Hard Truths | Pt. II

When Kyric next awoke, he silently thanked the Force for the lack of horrific LED lighting blaring down into his cornea. A soft blue fixture illuminated the room instead. It unveiled a tiny cart beside his bed with a plate of rice, vegetables, and chicken. A device labeled ‘press me’ sat beside the tray of food.

To no one’s surprise, Kyric reached over to press the button.

Several minutes went by in relative silence. Kyric picked up the chicken barehanded and shoved it into his mouth. It tasted slightly overcooked with hints of lemon and garlic, but the boy didn’t have it in him to complain. He wasn’t one to turn down a free meal–especially after not eating for however many days, hours, minutes, and seconds it's been since he passed out the second time.

The door abruptly opened, revealing Kyric’s monkey-handed behaviors in all their glory to Sol Dara, one of the last people he wanted to see him in such a weakened and pathetic state.

“Sol?” the kiffar blinked, or maybe winked, away his surprise. “Whatcha doin’?”

The mirialan stopped a foot into the doorway with clear disbelief, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. It was less due to the boy’s table manners and more to do with Kyric seeming so like himself. So far, at least. The door shut behind Sol. The girl’s shoulders visibly relaxed as she smiled warmly at the other, relief evident all the way to her eyes. Small crow's feet grew at their corners as Sol looked as if she could cry at any moment.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she finally answered Kyric as she made her way across the room and to the side of his bed.

“I am here to see how you are doing.” She spoke quietly as she stopped beside the food cart. “It’s good to see you have an appetite, but don’t force yourself to eat more than you’re comfortable with.”

Sol paused, giving Kyric the chance to take another bite of his food before she raised her hand. She laid her fingertips against his forehead to get a read on him, temperature and otherwise.

Standing so close to the kiffar revealed a few things. Sol’s posture wasn’t perfect, her hair wasn’t pristine, and her top layer of robes seemed slightly left of center. The relief and love in the girl’s eyes was only rivaled by signs of stress and lack of sleep.

Kyric froze staring up into Sol’s eyes.

Don’t just sit there, dummy. Say something to her.

“Err-” Kyric slowly placed his chicken back onto the plate and awkwardly wiped his hand on the side of his blanket. “I’m good. I guess, y’know.” He motioned to the mass of bandages wreathed around his former eyeball and socket. “Did uh… you hear about me accidentally destroying the other bed?” He appeared small in that moment–shamed, maybe, or nervous about something.

The fate of Coruscant was still a mystery to him, one he didn’t want to solve quite yet.

“I did,” Sol replied calmly. “I wasn't too far away when it happened." A few more seconds passed before the mirialan removed her hand and lowered it to her side. “Did you wake up scared because you weren’t on Coruscant?”

The girl tilted her head slightly to the side. A lock of black hair slid to a stop at the corner of her eye.

“Nah…” He cleared his throat and lazily motioned to himself with his good hand. “I woke up and saw the guy who did this to me standing over my bed. Felt kinda like my dreams were bleedin’ into reality a bit.”

Though Kyric spoke with his typical nonchalance, he knew Sol was more than capable of seeing through his demeanor. His emotions ran rampant within the small space, smothering him as he tried vainly to square them away for later.

Remembering the state of their mutual friend, his gaze dropped down to his bandage-covered right arm, then jumped back to Sol. “How’s Halsia?”

Sol’s eyebrows raised at the mention of the man who landed Kyric in this state, but they relaxed when he mentioned it was probably fake. She hadn’t felt any disturbances then, and if Creut was there, why not finish the job? Or even take Kyric? Either would have been easy in his weakened state when paired with the chaotic hospital. Sol made a mental note to check on Kyric more often, and perhaps have someone else watch his room–just in case.

A somber expression took hold of the padawan’s features as Kyric’s emotions easily washed over her. After a moment, the mirialan forced a small smile, evident from the lack of change in her eyes. “Halsia is on track to make a complete recovery. Physically, she will have to take it easy for a bit longer. Mentally, she is doing okay. The events on Coruscant have left everyone shaken in one way or another…” Sol trailed off, recalling how Halsia was wounded in the first place as her eyes took interest in the food cart. Guilt began to bubble up in her chest, but it simmered down just as fast as it came.

