryion dashed up to the pool to see if he could still see her, but the Jedi’s ghost had been consumed by the water and vanished. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and blinked his eyes, trying to clear his mind and decipher what he had just experienced. However, the mental clarity he relied on as a Jedi eluded him yet again, hindered by fatigue and emotional loss. Dejected and defeated, he stumbled back to his quarters to attempt slumber yet again. Whatever the woman had just told him in their strange conversation, it could wait until he was revivified.
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