Private The Art of Dying

[Zaavik Perl]

Halls of Healing, Jedi Temple, Coruscant
THE ART OF DYING

Sixty straight hours in a bacta tank was just barely enough to stabilize. With Thyferra in the hands of the Confederacy, the quality of bacta on Coruscant was lacking when compared to the standard. As such, the treatment's level of effectiveness nearly fell short of the internal damage Zaavik had suffered. Rakghoul plague mutations had caused internal organs to become twisted and misplaced. The evolution of the Rakghouls on Foeroest had developed a rather nasty resistance to the serum, in some way or another. Thus, a total and miraculous reversal of the plague hadn't come to fruition. There were still lingering effects and damage to the body that required vast amounts of extended treatment. Bacta to heal the tissue, several esoteric surgeries to rearrange viscera, blood transfusions, a constant line of antibiotics to prevent sepsis, and occasional additional doses of the serum.

It didn't stop there, not even close. The effects it had on the brain were utterly horrific. Sedatives kept the convulsions away at first, but this eventually evolved into the need for a medically-induced coma. The prognosis was uncertain for the first few days, no one being sure what the outcome would be. Some were convinced he'd remain a convulsing vegetable bound to a bed forever. His condition did eventually begin to improve, far from miraculously. Federal funds gave the New Jedi Order access to plenty of treatments, without which he may never had improved. His body, despite suffering irreparable damage internally that was likely to cause minor to moderate complications for the remainder of his life, was otherwise functional. Brain scans had shown improvement overall, enough to the point where stimulants had been administered in an attempt to shorten the duration, or otherwise break the coma.

Not even in the deepest and nearly REM-less medically induced sleep did the dreams cease.

The wet concrete ground of outer Zeltros was far too cold for an infant. Hands, feet, and knees lost all feeling as he crawled through the puddles and grime. He could feel himself stretching out, could feel the hair on head sprouting from his itchy scalp. He rose to his feet, older now, still walking along the cold and damp streets of the blurry slum around him. He continued to stretch, taller and taller by the second. Blaster bolts filled the air, the scent of ozone thick with every inhale. The blurry slums became clear, dilapidated, and battle-torn, but still, he moved forward. Only a cliff remained. The stubble had begun to sprout from his face, his violet locks reaching down to his shoulder. Only a cliff. His skin stung and trembled against the cold winds that danced around. No clothes, no lightsaber, nothing, only a cliff.

Freezing, he stared forward into the void of the blue sky beyond. Only a cliff. Vague silhouettes floated in a line above, each of them distant and humanoid. Only a cliff. In perfect formation, they approached. A smooth glide through the air with no regard for gravity. Their faces clear, but when he tried he could not recognize them. Only a cliff. Within arms reach, their float ceased and a plummet ensued. Zaavik reached out a hand, even dropping to his stomach against the cliff to catch one, but the defiant centimeters between them hands did not allow a rescue. Only a cliff. The malicious attraction of gravity shifted, and now, he fell away from the cliff. Not even his own reflection that reached out could save him as he descended deep into a void.

No more cliff. Nothing. "For the last time; I ain't your daddy, kid." Nothing. "How much for the kid?" Nothing. "Didn't your mother ever teach you-?" Nothing. No more cliff, only a void in which he floated aimlessly. Nothing. "Two hundred credits." Nothing. "They're just silhouettes, not people. Don't think of them like people, Zaavik." Nothing. "I'll make them pay." Against the void. "I'm sorry." Against the void, a swath of blood ran. "You just gonna stand there?" Against the void. "Please don't hurt me." A swath of blood. "Why do you insist on being a pain in my ass?" Against the void. "You do it, Zaavik." A cold blaster. A swath of blood. "You set me up, didn't you?" Against the void. "Do it." A swath of blood. An angry blade. "I did choose you." Against the void. "I'm not worthy." A swath of blood.

Nothing.

The heart monitor's slow and rhythmic beep was the only sound that broke the dead silence within the room they kept him. Pulse readings came up steady and stable. Blood-oxygen was adequate, but far from ideal. Treatment of scar tissue within the lungs was left up to Force Healers. Growing a new pair of lungs wasn't plausible given the damage he'd suffered, and a permanent respirator was something that everyone would like to, understandably, avoid. Despite the chaos that haunted his sedated mind, he remained almost statuesque aside from the rising and falling of his chest. The occasional quiet groan or mumble over the last day or two had been a sign of hope that the stimulants were working.

