Arid, sand-choked wind brushed across Noah's face as he strolled to The Valley. He wiped sweat from his brow, but for once, didn't bother to adjust his frizzy, unkempt hair. Vanity was lost among the varied thoughts he found swirling in his brain.
The Valley's massive statues cast a cooling shade over Noah, granting him a reprieve from the harsh Ruusanian sun. The scene was like a metaphor for his life. Ambition, in its myriad manifestations, belonged to the greats of history. Noah was not great. But he stood in the shadows of those that were—the many Jedi before him, who valiantly gave their lives protecting Ruusan.
Noah knew he wasn't great. His parents thought otherwise; a Zratis and a Jedi—there was no greater combination. Why couldn't they see that didn't matter? They were blinded by their sand choked, personal ambitions, and tried to force them down his throat. Through their greatness, Ruusan would be great; it was a notion drilled into him since he was a boy. Noah resisted the egocentric implications, yet he still wanted Ruusan to be great. He had the ability, and therefore the prerogative, to help his people in any way he could.
The sun arced closer to the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow. Shadows stretched, elongating across the sands and structures that dotted the Ruusanian landscape.
The Valley could wait. It had stood for thousands of years, and would for thousands more. Noah had other things to do.
This was a daily occurrence. A ritual. Show up to the Valley just to leave. His duties lied with his people in Vatsu as restoration projects were still underway. Academic pursuits were 'frivolous'—dad's endless wisdom, or 'it's great to have hobbies but you have responsibilities'—yeah, thanks for having my back, mom.
The way he saw it, the pursuit of knowledge was a virtue, in and of itself, which he accepted was a kind of ambition, or at least sister to it. That had to count for something.
One day, Ruusan would return to glory—it would become a pillar of the Mid Rim and an integral member of the galactic community. Then, with Noah's job complete, he'd come to The Valley, steep himself in this sanctuary, and he'd never leave.
One day.
Noah glanced up one more time at the Valley's statues, then turned on his heel. He smoothed down his hair, fixed a stray eyebrow hair, and with head held high, marched back to the city.
