Private Living History

[Persephone Dashiell]

RUUSAN ​

Persephone looked at her datatablet, cross checking references on the semi-ruined structure in front of her. It was a war memorial for the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, a war long in the past. The structure had seen some better days, but Persephone suspected the age had something to do with this. Green light reflected in the center, thought to reflect living energy in an effort to ‘heal’ the Force wound left on the planet.

Not having the Force and not having one of her tutors, Master Coren Starchaser with her, she could only shrug her shoulders and just agree with the tales. At least until she could write notes down and send them for verification. Even then she was learning that much of the Force was ‘feel’ and deciding the truth based on that.

Seemed suspect but Master Starchaser was trustworthy enough that she didn’t completely doubt him.

Yet that was boring Jedi versus Sith stuff. Stuff that didn’t concern her on a day-to-day level. She was here to focus more on the Ruusan Reformation and how it turned into the Galactic Republic at that point. It took away power from the Chancellor and invested it into the Galactic Senate. One could say they squandered it at this point, wasting their time on bills such as ensuring Hapan men had equal rights.

Yet she wasn’t here to debate the pros and cons of trying to legislate a culture. Persie wasn’t a nerd on the debate team after all. She was here to study, learn about the end of the Republic Dark Age, and work on her research to submit to her history tutor. It was beyond her why he decided this would be a semester-long project, but somehow Mister Weers convinced her civics and culture tutor, Miss Calloway, that it would be an excellent interdisciplinary project.

Shoulders squared, she better get closer to the ruins. Head turned towards her security droid.

“Come along Zee.”


Laphisto

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto moved through the ruins in silence, his steps careful, deliberate. The crumbling memorial stood tall, its edges softened by time, the green light at its core casting an eerie glow in the evening haze. The monument, dedicated to the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, was a symbol of remembrance for many. But not for him.He wasn't here for this war.

Beneath this structure, beneath the layers of history that had been rewritten and repurposed, lay the remnants of a battle few even knew had occurred. A battlefield now buried beneath memorials dedicated to newer wars. The stones had shifted, the land reshaped, but the weight of what had happened here never faded for him. He could still hear the clash of blades, the cries of the dying, the terrible silence that followed.

Laphisto exhaled slowly, his claws brushing the weathered stone as he walked past, searching for the place where memory still held its grip. His mind drifted as he retraced the steps of an older war—the war that had taken his friends, his brothers, those who had once fought at his side. He had not spoken their names in centuries, but here, now, he could almost hear their voices. His journey through the ruins was unhurried, reverent. He counted the steps, following a path etched into his memory. A specific place. A specific loss. The moment where everything had changed.

The presence of another did not go unnoticed. The young woman, absorbed in her work, her datapad reflecting faint light against her face. She had a security droid at her side, its sensors sweeping the area. He recognized the type—a researcher, a historian perhaps. She was here to study, to document, to unravel the past through records and analysis.

But history was not something found in a datapad. For a moment, Laphisto considered the irony of it all. How stories were reshaped, reinterpreted, sometimes erased. The war he came to honor had no monument, no recognition. It had been swallowed by the passage of time, overshadowed by battles more recent and victories more politically relevant.


Even so, he did not approach her. Did not interrupt. This was not a place for words. Instead, he continued his quiet search, his gaze scanning the ground, looking for something only he could see. The place where they had fallen. The place where he had stood over them, helpless. He found it soon enough. The air was still, heavy with a weight only he could feel. He lowered himself slowly, kneeling before the unmarked ground, his hands resting on his knees.

"I haven't forgotten you," he murmured under his breath, a vow spoken to the past. The galaxy had moved on. New wars had been fought. New heroes had risen and fallen. The Jedi and Sith still clashed, still bled, still built monuments to their losses.But this war—the one he had come to honor—existed only in the memories of those who had survived it. And he was one of the last.

Persephone Dashiell

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

Combat boots crunched on the little pathways put into place to keep folks off the battlegrounds. Even Persephone knew that it was disrespectful to merely trapse along the field with wild abandon. Even though the memorial was built and not part of the original battle, according to her findings it had bene done so in a respectful manner. Granted, any findings were old, and fractured and quite questionable. Just the passage of time made it difficult to verify what was real or not real. Her best bet had been first-hand documented accounts that had been preserved. Beyond that everything was a crapshoot, at least in her opinion.

She had spotted the other while walking down the path. She didn't want to be disrespectful by not saying anything. That could be just as bad as talking someone's ear off. Etiquette was tricky and considering her finishing school was on hiatus due to the strife on Hapes her education was fairly incomplete.

"Hello." A small pause. "Academic researcher?"

He looked as if he could be a professor or doctoral student.

Laphisto