All that was left, was to wait.

Ryv Allyson Locke Auteme ​

 

[Ryv]

​

Hospitals.

Ryv hated hospitals.

Most missions saw the Jedi Knight receiving professional help, whether it be a medical droid or skilled physician. He wasn't fond of all the poking needles or prodding doctors, but he understood the importance of it all. He couldn't do what he had to do if someone didn't clear him physically. All that made sense in his mind. Yet, something about seeing others lying in bed hooked up to whatever machines lined the walls pushed the Kiffar beyond his comfort zone. It started with Cedric, broken down, and left comatose after an accident on Brentaal IV. Not too long after, Ryv endured his first significant failure as a leader, forced to witness Allyson's self-inflicted crash, a loud enough call for help even the deaf would struggle to miss it. Neither Cedric's accident nor Allyson's choice was Ryv's fault. They told him so, as did his friends. Even his therapist assured him he couldn't of stopped either. Sometimes bad things happened, regardless of what we wanted.

That explanation wasn't enough. Ryv ran through the fall of Brentaal IV every time he saw Cedric. The man Ryv came to consider a father appeared far gone from the stalwart hero the Imperium once believed him to be. Surely, had Ryv held his ground during their stand at the speeder garage, Cedric would've escaped unscathed. Left with nothing else to take away from their failings, Ryv accepted responsibility. It wasn't any different after Honoghr. His plan didn't work, Loske went down, Maynard fell to his rage, and Allyson crashed her ship in hopes of victory, paid for in blood. And Ryv? He scraped together something passable for a retreat, failed to capture Tathra, and fled with his head hung low. They told him they all lived. He'd done everything he could, why couldn't he move on? That question, much like the countless hours he spent replaying the memories of that day, did nothing good for Ryv's guilt. Cedric or Wyatt would've done better. Why weren't they here?

"Sir."

What could've drawn the both of them away from the galaxy when it needed them most? They taught him the importance of humility. A Jedi wasn't meant to see life from the eyes of a heightened or superior being. Jedi served the galaxy. They provided a hand to the downtrodden, a shoulder to the wounded, and a light to the lost. Ryv couldn't hope to hold the proverbial torch alone, for it would only reveal the truth of his being. Once illuminated, the mask would fall away, cracking piece by piece, to show the monster none of them expected beneath.

"Sir, are you listening to me?"

Ryv blinked, the world coming back into focus as his mind snapped back to reality. He shifted his attention from the floor to the Pantoran nurse trying to get his attention.

"I'm sorry, I uh- I wasn't listening," Ryv braced himself, hands holding tight to his knees as he pushed himself up. "Minds been all over the place, I guess? You know how it is," he reached up, massaging built-up tension from where shoulder met neck. "Doesn't matter, what, uh, what were you saying? Something about strawberry shortcake?" the Jedi looked past the smaller healer. "I could use a sna-"

"He's been moved," the nurse lifted a hand, a finger swiftly silencing him following her first three words. "Zaavik isn't in the best condition, but he's beyond what the bacta tank can do. You're free to visit him now, Ryv," she smiled up at the tired Kiffar, motioning down the hall leading towards Zaavik's room.

"Seriously?" Ryv looked back and forth from the hall to the healer. "Right on! Thank you, thank you!" he turned and hurried down the hall, fighting back the urge to run. Step by step, he pushed quickly down the corridor, soon arriving at the Jedi Padawan's room. He stopped at the door, his hand taking hold of the cold, durasteel handle. It bit into his flesh, sending a chill down his spine, goosebumps rolling over his honey-colored flesh. He looked down, eyeing the handle with a tilted head, searching for something out of place. The Halls of Healing maintained a comfortable temperature meant to facilitate rest, without overwhelming the patient's senses. Whatever rolled through him wasn't the typical chill of the hospital facility. It felt abnormal, resting uncomfortably on his skin. Ryv rubbed his hands together before taking the handle once more, turning it as he pushed it open and stepped inside.

