Archive of Our Own ^beta

Greatstorm-Kallig family quarters, Force Enclave, Odessen

26 ATC

___

"You actually wore this? You?" Norik asked incredulously.

Roodaka glanced over her shoulder, hands buried in a different storage crate, and laughed at the look on her nephew's face as he held up a spiky-shouldered, black silk and armorweave gown. "Oh, please, I was a very different person back then, don't be like that."

It had been a few weeks since the Alliance had officially cut all ties with the Empire and sided with the Republic in the reignited war. Roodaka had left her life as a Sith and a Dark Council member behind her at Ziost and mourned little for the death of their uneasy alliance with the Sith, but had been struck with several surprises in the aftermath. The first being that her dear friend Talos Drellik had followed suit in the dissolution of relations with the Empire and left the Imperial Reclamation Service, and the second being that he and the others of her crew had apparently put everything she owned that hadn't been lost at Ziost into storage, using Talos' contacts to rent out an entire unused warehouse. Since she had renounced the Empire nearly a decade ago, their crew had somewhat drifted apart in the intervening years, and Talos' connections were now a bit shaky at best, that meant it all had to go somewhere that wasn't Dromund Kaas.

Meaning she had to figure out how to fit the estate of a member of the Dark Council into the small quarters of an Enclave teacher and her Kalikori Pilgrim-raised nephew.

Starting with the wardrobe had seemed like a good enough start, at least. Half of it was no longer practical for her to wear, and a fair portion of it didn't even fit anymore. She was a much different person at thirty-two standard years of age than she was at sixteen to twenty-three, mentally and physically.

Stars, she had only been three years older than Norik was now when she'd worn the oldest of these outfits.

It was strange, searching through piles and piles of fabrics more expensive than half their furniture, looking back at the path her life had taken and being able to see a single constant. From slavery to the stratospheric heights of Sith society as nothing more than a child, a lifetime of desperation for power and control, all of it had been in search for safety. Even these ridiculous outfits, all of them sewn with hidden panels of blastproof armorweave, or concealing some kind of needle-like stiletto weapons within the bodices or sleeves, or just plain armored with cortosis or beskar. All of it cut to make her look stronger than she was, taller, broader in the shoulders, concealing her youth and her true petite frame. She never felt safe, so she clawed for ways to make herself so, kept everyone at arms' length, concealed as many weaknesses as she could.

And now, here she sat, barefoot in her home, wearing the plain light linen robes of a Kalikori Pilgrim, surrounded by people she loved like family and comfortable in her own skin in a way she had never been. How life had changed. How she had changed.

The door chime rang a pleasant melody, and Roodaka jerked her head in wordless request for Norik to get it while she frowned as she looked over yet another dress. This one was designated for ‘gala’ over 'council meetings’, meaning it wasn’t armored, just a rather ostentatious shimmersilk in jet-black (as if she had worn any other color back then, she wanted to sigh), complete with elaborate silvery sleeve caps and a sweeping cape and train. How did she ever make it through the streets of Dromund Kaas in half these things without tripping? Or Andronikos purposefully stepping on the cape to trip her as a joke the moment they weren’t in sight of some Darth, he did enjoy riling her up…

“Hi, Talos,” Norik said brightly, stepping to the side for their visitor to enter.

“And a good morning to you, young master Greatstorm,” Talos replied. “I see you’ve made some good progress, my lady!”

Roodaka glanced around and groaned at the sight of another box in Talos’ hands. “For pity’s sake, how many outfits did I actually wear back then?!”

“Oh, this is actually a different section of your collection, not clothing,” Talos said, setting the box down on the counter separating the living space from the galley. He gestured to the passcode lock on the side of the box. “Rather important one, I thought.”

That piqued her interest. Roodaka dropped the next elaborate confection in a rather daring shade of even darker black back into the crate and rose, dusting off the skirt of her robes as she did. Norik slid onto one of the stools at the counter while Roodaka leaned her elbows against the surface, tilting her head with her lips pursed. The box was familiar, but she couldn’t recall why at the moment. “So what is it, then?”

Talos keyed the passcode in and opened the box with a smile. “I believed that you would want your jewelry collection back.”

Roodaka’s eyes widened in shock and she immediately dug into the box.

The dresses she had been ambivalent about, but the jewelry, that was important. Irreplaceable. Not because of the value, but because of one simple thing, where, where was it, was it here—?

