Private Two Kinds of Light

[Ishida Ashina]

THERE ARE TWO KINDS OF LIGHT -
THE GLOW THAT ILLUMINATES,
AND THE GLARE THAT OBSCURES
TYTHON | HALL OF THE SUN
Michael Sardun

Selvaris was starting to take its toll. The encounter, seeing Laoth again, had been exhausting, humiliating, and a shameful exposure of hesitation and the pitfalls of mercy.

Ishida was still reeling from it when she’d woken up on Tython. And from the privacy of her quarters within Sardun’s Hall, she reached out to Bernard to give a brief overview, just in terms of exchanging stories. She thought maybe hearing his voice again would somehow smooth it all over, and she could tell him about the ring he gave her and how much it had helped keep her present — but the gravity of the whole exchange was made her lethargic and less enthusiastic to share her side — and she instead claimed more interest in hearing about the outcomes on Copero.

There were many still, silent gaps shared between the young couple who were forced to converse across the stars, and in those moments of mutual quiet, the weariness began to settle in her.

Between sleepy exchanges, where her voice was puffy and soft and she wasn’t even sure if the comm picked it up, Ishida promised to meet him on Tython alongside Henna and Inosuke. They hung up not long after — or, at least, let the holocall run long enough until it was disconnected. Ishida hadn’t noticed, at some point, she’d actually fallen asleep.

She’d slept and healed for the first several hours spent within the walls of the sanctum — every so often groaning to herself about how Master Sardun needed to teach her more about Force Body to eliminate the need for these boring bacta baths.

When she could no longer bear to rest and was as refreshed as she could be considering the circumstances, she collected herself and went to seek out her Master. Each moment within the walls of The Sun’s Halls was painful and burning, more so than usual. Normally the intensity of the light was like a tenseness through her muscles, but in the wake of her tether to the devaronian, it stung deeper.

Sardun was easy to find, despite the grandscape of the incredible architecture.

A billion questions, one thought to another, twisted through her mind. They vyed for release, begged against the back of her teeth and pulled at her cheeks. Her tongue kept them trapped, and for a few moments, she simply kept her silvery eyes on him.

He had said so many things to her on Selvaris, but some stood out more than others:

the mistakes I made in my own youth."

In truth, she half expected him to immediately dismiss her. But no gesture came.

After all, he was still her teacher. And after the affair on Selvaris, she couldn’t take that for granted. She was more delicate about their dynamic than she’d been the first time her tiny teenage hand had shaken his giant battle-scarred one. How tenuously held was her role as his student now?

“Have you ever been wrong?” Ishida asked and stood across from the dark-haired pontifex. “With your judgement or duty?”

 

[Michael Sardun]

Ishida Ashina

He felt her.

How could he not?

The bond forged between them was not one of fancy. It was one of work, of years spent training together, fighting together. This was not a simple or easy thing. It made it all the more difficult to dismiss her. Sardun knew it was necessary. She wasn't ready. Maybe she would never be. Maybe she'd end up like Kaska... betrayed, lost... and finally disappeared.

But Sardun could not.

Even this man, more Light than human at this point, still held onto things. It was a weakness that troubled him. He could only hope that he would be strong enough... if it came to it.

"I was young once." Michael said simply as he pulled off his helmet and set it down on the table near them. The wizened Jedi did not immediately look back to her. He wanted to leave it at that. What was the point of picking at these scabs? These barely healed wounds covered up by layers of gold and steel?

"And in my youth I made many a mistake. I listened to those I thought wise. I bled for causes I believed were worthy. I... loved." His back straightened out all of a sudden. The ring flared up on his finger as his presence became stillness.

"I try to keep you from making the same mistakes I did. Yet, you insist on making them anyway."

Only then did Michael turn to her.

"How are your wounds?" Out of nowhere. A reminder that beneath the frozen glacier was a man who once held a tiny hand and squeezed it reassuringly. A lifetime ago.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Ishida had heard it all before, as rationalizations for why she should be unquestioningly diligent as a learner — all except for

. I... loved.

That was new.

Her expression tightened, instantly flummoxed by the admission. Sardun seemed to tighten too, as if the memories of the past were clutching him even now, digging into the spaces between his vertebrae and straightening so tightly that there was no room for them to bloom.

His parallel to mistake-making made her pause, and scrunch her face into something smaller and more thoughtful. Her mouth rose, and her brows steeped. He'd belittled the influence of Bernard, and she'd been furious at him for that — if he'd been close to someone before too, he must have known how much that stung her. The war between her heart and mind in that instant.

She was bout to speak to his jab when he turned around and pivoted the conversation somewhere she hadn't anticipated. He hadn't asked about her well-being in a long time. Not when she'd lost The Force on Ziost— you should have been faster, always aware — nor after the rattling experience on Coruscant — your brother's weakness should not encourage your own — nor after the initial injury on Jedha — although that time, he'd been pleased she'd survived.