"Ah, man, Zaavik?" Ryv inched closer, holding out hope his words might rouse the comatose Padawan. "Yeah, I didn't think that work either, buddy," he pulled the door shut behind him, careful not to slam it. "I'm sorry about all this, man. I should've been there. Allyson wouldn't have known better, she's worked alone her whole life. Entrusting her with a student like that? I let you both down. If I put the mission first, ignored my personal ties, and worked beside you? I probably could've kept you standing, man. I'm sorry I wasn't there," he tugged a chair from nearby, sitting beside the bed as he rambled through the mess of thoughts. "I doubt it matters, but we nabbed the Holocron, Zaavik. Managed to clear out the Rakghoul, bring back some good samples to research, lots of notes from the smarter Jedi," Ryv chuckled, the sound hollow. "They haven't told me if you're gonna make it or not," he reached out, his hand falling to gently squeeze the Zeltron's shoulders.

"They never do."

Zaavik Perl | Auteme | Allyson Locke​

 

[Allyson Locke]

When can I wake from this nightmare? Will it ever end?​

Everything was falling apart. ​

Closing her eyes, Allyson played back everything that had happened on Foerest leading up to being in the hospital. Every step she took towards the surface of the dead ship could feel the life force of her Padawan waning. She already knew that the serum wasn't enough, he needed so much more. Reaching the surface, she saw everyone's face, the worry that they displayed as they ripped the boy from her arms. It hurt knowing that there was nothing that she could do for him more. Watching the healers begin to quickly work on him, injecting more of the serum into his system, it all moved in slow motion. ​

A voice yelled at her; one of the medics felt it was necessary to lay into the Jedi Master as she sat there on the ground, watching them load Zaavik into the ship to take him back home. A shove and she looked up, seeing the man's face. ​

"What were you thinking?!"​

"I wasn't" She spoke quietly to no one. Allyson stood in front of a vending machine for caf, her mind lost as she continued to push the same button over and over again. Nothing came out, but she noticed that she had forgotten to put a credit in. She even failed to do the most mundane things, like putting credits into a machine to get a caf. Leaning forward, she rested her head against the cool duraplast. The hum of the Force and the white noise coming from the machine calmed her. Sometimes she felt this was all she had, that white noise was the only thing that eased her. Frustration hit again as she hit her fist against the machine. It wasn't at fault for anything besides doing is normal function, but it felt good to blame something other than herself. ​

A few minutes passed, and Allyson finally put the right credit amount into the vending machine. The caf was dispensed, and she slowly began to make her way towards the hospital room. Faces were a blur as she passed, the caf tasted terrible, but she deserved that. She knew Ryv was here, but she avoided him the entire time. She couldn't face him with this failure, she put someone in danger, which was not what she promised. In reality, she didn't want to see anyone, her mind focused on Zaavik and wanted to be at his side. Her work and life went on hiatus, nothing else mattered. ​

The hospital was alive, people moving and healing, but Allyson couldn't hear anything. She felt as if she was floating underwater, the world around her muffled and gargled. The only thing she could hear was her mind reminding her of her failures. The words of the medic continued to scream at her as she didn't know how to answer him or how to answer anyone. ​

She moved to the door and cracked it open, she heard another voice and quickly recognized it as the Kiffar's. She paused, she wasn't ready to face him after all of this. Mistake after mistake, she continued to relive them, she was no good here, lost in her own self-hatred. Allyson didn't leave though, her hand resting on the doorknob, she listened behind the weight of the door. Her grip tightened against the doorknob, knuckles whitening as she listened to what the Sword of the Jedi had to say. He blamed himself for her mistakes; he didn't guilt her for what she had done. A sickening feeling twisted inside of the Corellian. ​

Ryv had done nothing wrong, it's not his fault she couldn't think outside of her experiences. It wasn't his fault for her failures as a Master, as a Jedi, as a person. The door closed quietly as she stepped back. She should have never come back, she should have stayed in the unknown regions chasing the ghosts she had made for herself. The caf fell to the ground as she felt her legs take her, they moved on their own accord. Blacking out, Allyson found herself at the top of the hospital. The chilled wind blew against her face, tears she didn't know could continue to fall stained her face. Touching her cheek, Allyson looked at the cemented ceiling of the building she stood on. ​