Her fingers pushed past different stones and gems and precious metals, not stopping until she found a small velveteen pouch at the bottom. Got you.

She drew the hand back out, clutching the pouch like it was made of dust, breath shaking as she held it.

Norik canted his head, lekku swaying and eyebrows raised. “What’s that?”

She frantically upended the pouch, and out fell a necklace. It had no glossy krayt pearls or rainbow gems, no pendant of any kind. It was primarily knotted cords, the thread woven together from the fiber of silk scraps collected over decades, tied in a complex chain of knots. It was decorated with small beads made of knapped stones, sculpted clay or painted wood, all inscribed with different, tiny Ryl pictograms spelling out different names or words. Compared to the rest of her collection, its monetary value was worthless.

But to her mother’s clan, enslaved by the Sith for centuries, bereft of any kalikori, every story-chain created taken away in punishment for 'rebellion’, it was…

“…treasure,” Roodaka said breathlessly.

Talos smiled as he looked at it. “I’ve always admired the uniqueness of that one. Looks like folk art, is actually a record of an entire family tree. A wearable piece of living history.”

“Leluna, the woman who raised me, she helped me save it from my mother’s things after I lost everyone at Rhen Var. It’s been in my mother’s family for five generations,” Roodaka explained to Norik, trailing her fingers over the beads before she held it out for him to see. “Before anyone remembered our descent from Kallig, or our connection to the Greatstorm clan, when we had no name but that our sires gave us at birth. So many of these were made over the centuries, trying to hold onto our history, but they were always taken from us. A reminder of our place. This is the only one to survive this long.”

She bit back tears, pointing to a stone bead. “Look, eya'nerra. Here marks your grandparents’ union. And these,” she said, moving her finger down one to three wooden beads knotted in succession, “these are my sisters and I, recording our births. This one’s your mother.”

Norik stared at it, eyes full of wonder, and Roodaka tore her gaze away to give Talos a grateful look. “You remembered this was in there, didn’t you?”

“Amongst all your property, its safety after your abrupt disappearance was my highest priority,” Talos said with a broad smile.

Roodaka shook her head, grinning at him. “How did I ever come to deserve a friend like you, Talos Drellik?”

He reached over and patted her hand affectionately. “You finally let me be one to you, my lady. You finally let me be one.”

Mandalorian enclave, Odessen

Several weeks after the Battle of Ruhnuk

___

The box was haunting him.

There was nowhere in his quarters Torian Cadera could put it where he couldn't sense its presence, staring eyelessly at him with the same intensity of his eyes peering at him through the Taris scrubland.

It was silly. Nothing in it but fabric and ashes. And ghosts.

It was just... haunting him.

He'd thought time would help, but he should've known the answer to that. If time still hadn't fully eased his confliction over his clan's history, how could a few weeks ease the turmoil in his mind over the burned remains of their banner? And no one's efforts to get him to stop dwelling worked, either, not even Mako's. The only thing that had helped get his mind off things was Rass Ordo roping him into shooting contests out of boredom—with all the other Mandalorians, it was different. None of them was truly untouched by his father's rebellion, even all these years later. But Rass, closer in age to him and far too young to have fought in it with the rest of Clan Ordo, understood a childhood of being haunted by the word arue'tal, and had done his best to simply be a friend. Even then, it only helped so much.

Torian couldn't get the Commander's words from days before out of his head. How you feel about your past is for you to decide.

He still couldn't, yet. It was ridiculous that some small part of him still couldn't. He'd told her the truth—Jicoln had broken a trust, and they all paid for it. But... oh, Devika would never let him hear the end of it if she knew he wondered whether or not it was right. Not the battle itself, or his father's choice, but the reason why. Would any of this had happened if they hadn't sided with the Sith?

Some part of him had wanted to keep the box around as a reminder. Open it when he needed to remember, shut it when he needed to put it aside. But it was getting to be too much. He couldn't live like this. He had to do something with it.

Alliance non-military personnel landing field, Odessen

Two months after the rescue of the Outlander

Vega Kodral had never seen the stars from the ground before.