She'd just left out the part about not finishing her enemy off.

And giving him the will to live instead.

"I don't plan on using shatterpoint on myself ever again," Ishida answered, and unconsciously rubbed at the sore spot on her chest. It had been a good lesson in empathy at least.

There was little point in asking how his wounds were — he always managed to heal almost instantly. His throat had been massacred and crushed, splintered and bloody, but here he was, talking smoothly and unphased. "Yours look better." She attempted anyway.

Silence stretched, awkwardly, and Ishida frowned. She wanted to go back to what she'd originally asked, and he'd half-answered.

"Who was she?" Surely, a past affair hadn't been the root of poor judgement?

 

[Michael Sardun]

Ishida Ashina

The balance between giving too much comfort and not enough was precarious.

Sardun snorted at her Shatterpoint quip, "You did well." The praise came easy because for the most part Michael agreed. He walked over calmly and put his hand on her shoulder. When was the last time he had done that? A little squeeze, gentle. Full eye-contact as he looked down on her. "You did. Everything put aside, I am proud to have you as my padawan."

But then that next question came and his jaw tightened.

Openness closed off almost immediately.

He did not take his hand off of her shoulder, but did look past her. Into the depths of shadows. Where memories resided and history was made to be buried under layers of ash.

"Why does that matter?" Soft and out of reach.

For a moment his presence dimmed. Less harsh, less all-consuming.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"You did well."

A thin line knotted between her lips, keeping her indignation silent. She'd done well after he'd yanked her out of the fight like a scrawny pup and sat her on the sidelines.

As if he recognized her doubt and budding contrarian point, he closed the chasm of uncertainty with more words and a token of pride. Proud. The achievement and reward Ishida had been trained since birth to pursue. His palm warmed her shoulder, and she felt herself straighten against it, adjusting her posture to accept the medal-equivalent. A small curl twitched, and the corner of one side of her mouth sharpened to a small half-smile.

"Why does that matter?"

"Because," Ishida insisted, looking up. His gaze no longer met hers.

"I'm learning people matter." She pressed and shifted her weight to the balls of her feet to rise slightly. She was committed to this conversation despite his clear withdrawal. "Whether we're ready for them or not.

And maybe it's less of a who was she and more of a what was she like." Because honestly, for all the curiosities that bloomed from those two words —I loved — Ishida couldn't imagine Sardun being intimate with anyone.

 

[Michael Sardun]

Ishida Ashina

Perhaps withdrawing was the only way for the words to come.

To let them pass through him.

Him as a conduit.

The words moving from that distant happy past to the current future.

"She was... better... than anyone I ever met. Kinder. Filled with hope. She... wanted to see the best in everyone. Always." Brows furrowed as he murmured softly. He could practically see her in front of him now. Except... brows furrowed deeper. There was no face. There should be a face, shouldn't there be? Why could Michael not see it?

"You might have heard of her. Bethany Kismet. She created the Order of the Sacred Lotus, a group that accepted all, and healed everyone. I... back then, I vowed to protect the Order. To keep it safe."

A quirk of his lips. A rare sign of emotion.

"We constantly fought. She took risks, she wanted to help everyone, all the time. She took in-" There his nostrils flared. "Darksiders. Bethany believed they could be saved from themselves. Redeemed...."

But where was Bethany now?

Why was Michael alone?

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Somewhere behind her, a far-off world held Sardun's attention. Or, Michael's. In soft moments like this, he seemed more a Michael than the powerful name that was Sardun. For now, he was Michael the Wanderer — a traveller that journeyed back to the past in the privacy of his own consciousness, where all his thoughts lay bare for him to hike through their peaks and valleys.

Ishida felt as though she should hold her breath, as if her exhales may be too perverse an intrusion in the intimate recesses of his mind. But Michael the Wanderer didn't roam so far that he forgot where he started.

But when he spoke, it was clear he was not fully in the room with her. With each word, the pressure of his palm against her shoulder alleviated until it was almost as though it were floating.

His words were soft, gentle — like brush strokes with pastels that drew gentle curves and lines together to paint the prettiest image. Ishida slowed her breath to keep quiet and respectful.

She had heard of The Sacred Lotus. In books and archives mostly, history of The Jedi she'd heartily consumed when The New Jedi Order had first welcomed her.

There was a lot said in the few sentences he peeled from his heart, and Ishida wanted to encourage more. Her hand floated up to rest gently on his, if only to remind them that they were in the present, in the sanctuary of the tower he'd purged of nothing and restored it to the light. He was powerful.

She took in-Darksiders. Bethany believed they could be saved from themselves. Redeemed...."

"And could they? Did she redeem them?" She asked, encouraging the story to continue and trying to find the mistake he alluded to making in his youth.