When did she get here? Did it matter? Looking up at the sky, the busy atmosphere of Coruscant stared back at her. "What do you want from me? How do I fix this?" No one answered her, but Allyson wondered who she was even crying out to. The longer the silence from the unknown entity lingered, the angrier she became. More and more, the universe worked against her. Death always came for those that were around her, and all she could do was watch. ​

She was confident that Zaavik was going to die, something in the Corellians heart told her that. He wouldn't be the first, and he wouldn't be the last. Was she cursed? What did she do in her life that caused all of this heartache? Questions and no answers came to her. All the brunette had was just memories of the people she had killed in the name of justice, her parents' faces, the faces of countless associates and friends. All of the memories flooding into her at once, her headache, and she dropped to her knees and screamed. Allyson screamed till she couldn't anymore, her head continuing to feel as if it was splitting and breaking. Opening her eyes, Allyson stared at the concrete and felt the tightness crush her heart. Curling up where she was, she continued to cry and continue to ask why. If she had the courage, she would have ended it all, but something stopped her - she didn't know what power wanted to keep her alive, but she figured that it was only meant to cause more pain.​

Ryv Zaavik Perl Auteme ​

 

[Auteme]

Zaavik Perl Allyson Locke Ryv ​

She didn't know Zaavik Dagoth. She'd probably never know his pain, either. But seeing him bleeding, then trying to heal him only to realize that nothing was in the right place. It was the worst mistake she could've made. Ever since they got back she'd done what she could to tend to him, to ease his pain. To help in whatever way she could.

Even far away, she could still sense him struggle in his sleep.

No, she didn't feel responsible for him, but she should've known his organs weren't in the right place before healing him. Auteme knew she was smarter than that. As the padawan walked down the Halls of Healing she couldn't help but think of all of the potential treatments that might've been more effective. All the extensive surgeries Zaavik had received had been done by the best medical droids. The healers and the bacta quickly stopped the bleeding. The anesthetics and other antibiotics combined with the re-engineered rakghoul serum, though, had forced Zaavik's body into a comatose state. They'd had to pump his stomach, though not much. The stimulants had roused him a little, but Auteme knew that they wouldn't quite be enough.

So, when the doctors and droids had finished their treatments for the day, Auteme headed to Zaavik's room to try something else.

She spotted Allyson at the door of the room. The Corellian was definitely feeling terrible -- the way she'd looked when they left Foerost was one of despair, of sickness, of defeat. Now... something else was keeping her out of the room. It was difficult to see her like that. Vulnerable. Once Auteme had feared the woman. Envied her, even, though only for a moment. Now she just wanted to help.

The padawan peeked into the room for a moment and got her own reason to pause outside. She stepped back and took a deep breath. No, she had a job to do.

Auteme stepped inside the hospital room. "Hey," she said, casting a glance at Ryv before moving to the opposite side of the bed. She pulled up a white stool and sat. Another deep breath. Then she reached out, putting her hands just a hair above Zaavik's arm.

Still, she needed to address him. The padawan paused, her gaze settling on the Sword of the Jedi who seemed characteristically down. "Stop it," she ordered.

"Stop blaming yourself and taking responsibility for this. It's not your fault. You always do that." Her tone left no room for argument. He knew how she felt about that attitude. It wasn't her responsibility. She felt bad, but she'd recently realized that holding herself back in that way would just make it all hurt more.

"I'm going to try something to wake him up, but it might take a while. Allyson is here, you might want to talk to her," she said, her gaze turning to the comatose Zeltron. "And don't tell her it's your fault. She deserves better than that."

The padawan's hands rested on Zaavik's chest and forehead, and she closed her eyes. Those flitting emotions of anger and frustration dissolved as she reached for the light in her heart. And if she could find it within herself, she could find it in someone else. Her senses reached out to Zaavik as she searched for the source of his pain and struggles -- as soon as she found that, she'd search for a solution.

 

[Zaavik Perl]

Had it truly been anyone's fault? Could anyone be to blame for a dilapidated panel giving beneath the weight of a step? It could be said that the fault lies in the absence of preventative action. Then again, unforeseen consequences have their name for a reason. Was fault objective, or did it lay where those who felt guilt dictated it did? Nobody was here to argue the objectiveness of 'fault'. Zaavik didn't have to go so deep into that star destroyer, but he did. No one was oblivious to the risks, and that included him.