Trying to wrap her head around everything that had happened in the past week was nearly impossible. At the start of it, everything was fine. She was living on Port Nowhere with her parents, Ceetoo and Aree, playing and learning and exploring. But then there was an emergency with Aunt Risha, and everything went so upside-down. Vega went from never leaving Port Nowhere, ever, to visiting three different planets within the same amount of days, helping run mission control while her parents helped Aunt Risha and Uncle Corso's new crew with a heist, and then...

And then the Force had called to her, and everything had changed.

She still felt it as she laid back on the roof of the Racing Starlight, her mother's beloved ship, staring up at Odessen's stars. It was... there. Out of reach, but there, constant. Like all this time she'd been living in the dark, and now a light had been turned on inside her. A light, Mama and Dad explained, she had shared with her aunt Ataraxia. Vega could just barely remember her from before she had disappeared, identical to Mama in almost every way except for Mama's scars and cybernetics. How she had felt warm, familiar in a way Mama and Dad somehow didn't.

The stars winking down at her felt like that, too. Vega had always loved the stars, counting them from the viewport in her room back at Port. It had always felt like they wanted to tell her something. They still felt like that, except now Vega felt like she could listen. She stared at them so long that it felt like she could still see them when she closed her eyes, letting herself simply drift in that half-dreaming state and breathing fresh, clean, non-recycled air.

The Force flickered and beckoned, somewhere beyond her reach and understanding. It whispered to her in a million different voices, impossible to really comprehend, but it all had the same feeling: I'm here. I'm waiting for you. You're not ready to find me yet, but I'm still here. Can you hear me?

I hear you, Vega so desperately wanted to reply. But she didn't know how to reply. So she sat with that aching need to go stuck in her ribs, gaze up to the sky and losing herself in the grand starlit void. They were there even after she closed her eyes, dancing and singing, forming glowing pathways and circular doorways and whispering to her in a million voices in a million languages. Vega found herself drifting along, searching, glancing in the portals for something, whatever it was. It wasn't a sense of urgency she felt, just... a call. Insistent and constant like her heartbeat. Vega's pace quickened in time with her heart, feet pounding soundlessly against the path. The doorways blurred as she ran, faster and faster than she could ever possibly run, and—

The Archives, Jedi Temple, Tython

11 years after the Treaty of Coruscant

"I don't understand. What exactly is the problem?" Ataraxia Kestis asked with a frown as she walked side-by-side with Master Cheryen through the Temple mezzanines.

"We don't know. All we know is that we got the energy grid completely stabilized, the machine is in perfect working order, but... nothing. It's like they don't want to talk to anyone," Cheyren replied.

It had been several months since Morrhage's ghost had been banished and his plague stopped. All the victims had physically recovered, but were taking mental time off to fully comprehend and heal from what they had mentally endured. Ataraxia had been saddened by reports that Parkanas Tark had disappeared from the Temple's medical wing and somewhere into the mountains, but Master Yuon had mentioned he was still contacting his old friends every now and then, so she still hoped.

Ataraxia herself was exhausted. The strain of healing just the handful of victims Morrhage had used Parkanas to infect had pushed her to the limits—she couldn't imagine what it had been like for the original healer, their name lost to the eons. But, climbing up the grand walkways in the Temple now put her only somewhat out of breath, so she was hoping that meant the worst of it had passed. She still wanted more time to ensure she had fully recovered, but as Master Cheyren had informed her that morning, it unfortunately seemed like she wouldn't get it. The noetikons were acting up again.

"I don't see how much good I can do," Ataraxia said plainly, hand trailing along the mezzanine rail half-idly, half to support herself. "My experience with holocrons usually involves just writing down the information they give us. The noetikons are even more advanced technology, I don't—"

"It's nothing you can do technologically. I'm working on a hypothesis," Cheyren said simply, frowning in thought as they came to the archive doors. They stroked their chin, ponderous. "Despite our numerous failures to activate them after they were brought here and the mechanism repaired, they immediately responded to your presence, and the masters asked about you quite a few times when we could get it working on our own. I'm wondering if it's something to do with your activation of them to begin with. Like they've imprinted on you, somehow."

Greatstorm-Kallig quarters, Force Enclave, Odessen

25 ATC

"Arcann, either go pace in the corridor or chop up the vegetables for the gruuvan shaal. You're distracting me and I'm gonna end up cutting off something important."

"Apologies," Arcann said awkwardly, stopping mid-stride to glance at Roodaka. "My thoughts are a bit... busy."

