"There are two kinds of light — the glow that illumines, and the glare that obscures."
- James Thurber
The small Corellian ship skimmed over the tops of the forest canopy.
The ancient Massassi temple blended into the foliage. Too much speed, the wrong approach vector, and it was easy to overfly the Jedi Academy on Yavin's moon. Even when you knew where to look, it could still fool the eyes at any altitude above the thick jungle that surrounded it. The ageless foundation -- the stone weathered, chipped, and overgrown with vines -- seemed to be part of the planet itself. As if the temple were just another mountain or tree. And, yet, that wasn't to say that the structure wasn't impressive.
Intimidating would have been a more apt word, in fact.
The work of the Ancient Sith stonecutters, masons, and architects radiated a kind of power or majesty. Thousands of years since its construction, the Massassi temple still commanded a certain respect through nothing other than the sheer presence of being it possessed. It was nothing so ordinary as a foreign attraction which might attract the eye of a tourist, it commanded attention.
And, yet, for all the work of the Dark Side which had been wrought on this moon... there was no shadow. No aura of mal intent. The work of the Massassi remained, a testament to their artistry and greatness. But the presence of the Massassi, of the Sith that had practiced their alchemy and sorcery there, was not to be found. Gone, as if the presence of the Dark Side had been banished into the wind.
How the Jedi had managed that was a mystery that the Anzat would have very much liked to know.
The child-knight's small freighter circled over the landing clearing, before disappearing into the mouth of the Massassi icon. The landing struts glided over the deck of the hangar bay, as the small Corellian guided the YT-series jalopy over to an available parking spot.
The question that had concerned the boy on the way into the landing pattern wasn't entirely academic. As the loading ramp lowered to the ground, the green robed Jedi emerged holding a relic.
A ceramic funerary pot.
Except, he wasn't holding it with his hands. He wouldn't hold it in his hands. He'd picked it up when he'd first seen it at the market on Mundderr and quickly learned his lesson for the experience.
It seemed quite old, and the art work on the exterior seemed quite interesting... if he could manipulate it enough for some restoration work. The problem was there was a palpable aura of the Dark Side of the Force around this pot. To avoid coming into contact with that again, the diminutive Anzat was holding the pot at arm's length telekinetically.
Having arrived at this far-flung time from his own, the boy had quickly lapsed back into old, familiar habits. He taught history. He taught telepathy. Always trying to find the educational value in everything, and ensure that the lesson was impressed on those to whom it was best intended.
Perhaps it was time to set aside what he thought he knew, and to return to the role of the student.
[member="Ilias Nytrau"]