Were you afraid of the dark when you were younger? Void. How good are your eyes? Void. Do they lock you away when they aren't tormenting you? Were you programmed to take it like that? Sitting on a pedestal, yet you still insist on wasting so much time. Time. A blood-black visage sculpted from whence the suffering did sink. Blood-black. Vast and bare, the decay never ceased to eat away from the inside. Decay. "Do I accept?" Time. What did you think gave you the right to make everything so complicated? Can you name even one thing? Time.

'Force Empath' was never a label slapped onto Zaavik. It was normal for Jedi to have some inclination as to the feelings of others. It wasn't a skill he'd ever honed, it had been almost a complete afterthought when his avenue of focus was considered. It was potent enough, however, that the lingering feelings around him, even in his unconscious state were enough to affect him. Emotions, despite their chemical explanations, were rooted in the metaphysical. Even on the roof, Allyson's inner turmoil could reach though the parallel folds of physical perception and back into his festering subconscious. He hadn't the time or the opportunity yet to forge such a bond with Ryv or Auteme, but proximity compensated for their lack of acquaintance.

Don't justify it as if you just 'operate that way' you scum. Blood-black. "You really shouldn't have done that." As if you would even have the sliver of the nerve it took to admit what you had done. Do you still remember how it felt? Blood-block. Do you still remember how cold it felt in your hand? The first time? What about the last time? Time. A touch meant time and time again to comfort, but it only ever seeded loathing. Scum. Grace them for the first time before you don't. Time. "Cedric?" Do you dread the agonizing crunch? "Dad?" Do you dread that sound they always make? Blood-black.

The speed of the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor slowly picked up. The chest rising and falling became far more prominent. His lips twitched as if trying to curl away from the teeth. The grumbling discontent that quietly rattled from his throat preceded the unfamiliar touch on his chest and forehead. He'd grown clammy, faintly warm to the touch as if he'd exerted himself. His brow shifted and contorted when faced with the struggle that swam on the precipice of consciousness.

"I'm never gonna be like them." Dread. You'll never forget the first one. Blood-black. "They're just silhouettes." Blood-black dread. Can your hands still feel, you know, after the burning? Dread. Can your arms still feel, you know, after the burning? Dread. Can you still feel, you know, after what you did? Blood-black dread. Do you really think he knows how you're feeling, you know, him? Do you really think he understands, you know, him? Do you really think she understands, you know, Allyson? Do you really think they know care? Don't be so down on yourself. Dread. "Hold on, someone's listening."

Does such a void even have a source? "Quit your starin'!" Eyes. Eyes fucking everywhere, everywhere you go, everywhere you look. Eyes. She's afraid of someone. I can't stand it when someone takes something from me, either. Eyes. "Please don't, I really don't like taking pictures." Artificial. Someone's looking. Eyes. Nobody's home, just don't answer the door. Artificial. Help? Don't try to sell me your altruism. Artificial. Do you remember what color the walls were? Yellow. Why do you keep running away? Yellow. Can't you see what you've done, it's all your fault. Eyes. It's not the Jedi way. Artifical.

Someone's looking in.

Zaavik's looking back.

Yellow eyes.

Yellow eyes.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate.

Regret.

Auteme Allyson Locke Ryv ​

 

[Ryv]

Auteme's presence had gone entirely unnoticed by Ryv from the moment he entered, up until she spoke up. His eyes widened, snapping towards her as she contested his musings. He perked a brow, considering her declaration. Unsurprisingly, the Jedi Knight found what she had to say aggravating. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself annoyed by the words. Everyone had something to say in regards to how Ryv approached accountability, yet no one else stepped up to help make decisions. The New Jedi Order depended on his leadership, and more often than not, he made mistakes. People gave him suggestions, offering him what help they could provide, but just like him, none of them were ready to do what needed to be done. Everyone else just stumbled along beside him, trying to make the right decisions while the galaxy burned around them. What do you know? Ryv wanted to ask, catching himself at the last second, choosing not to argue.