"If you think you've got a certain spectral stowaway in that head of yours, go tell Aja, I'm officially out of the ghost-hosting business." Roodaka said dryly, gesturing with the knife in the direction of the door and a small half-smile quirking up one corner of her mouth to make it clear she was joking.

It had been a few weeks since the Zildrog battle and two months since the battle for the Eternal Throne, and everyone was finally starting to fall into a new routine. Norik was doing spectacularly in lessons, Senya was miraculously recovered, and it was spring, so Roodaka had decided that she was going to find a way to celebrate: hosting a dinner for the Greatstorm-Kalligs, and the Tiralls. A joint celebration for the unexpected good to come of everything that had happened.

A small part of her still wasn't used to being friends with Arcann. If she'd had her initial choice, she wouldn't be. But then she'd become his accidental mentor for meditation, and then cooking when he'd expressed an interest in learning that, on top of following Aja's orders to ensure no one would try to kill him when he'd first arrived (Roodaka included). Mix in their combined affection for Senya, and Norik and his friends taking up sitting with Arcann during Enclave meals and meditation sessions so 'he wouldn't be lonely', and somewhere along the way a little seed of friendship had been planted, then bloomed into a lovely flower. Roodaka wasn't too proud to admit that it was... nice. Unexpected, definitely, but nice.

She hadn't expected how much she'd appreciate someone who could understand her perspective. How much she regretted whenever she looked back at what she had done. Lana was too proud of her accomplishments as a Sith, as were most of the members of the Alliance who had roots in the Empire. Chrysali understood her to a point, but then she had never wanted to be part of the Empire in the first place, had never wanted the power, the prestige. Roodaka had. At nineteen years old, she was made part of the Dark Council and had held the fate of the galaxy in the palm of her hands. All she had to do was gesture, and entire worlds lived or died on her whims. And yet, even with all her power, she had lost it all, what truly mattered to her, at the snap of an omnicidal Force spirit's fingers. Looking back at the hatred and cruelty and malice that had led her there, what she had let herself become twisted into, was painful beyond words.

"Alright. Lesson one," said Aja Verdona. "What do you know about the Jedi Code?"

Vega Kodral shifted in her cross-legged meditative pose, hands fiddling with the new Padawan braid hanging from behind her right ear. "Thaaaaaaaat it's been the core tenets of the Order for centuries, and Uncle Guss always used to complain about how confusing it was."

Aja let out a quiet, amused chuckle, shaking her head at her new apprentice. "Well, you're not entirely off-base, I suppose."

Only two weeks into Vega's apprenticeship and still fresh off of the final defeat of Tenebrae, Aja found herself oddly nostalgic as she sat across from the girl while she talked fast and fidgeted in her seat, restless with excitement. Saying it felt strange to be the one delivering the lesson this time was a bit of an understatement, but even amidst the quiet apprehension she had about whether she was ready to teach, Aja couldn't deny she felt as excited as Vega clearly was at the idea.

"I meant, are you able to recite it for me? From memory, no prompting?" Aja prodded.

"Oh. Right, yeah. Sorry." Vega straightened up slightly and cleared her throat, closing her eyes. "There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force."

"Very good." Aja canted her head slightly. "Now, the real question is do you understand it? As more than just words?"

"What do you mean?" Vega asked, cracking one lid open.

"I mean, I know you've studied it and the Order's history as part of your Force Enclave lessons for years. But if you're truly dedicated to starting down the path of the Jedi—"

"I am," Vega said quickly, face scrunched with determination. "I know I'm young, but I was born for this. I know it."

Aja smiled and nodded. "Then you need to know the Jedi Code as more than just words of a mantra. It's a source of strength, an anchor when times are darkest. So if there's any part of it you don't understand, then you need to work to rectify that now. There's no shame in asking a question."

Vega leaned back on the heels of her hands, thinking, then frowned at Aja. "I have tons of questions about... well, all of it, really."

"That's good," Aja smiled. "What's the first?"

"Well..." Vega squirmed for a moment, hesitant. "It's not really about the Code itself, but it's been nagging at me. I—y'see, uh... do... do you still follow the Code, Aja?"

Aja blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"It's just that—you said your status as a Jedi is complicated now, right? If I'm supposed to be your Padawan, what does that mean? For either of us?" Vega asked, voice small.

