He'd been sitting in silence, poring over a particular sector of entries from one of the countless volumes of his seer's journal (long since transcribed as he'd seen the necessity of moving from the well-worn, bound volumes to a holoformat) due to the piercing sense of déjà vu he had gotten from an errant news report during a recent stop the day before, looking for some confirmation that a recent event had been something he had foreseen sometime over
so many years. The problem was that déjà vu could hardly be trusted as a reliable basis on which to determine the fruition of visions and prophecies when his own memory was so troublesome in its vastness and depth, the weight of so much seen, so much
done not by this body... but by that one, or the one before or...
The first clue had the sharp, tearing blip in the Force, screeching through his psyche - a momentous shock, and a harrowing absence following in its wake. The old phrase of sudden silence, without the cries of terror. Simultaneously, the second clue was the sound of a glass hitting the deck and shattering, the same one that [member="Chloe Blake"] had been drinking from, had so often drank from while sitting across from him and mostly minding her own business.
Mostly. Probably watching him as if she could divulge his deepest secrets by some visual osmosis. The third clue, afforded him the moment he looked up with shock-blurred vision was the fluttering of an ancient loabpaper starmap fluttering to join the mess of glass shards and pooled liquid. The final clue was the utter absence of the woman herself, the one that never seemed to want to pry things out of him, but he knew well she would wait, every time that he almost spoke and almost told. She had afforded him refuge when time and existence crashed in on him in seemingly damning finality. And she just wasn't... here, anymore.
At least the map had, in a funny way, evaded most of the mess on the way down. The last noise made before he'd been left with nothing but the hum of the engines of the
Aurora Hawk and his own psyche was that of the datapad in his hands clattering to the deck as well - whether out of surprise, shock, or a muscle-loosing, momentary seizure, he could never be certain. He'd taken care with the map, putting it in its place and left the mess for later, to poke through every nook and cranny of the ship, and she was no-where to be found. Also no-where to be found was any mote of panic. Nothing seemed to faze him anymore, but the one thing that he worked so hard against in recent years was the the odd blip of anger. It was an unfortunate side-effect of the mingling of his independant, grown psyche and personality and that of the ageless, consuming entity for which this body was supposed to have been a vessel. They were one, now, and the relationship was something he still struggled at times to accept. Once he was calm, and objectivity had been regained, he immediately had went into action, taking himself back to the home that had been his for so long with the piloting skills that had grown steady under Chloe's guidance. Ossus, however, had suffered much the same as Chloe had. So many were gone.
Eventually he'd found himself in a hangar of the same ship that [member="Choli Vyn"] was on, though it was difficult to tell as the Force had been strange today and his senses at times overwhelmingly strong - moreso than the already overwhelming strength that this
Hákon presented - and in other instances underwhelming and weak, if at all existent. He'd heard the voice of his young, mechanically-inclined apprentice when he disembarked, eyes falling on the ghost-town hangar before climbing to find her, and another frightened-looking mechanic.
"Choli," the word of her name came in a soft, cultured way, barely above a whisper, the second time louder to better be heard,
"I'm afraid there's no joke."
He looked across the hanger at her; that face always looked worried and grief-etched more often than not.
"They're gone, Choli Vyn. Gone."