Sol blinked slowly as her gaze shifted back to the kiffar. “...You’ve been out for a while, Kyric,” the mirialan paused, gauging the boy. “Just over two weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” He slung bandaged legs over the hospital bed and continued. “Feels like I’m wasting a lot of time here if I’m bein’ honest.” The cool sensation of the tile sent little jolts of what felt like electricity up his legs. Tiny goosebumps chased the sensation, and for a moment, the boy felt a sense of peace. And with peace came clarity.

“Did… did Auteme survive?”

Sol held out a hand as the boy moved, half in case he needed to be steadied, half in case she had to stop him from actually trying to leave. She paused when he spoke. There was a long silence before the girl nodded.

Kyric released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Tears formed in his eye and soon fell against his clenched fists. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he admitted through shaky breaths.

Sol slowly sat down next to Kyric, gently placing a hand on his opposite shoulder. She gave the boy a few minutes before speaking.

“You can go see her… In time... You haven’t moved in two weeks, Kyric. You have a lot to adjust to.”

“That’s fair.” He raised his hand and gently tapped the bandaging over his right eye socket. “I thought this was gonna hurt way more. You think it’s all the drugs and bacta circulatin’ through my system?” He considered the thought on his own, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s the drugs.”

Kyric stopped talking for a moment to study his tired companion. Worry plagued her normally vibrant visage, and he found his gaze drawn back to his fists. Taking a deep breath, he slowly loosed his grip and flexed his fingers to full extension. He took a second, and then a third, as he enjoyed the sensation of his muscles relaxing across his tense form.

“I don’t think the eye will slow me down too much. A few weeks of rest and I should be tip-top.” He grinned.

“I think you’re right,” Sol smiled in return, removing her hand from Kyric’s shoulder and returning it to her lap. “Remember to keep that same energy when the drugs wear off, okay?” The question was largely rhetorical. Sol didn’t think she could name anyone more optimistic than Kyric. But that wasn’t a reason not to double-check that he was doing alright.

The mirialan’s gaze fell to her lap. Her fingers intertwined and one thumb brushed against the other. She wanted to ask Kyric how he felt beyond his physical pains. They had gotten the important things out of the way. He knew how long he’d been unconscious, he knew Auteme and Halsia were okay, and he had already known the extent of his injuries. But the one time he had woken up prior, he smashed an entire hospital bed because he saw- or thought he saw, the man he had been fighting on Coruscant. Sol didn’t feel comfortable just letting that go.

“I saw you. On the super star destroyer,” Sol began, crossing her feet at the ankle as her eyes remained glued to anything other than the boy. “Well, when it burst from the ground I had a vision. And I saw you fighting. Or, at least trying to…”

For a moment, all the feelings of that day returned. Guilt, doubt, and worry were a whirlpool in the girl’s chest threatening to pull her under as the vision of Kyric mid-battle replayed in her mind. The padawan stood helpless as the Senate District crumbled before her eyes. At that moment, any decision felt impossible. She couldn’t get to Kyric or stop the city’s destruction. It was a string of events in such quick succession that all feelings except for panic vacated her body.

Sol composed herself long enough to fashion a forcefield capable of keeping her and Halsia from being crushed, but the Mirialian couldn’t find her center when it mattered most.

That was why she and Halsia were injured on Coruscant.

“I told you that the events on Coruscant have shaken everyone in some way. You woke up and threw a bed because you thought you saw the man you faced.” Sol’s thumbs brushed against each other one more time before she finally faced Kyric. She spoke quietly, almost as if her words were a secret just for him. “You just woke up, so I don’t want to pressure you. But if you want to talk about anything, I am always here… Even if it is not with me you really should share it with someone.”

“Uh…” The kiffar knew she spoke the truth. He heard and gave such advice a thousand times over, but his familiarity with such words didn’t make the discomfort of being the one who needed to hear them any easier.

“I don’t know what to say if I’m bein’ honest with you. Losin’ fights is nothin’ new for me, but facing one of my father’s greatest failures firsthand? It was far scarier than I ever could’ve expected.” Kyric climbed to his feet and hobbled over to the effects of his outburst.

Much of the wall appeared to have crumpled inward. Tiny holes were patched over during his rest. Any additional work would require more tools, hands, and time than Kyric assumed the hospital staff could provide an occupied room.

“I’m not strong enough to beat Solipsis. And I’m not strong enough to protect the folks I care about, either.” He turned back to Sol. “I don’t have the faintest idea of what the hell I’m supposed to do if I’m serious about this, cause chasin’ and solvin’ problems clearly ain’t it.”