"When she's ready to talk about all this, we'll talk," Ryv began, his eyes settling on Zaavik once more. "If she wanted to talk about it, she would've approached me by now. I think she's trying to feel her way through it. Her apprentice is in a coma after their first mission together, after all. I imagine its tough to think about," he stated, his tone carrying a sense of certainty. The bond Ryv and the absent Jedi Shadow shared spoke more for her than her words, often time revealing the truth of her feelings in great crisis. And if that was anything to go by, he knew she felt similarly to him. "I hate being told how to feel, Auteme. I don't like it when people who couldn't understand what I'm going through feel the need to explain how I should grieve. Allyson isn't different, as far as I can tell. She doesn't reach out for help, nor does she seem to trust me with her emotional well-being. It is a bit presumptuous to assume my presence will make any of this better for her."

Before Ryv could say anything else, a wave of emotion crashed into him, his form freezing in place as if to brace himself. His mind reeled from the sudden instruction, unshielded due to an apparent false sense of security at their surroundings. He closed his eyes, dry swallowing as pain resurfaced. Allyson wasn't there, not unlike the absentee master who departed for the unknown. It all felt the same, one after another, these people entered into the Kiffar's life, making a place for themselves, only to depart suddenly, tearing apart everything they built with the young Jedi Knight. Ryv hated that too, probably more than he hated people telling him how he should and shouldn't feel. It made him angry, sitting like a stone in the pit of his stomach, always there, a constant reminder of cold reality. Those he loved would never feel the same way about him. How could they? They didn't know his truths, only his lies.

"Regardless," Ryv pushed the chair back, away from the bed. "You shouldn't dive into whatever it is you're doing right now. I can feel Zaavik's pain. He's like a damn volcano, ready to erupt at a moment's notice. If you want to fool around with that, you need help, Auteme," he stood up and moved adjacent to Zaavik's head. He reached down, gloved fingers gently settling atop his fleshy pink forehead. "Just uh, hold on tight, I guess," he took a deep breath, focusing inward as the force flowed all around him. The Jedi Knight beckoned it closer, and like a funnel, he channeled it through his body, down the length of his arm, into the Zeltron's fractured state. Ryv's eyes closed, his consciousness expanding beyond his own, reaching out to both the comatose Zeltron and the Jedi Healer across from him.

"I'm ready for a fucking show, Zaavik," Ryv's words pierced the heavy veil trapping the Jedi Padawan's mind. "Show me what you got, buddy."

Allyson Locke | Auteme | Zaavik Perl ​

 

[Auteme]

Zaavik Perl Ryv Allyson Locke ​

The hum of the Halls and the beeping of the machine fell away as Auteme immersed herself in the flow. Even though her eyes were closed she felt as if she could see the energy flowing down her arms towards Zaavik, only to reach the twisted knot that had a death grip on his mind. Soon that vision dissolved and she was taken to a familiar place. In the quiet darkness she could hear the voices and see Zaavik's struggle.

It was quickly apparent to her that she was not entirely wanted here. What she could hear only told her to stop looking. The feelings in his heart crept up her arm as well, threatening to drag her in -- at least until she felt that little pang of regret nestled deep under the layers of hate and struggle.

Regret was unpleasant, but it was a start. Regret, when acted upon, could bring change. Zaavik needed to change. Out of his hospital robe, partly, because it didn't quite complement his skin; change his state of mind and release the tension that had taken hold.

Release.

Even though it was not entirely a Force power, the Suerton probability manipulation had often served as a reminder to let go. Auteme was there. In the moment. No matter the outcome, she would accept it. She wanted to help but understood that that was not always possible. She was herself but knew that the Force would show her the way when she let go of the reins. The padawan surrendered herself to the flow, and the current swept her up to show her what she needed to see.

Zaavik stared back at her. Someone else was here, somewhere. Ryv. But she couldn't see him, only the Zeltron. For a moment the doubt threatened to bring her out. Ryv was here, couldn't he do it better? She didn't even know Zaavik, was it her right to probe his mind in such a way? She'd never even done this before. How could she be certain she wouldn't do more harm than good?

Release.

She accepted those fears and doubts and moved forward nonetheless. She could do this; she could help. Zaavik's pain was deep-rooted but he had carried it for a long time before this. They could unwind that once he had been brought back to the realm of the living. One step at a time. The flow of the river was continuous; it had no end in sight.

The padawan reached forward to Zaavik. "I can help. Show me how."

 

[Zaavik Perl]

Memories blurred by like watercolored pieces on the reel of Zaavik's life as the shape of one mind took the shape of several. All at once, the void seemed to expand beyond his own conscious prison.