Well... varp. Aja had been prepared for all sorts of questions, but not that one. Mostly because... honestly, she hadn't thought about it.

Her status was complicated. Before the carbonite, she had been promoted to Battlemaster of the Order, which had honestly been one of the greatest honors of Aja's life. Her Padawan years had been so fraught and confusing, but lightsaber combat had been the one place she had excelled, and found confidence in, so guiding the next generation of Jedi in learning that skill had been a perfect fit. But then the Eternal Empire came, and Aja found herself having to become more than a Jedi. She had to be an impartial leader, a Commander, someone who couldn't afford to let her ties to her previous life affect her decisions. Against such a monumental foe, she had to sacrifice part of herself to ensure she could bring them all together, Jedi and Sith, Republic and Empire, ancient enemies united.

And even now, she couldn't really be a Jedi again. Not in the traditional sense. They'd offered to restore her titles in full, sure. She could've sat on the Council. She could have stepped right back in to where she probably would've been if she hadn't answered Marr's summons to the edge of Wild Space that day.

But she couldn't, not when the Alliance still needed her more. Not when the galaxy still needed the Alliance's aid.

Like she'd said—complicated.

"I think it means..." Aja said carefully, slowly mulling over her words before she said them. She gave Vega an apologetic look. "I think it means that having me as your teacher is going to be difficult sometimes, Vega. I'm... separate from the Order. I'm a Jedi in my heart—the Code anchors me and guides my decisions. But my path is different than the Order's now. People are going to question my actions, and yours since you're connected to me."

"So what does that mean?" Vega asked, her confusion growing into a mild panic. "Does it mean I'm not really going to be part of the Order? Just because I'm your student, instead of someone else's? Because I—I want to learn from you! I don't want to switch teachers just to be an official Jedi, that's not fair!"

"No, no, easy," Aja said calmly. She reached out and placed her hands over Vega's, still rested against her knees in her meditative pose. "I might not officially be part of the Order, but that doesn't mean I can't teach you how to be. I give you my word, and the word Gnost-Dural gave me when I told him my intentions, you will be considered a full-fledged member of the Order, no matter my status." She smiled at her Padawan. "I promise you, Vega. I will teach you."

The girl breathed, in and out, then nodded with a small smile. "I...okay. Okay."

Aja squeezed her hands reassuringly, then settled back to her previous posture. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, what are your other questions about the Code? Ask me about anything that puzzles you, so I can help you understand it."

Vega thought it over, then tilted her head. "...well, the whole no passion, there is serenity thing confuses me a little—because, I mean, you could power a cruiser off the passion Aunt Ataraxia gives a lecture about Jedi history with."

Aja laughed. "Then let's start there."

Archival storage, Jedi Temple, Coruscant

4 years BTC

___

System = operational

Optics = operational

Auditory sensors = operational

"Hello, there. Aren't you a fascinating little thing?"

RE-1's processors began to whir as he continued booting himself up. Calculations said that it had been 12 full cycles around Coruscant's sun since he was last activated, and current location via GPS said that he was in the central Jedi Temple's storage facilities. Datalogs reminded him that he and his cohort of archaeological assistance droids had been powered down for safekeeping by Master Kli during a transfer of artifacts from the Telos Jedi academy to the main temple.

«RE-1 = ready + reporting for duty,» he beeped in greeting to the sentient standing before him. Then he tilted his cranium at her. «RE-1 = fascinating? // RE-1 = standard model + no unique programming + features // Cannot compute statement»

She laughed. Humanoid youth, fair skinned, bright blue eyes. Tan and brown robes with a lightsaber on each hip. Red-brown hair was braided and looped around her cranium in a crown, save for bangs that framed her face in a Chandrilan style and a single braid that dangled behind her right ear. Braid + estimated age = Padawan. "I've never encountered a droid quite like you before," she said politely, sinking into a crouch on the floor so that she was eye-level with RE-1's optical sensors. That was nice of her. "Master Kli mentioned you were good at helping find lost things."

RE-1 chirped an affirmation.

"That's good. My master and I are meant to head to Mestare for a dig." The girl rocked on her feet, clearly excited but doing her best to contain it. "We're searching for a holocron that's proven impossible for us to locate so far. Master Kli suggested that if we were having trouble to look from a different perspective, so I thought I would ask one of you for help. Would you like to come along?"