“You are a boy fighting battles that started long before you were born. It's not your fault you're confused.” Sol commented easily from her spot on the bed. Her eyes never left Kyric. “You need to give yourself grace. And time. The downfall of Solipsis isn’t solely your burden to bear. Whether or not that is true, and whether or not you believe it's true,” Sol paused as she stood, “I think you need to take this time to recover physically and mentally.”

The mirialan slowly made her way over to the boy. She stopped in front of him, blocking further view of the damage he had caused. “You are always thinking of everyone else. Right now, you need to focus on you. Wholeheartedly, physically, spiritually, emotionally. You aren’t going to craft good ideas with sheer desperation as the tools. And you won’t be able to properly execute any ideas handed to you if you are unbalanced.“

Sol reached for Kyric's hand. She gently took his hand in hers and raised it slightly, placing her other hand on top of his. “I believe you will be back out there in no time. But if you are not careful, I fear it is going to be the limitations we can't see that will land you in a situation like this again. Or worse.” The mirialan's voice was soft and pleading as she stared into his eye.

Some small part of him wanted to fight her claims. He knew if his father were here, he wouldn’t even consider slowing down. But Kyric knew he wasn’t his father. And he knew Ryv Karis wanted nothing more for his children than to find peace in this wartorn galaxy. Already, his eldest failed in that regard. His blood boiled at the thought of the atrocities committed every day against those who could not protect themselves.

Kyric found it difficult to steady his breathing while exuding such raw emotion. “I’ve prepared my whole life to make the ultimate sacrifice, Sol. Maybe it’s silly, but in my heart, I know it’s what’s expected of all of us. The Jedi. We’re granted everythin’ we need to make a real difference in this galaxy.” Little shocks of pain shot through his arm as he spoke, so he took a moment to collect himself.

“I can’t face my father knowin’ I didn’t put my heart and soul behind this, but I’m figurin’ that’s the point you’re tryin’ to make.” He pushed his unruly mop out of his face and slowly made his way back over to the hospital bed. “I won’t be much use if I can’t find my new normal.”

He sighed and changed the subject.

“I sure woulda loved to meet your Master. I imagine she was an amazin’ Jedi.”

Sol followed Kyric to the bed, nodding along as he spoke. She stayed close enough that help would be easily offered, but not too close that she smothered him. Standing beside the bed, she processed what Kyric said before a smile spread across her face and her eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“She was. I wish you could have met her.” Sol looked to the food cart and then to a side table closer to the wall. “I forget if I’ve mentioned this, but Master Salira was a mirialan as well. As quick on her feet as she was with her words.” She made her way over to the table, plucked the small tissue box from it and brought it over to the food cart. “She carried herself like a queen everywhere she went. I think that’s part of the reason people respected her.” The tissue box eventually landed beside Kyric’s plate as a solution for his lack of napkins.

“She taught me the importance of looking like you know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. Whether in the middle of a negotiation, an evacuation, or the heat of battle. If you let others see your uncertainty, they will latch onto it.”

Sol turned to face Kyric with a grin. “She could be a bit strict at times, but she was like a mother to me. And a great friend. I think you would have liked her.”

He found himself nodding along at her assessment. “I couldn’t imagine not gettin’ along with someone like that.” Kyric appeared like he wanted to say more, but the door opened to reveal the same medical droid from his last check-up. It carried another fresh plate of food to the table and set it down beside the half-eaten one.

“How are you feeling, Kyric?” The droid inquired.

“I’m feelin’ fine, doc,” Kyric said with a weak smile.

“Very good,” it turned away from the kiffar and set its glowing visual receptors on Sol. “We’ve received a fresh batch of wounded soldiers from the front. Are you capable of healing them at this time, Padawan Dara?”

“Of course,” Sol nodded to the droid, then faced Kyric. “Be sure to eat. And rest. I will come by when I can. If I find the time, perhaps we could go on a lovely walk down the hallway,” Sol chimed as she made her way to the door. She stopped at the threshold. Her hand gently glided against the edge of the door frame. With one last look at the kiffar, Sol smiled. “See you soon.”

Kyric returned her emotion in kind. He raised his lightning-scarred left hand and waved. “See you later, Sol.”