I haven't closed my eyes in such a long time. "I'm trying." Thoughts are lingering on my parents. Not my parents. Whose thoughts are these? Where do I end, and where do you begin? Allyson, is this what you're seeing, or what I'm seeing? Where do I end, and where do you begin? Ryv, I can't tell if I'm you or if you're me. Where do I end, and where do you begin? Auteme, I don't know which thoughts are yours, and which are mine. Where do I end, and where do you begin? I feel so scattered. Lost. Aimless. Stop. Where am I? Where are you?

The tethers of consciousness fell away as each mental presence emulsified into one. With no physical conscious presence to speak of, differentiating oneself from another could become rather difficult. The feeling of being one with others in mind was an alien one. Thinking too far in the direction of any concept could easily result in being lost in the aimless and unfamiliar space of someone else's psyche. With no awareness beyond the inner depths of your own mind, one may risk forgetting who they were at a given moment.

Is this how you plan on treating yourself? Self. Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself? Self. Maybe you could make something of yourself if you actually tried. Self. "You're nothing, that's all you've ever been." Self. Who's really at fault for this? Self. Focus, otherwise you're going to lose yourself in here. Self. It's getting really hard to keep it together, please get out of my head. Get out. Self. Who did this to you? Self. Aren't you going to do something about it? Self. Where am I? Self. Whose thoughts are these? Self. I never asked for this to happen. Self. Please, I just want this all to end. Self.

I can feel, finger to finger. One. Who just remembered the inside of the temple? One. I think it's all of us, all at once. One. Which one of you said that? One. I can see what you see. One. You can feel what I feel. One. Don't you know how you're feeling? One. Yeah, I do. One. Reach in. One. Were we programmed to have dark thoughts like this? One. How did that really make you feel? One. So many places I'd never seen before, yet now I have the memory. One. Do you ever think that no one really gets it? One. Do you ever finish anyone's sentences? One. I'm sure you already knew the answer. One Self.

"I can help. Show me how."

How? "I'm trying."

How? "I'm trying."

I wasn't even aware that I needed any help. Or was it you that needed it? Us? It's like being tied in a knot. Don't you feel that, that twisting? "Sit still." That twisting in your chest, and below? "It's gonna be okay, we have to do this together." I feel fine, why won't my eyes open? Can you open yours? Which way is up? Does up even exist? Everything is twisting, up has ceased to be a constant. A vague inclination of before. A vague inclination of now. A vague inclination of later. When am I? Time is all twisted up, I can't even think straight.

"Hey, I'm right here. Ryv? Allyson? Auteme? I'm right here! Hey! Can't you see me? Feel me? Hear me? I'm right here." Too far to touch, but to close to get any approach further. Nothing works like it's supposed to anymore. Have I died? "I can't keep myself together." Presence was everywhere and nowhere all at once. "I'm spreading apart, can't you see me? I'm everywhere." No longer confined to a solid form, it was easy to fall apart. "I'm over here."

These aren't my hands. They're too smooth, too pristine, too undamaged. Allyson's hands. "Master?" Where are my hands? Where am I? I can't get out of this void. I can see a light, but the closer I move the farther away it gets. "I'm scared." There's nothing anywhere. It's all vague, blurry, liquid. "I can help." It's getting farther away. I reach out, but I can't touch it. "You clean up nicely." Am I falling? Why won't anyone answer me?

Is it really that time again?

You've gotten yourself into something, and you need someone to save you?

"Master?"



You're really pathetic, you know that?





"I can help."






Can you go five minutes without fucking everything up?

"I should have just let you starve and saved myself the headache."

"Allyson, please, I need some help here."









"Anyone, please."


















"Is that me approaching me? Or is it you? Are you me? Who are you?"








































"Is that my hand? I can't get out. Take my hand."
























"Anyone?"

Allyson Locke Ryv Auteme ​

 

[Auteme]

Zaavik Perl Ryv Allyson Locke ​

Auteme was back in her library. She had a great love for the grand archives at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, the homely library of the Silver Rest, the Gatekeeper’s room on Peace Station, the library at the praxeum on H’ratth, the University of Coruscant’s libraries, and of course the public wing of the Arkanian scientific center. Each was unique and beautiful. But there was always something off. The Temple’s shelves were so monotonous and the reading areas were uncomfortable. The Silver Rest’s archives were nowhere near as comprehensive as she might’ve liked. The Gatekeeper was often intrusive due to its loneliness. H’ratth held bad memories. The University was always so busy and held little information on the Force. The scientific center was as cold and standard as the Arkanians themselves.

So when she’d begun to build up her own mind palace, she’d decided to start from scratch. The ‘building’ was enormous; it was easily twice the size of the archives in the Coruscant Jedi Temple. Whether her mind held more information was debatable, but she preferred the warm wood floors in her mindscape over the uncomfortable duracrete of the Temple. Here, there were no data terminals. Only books resided on the innumerable shelves, each bound in simple dyed leather. On the spine of each the topic of the book had been inscribed in a neat cursive. They were all the same size, tightly packed on the shelves, yet easy to remove even when the shelf was full. The vaulted ceilings opened in grand skylights. Above a single yellow sun shone in a blue sky. It never rained, nor was it ever night. There was no need for artificial lighting; the sun above was enough.

By far the largest individual section -- though still only a fraction of the library’s size -- was the one labeled ‘Memories’. It was tucked at the far wall, the shelves going as high as the ceiling. The first four sets of shelves were nearly empty; only a few green and red books were scattered across it. But the fifth to the eighteenth were stuffed to the brim. The first few books were red as well, though most were green or blue.

Auteme stood before the enormous shelves. When had she arrived here? She normally entered from the front door at the other end of the room, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Was someone else here? The normally rare shadows in her library seemed to grow longer. Darker. She clutched her head and closed her eyes, feeling an intense headache coming on. Something was wrong. Was this really her library?

When she opened her eyes again she was in another section; the two shelves that stood before her were labeled ‘Ryv’ and ‘Zaavik’. New books seemed to materialize on the shelves, at first red, before flickering to green. Her green. The ground began to shake; books began to fall off the shelves. She stepped forward. No, she couldn’t allow her library to become disorganized. She needed to clean up. Auteme reached down and started to pick up Zaavik’s books, but as she tried to put them back on the shelf she realized it wasn’t deep enough for the books to fit on. That was odd. Something was wrong. Was this really her library?

There were others here, she could feel it. Why were they hiding? More books began to fall off the shelves elsewhere in the library. The headache spiked and she doubled over in pain. For a moment she could feel her physical body and was forced to fight the urge to vomit. If she threw up in her mouth and didn’t have control over her body, she’d probably suffocate. Worse, she might simply be stuck in her own mind forever. But this wasn’t quite her own mind, was it? There were others here, she could feel it.

She scooped up one of the fallen books and opened it. It was Zaavik’s. Words floated off the page. Self. Pathetic. Help. That was her word. Why was her word in his book? She flipped to the next page, only for the wall beside her to crumble and the void beyond peek back in. Yes, that was Zaavik’s. A crumbling mind. Disorganized thoughts. It hurt her but she tried her best to keep herself together.

What even was self, anyways? There was really only one self. The Force. Force meld. That was what he had done? Why had Ryv done that? It was supposed to help. He was trying to help. She was trying to help. They were one, working together alongside Zaavik, and yet he…

Auteme screamed as she was pulled into the void that was not her own. She clutched her head as the shattered psyche threatened to break her own. It was invasive, this technique, but it was worse when one of the meld wasn’t entirely in control. Then again, now that they were melded, were any of them really in control? There was only one self. The Force.

The Force. Find the flow. No matter the outcome you will accept and move on. Learn and understand. Accept. Flow. Find.

The pain in her mind seemed to fade as she found Zaavik. Not entirely in one place, but she knew he could hear her just as she could hear him. She could feel his pain, hear the voices that haunted him, and stare into the darkness that threatened to drag him down. He was right there. They were all right here.

“Zaavik, it’s alright. I know it hurts. But you can’t stop moving forward.” She reached out, offering her hand to him. “It’s alright to be afraid. Just keep moving.” Focus. Find the flow. Accept the outcome. Understand.

And in an instant she was back in her library, sitting in the reading area with a cup of hot cocoa in her hand. She didn’t know if this was how it was meant to be, but she accepted it nonetheless.

“Zaavik? Ryv? ...Allyson?”