With her gone, the room fell silent again. Darkness settled into the corners of his mind as he turned his attention to the viewing port and watched kiffu rotate in the vast emptiness of space. He imagined himself wandering the homeworld of his people, lost in simpler tasks than fighting for the fate of the galaxy.

A sigh escaped Kyric’s lips. He leaned back and closed his eye, preferring the risk of another nightmare over such madness-inducing quiet.


“Hey, Kyr. Get up.”

A person-shaped silhouette stared down at him. Their head graciously blocked out the scathing day time light, so Kyric thanked the Force where he could and rolled over onto his side. The lack of lancing pain in his only remaining eye made the ordeal less bothersome the second time around.

“I’m up,” Kyric groaned.

“Finally!” a feminine voice declared from behind him. “How much longer are you going to lay around? It’s been twenty-one days. Get on your feet and get moving.”

Turning to see his most recent visitor, Kyric wasn’t surprised in the slightest to find Kyla standing beside his bed. Only his sister would have the audacity to shake him awake after narrowly surviving an encounter with a Dark Jedi Master. Go figure.

“Okay, okay,” he sat up slowly, stretched, and immediately winced.

“Why do you let her do this?"

Kyric shifted his singular eye to Scion.

“Oh golly, shut up!” Kyla called back to Kyric’s other half.

“Wait… you can see him?” Kyric asked. He studied them both for several seconds, then picked up a two baby carrots and launched one at each of them. Both carrots passed through them as if they weren’t even there.

Because they weren’t.

“Ah. That makes a lot more sense.” The bedridden Jedi lifted a warm glass of water to his lips and took a deep drag of the drink. A sputtering cough sent some of it into the fabric. Kyric set the cup down carefully and struggled to collect himself for the better part of a minute. His cough eventually died down, however, so he returned his attention to the two fragments.

“What do you want?”

Kyla crossed her arms. “We’re running out of time and you know it. Xeykard is expecting us on Elom in a few days. And that isn’t even taking into account any of the training you’ll have to do to overcome the gap between us and Creuat. As much as I want you to rest, Kyr, we have to go.”

Scion nodded. “Though I loathe to agree with your sister, she is correct. We know how this story ends. And we’re not ready for the final stretch.” The dual-eyed fragment ran his hand over Kyric’s bandaged face. “They’re coming for us, Kyric.”

“I know.” Kyric’s hands tightened into fists. “I’ve seen more of our lives unfold than I ever thought possible, and I’m afraid to admit I’m not likin’ how things turn out.” He slung his legs out to the side and found his footing with only a singular pained groan. Moving toward a small pile of clothes tucked into the corner chair, he scanned the stack for something easy. He decided on an old long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweats.

“How are we getting out of here?” his sister’s fragment inquired.

“Dad’s ship,” Kyric answered. It took him a tad longer to pull his socks on and tie his boots, but he managed it without assistance.

“Oh, yes, because they will most assuredly let you fly your own ship out of here,” Scion countered.

“I’m not askin’,” Kyric stated firmly. He lifted his commlink from the pile of mostly ruined goods that somehow survived Coruscant. “Chief, this is Kyric. You copy?”

Silence stretched on for several long seconds until BD-8’s joyous and erratic chirps assailed the kiffar’s ear. Kyric waited patiently, smiling like a kid in a candy store throughout the unending love from his greatest companion. When the droid’s excitement finally settled down, he continued.

“Get the ship primed for launch. I’ll be flyin’ in at lightspeed, and I’ve got a feelin’ our hosts won’t like my leavin’ so soon.”

BD-8 whirred his affirmation and set to work.

Kyric turned back, expecting to find the others, only to discover an empty room. What he thought to be the bright day light setting shone the soft blues of night instead. He studied the space, walking from corner to corner as if expecting to trip some sensor that would shift the lighting. But nothing happened. No one came to him, nor did the room adjust to his goings-on.

Everything remained the same.

“Guess I really am broken, huh?” Kyric gazed at his battered reflection in the transparisteel viewing port. Scion stood at his right, while Kyla latched onto his left arm. Neither of them spoke, but Kyric felt them there no differently than himself. Their emotions permeated the space as strongly as his own.

“Alright, let’s get gone.” Kyric made for the door opposite the window. He willed it open with a wave of his hand and stepped out into the hall with a somber smile.

There was much to learn in the wake of shattered dreams.