Private Unraveling Threads

[Corazona von Ascania]

The last time she'd set foot on Lorta, Cora had an unfortunate meeting with Sinestra . Though she'd managed to stall the Mirialian long enough to flee, their interaction had left her with a branching, pink-hued scar that forked around her right wrist and twined up her forearm.

It had long since healed, but it ached as she traversed an underground corridor that had been dug into the mountainside; the Force was warning her, unwelcome as she was in a place where Darkness still lingered.

Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.

The Lortan Fanatics were an ancient cult, and many thought that their ways had died out years ago. Rumors of a resurgence had brought Cora to Lorta the first time, where she discovered that the Fanatics had operated through a network of stone temples, most of which were constructed underground in order to avoid detection.

The few she'd managed to explore had been abandoned, but she and Makko Vyres retrieved a Dark-infused artifact that had been housed in an old citadel. It was protected by local children who'd fled quickly - they still hadn't managed to find out who had told them to guard the object.

The narrow hall gave way to a thick overhang of vines that swept over the next temple's entrance like a curtain. With some effort, Cora pushed them back and walked directly into a spider's web.

"Ugh!" She grimaced and nearly dropped her glowrod. "Disgusting."

She hurried to brush the ick from her person.

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

Bernard hummed in deep thought surrounded by the darkness of the temple's inner chambers.

Blonde.[1]

The records hadn't mentioned Halsia Myr as blonde. He'd never heard of a blonde Mirialan, either. This lock of hair must have belonged to whoever had run into Halsia here and caused the temple to become such a mess in the first place.

Bernard let go of the strand and stood, surveying the scene around him.

A massive, cavernous drop opened up the floor where a great pillar had once stood[2], splitting the room in two. Along the stone walls, the story of a great massacre had been carved. Pieces of jagged rocks and black plastic stuck out of the mural, with more shards and broken pieces littering the floor. The aftermath of a telekinetic barrage.

Near the debris, on the wall, something caught his attention. It proved difficult to discern in the darkness, but one groove stood out among the damage. A smooth, shallow cut along the stone. He'd seen more than his share of such cuts to recognize it, in the floor tiles of Temple training grounds following extended, and vigorous, lightsaber training sessions.

Halsia Myr had been here, and she'd engaged in battle with another. That much he could now confirm, but many of the particulars still eluded him.

If his luck held, however, he had a feeling the answers might be approaching.

The footsteps gave her away before the exclamation of disgust. A short, armed, blonde woman with a glowrod struggled to free herself from some nigh-invisible strands. The spiderwebs, Bernard presumed, which he'd purposely done his best to avoid disturbing.

He sighed.

"Are you alright over there?" He called.

Despite the irritation he felt at the destruction of the spider's efforts, he kept a cordial, almost friendly tone to his voice. The whole 'stranger digging around in ruins without a light' act had a tendency to catch passers-by off guard more than he liked.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

A voice echoed from the far end of the spacious cavern, bouncing off of ancient stonework. Cora stilled. Wisps of the spider's web drifted from her fingertips and wafted against stagnant air.

She had not expected anyone else to be here – but, perhaps that had been her mistake the first time she'd attempted to map this part of the Lortan network. It took her a few moments to process the speaker's voice as amiable.

Or, at least, not murderous.

"I'm fine, thank you."

Though an equally cordial tone, she was clearly holding back what remained of her disgust. Maybe there was a little embarrassment in there, too.

After brushing the remainder of the sticky threads from her person, Cora took a step forward. With the glowrod held aloft, she sought to cast the stranger in its light.

"I didn't...expect to find anyone here."

She cast her gaze along the fissure carved into the floor by her own hand, a faint sadness clouding her eyes. Even if this temple had once been the gathering place for a savage Dark-sided cult, she'd always held a sort of reverence for antiquated structures. It was unfortunate that they'd resorted to destruction before she had a chance to properly evaluate her finding.

Which brought her to him -

"What brings you here, if I might ask?"

Having got over her feelings regarding the spiderweb, Cora's voice leveled to an even cadence. He could be an archaeologst, a professor, perhaps even a zealous tourist - or something worse.

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

He hummed to himself quietly again, though this time in fascination.

Blonde.

What were the odds?

He bit back the kind of smirk you passed to a friend right after telling an inside joke. The Force couldn't be allowed to get too confident about the humorous way it guided galactic events, to make no mention of the confusion or suspicion it might illicit in his guest.

Her poise, despite the hurried swipes she made at the spider silk, betrayed plenty about her person. The measured steps and trimmed posture, likely practiced over a lifetime, spoke to a position with great expectations of social competence. Similarly, she displayed a higher level of comfort with maintaining appearances even through distress. Traits he'd often encountered in corporate types, yet those rarely had much interest in ancient ruins, and from the expression on her face, the damage to the temple did appear to have an effect on her. Whether she was disheartened due to the destruction of history or her role in the process that caused it, he wasn't sure.

Bernard lowered his hood, and shrugged the cloak back over his shoulders to discard his anonymity. He wore a simple, almost drab, Jedi tunic, and at his right hip a lightsaber glinted under the glowrod's light.

She didn't strike him as an unruly type. Politeness and honesty, following procedure as it had been described in the Marshal handbook, seemed like the best approach.

"Bernard, Jedi Knight," he extended his hand.

"I'm looking for someone. The person responsible for this, in fact."

Bernard gestured toward the devastation in the temple ruins, observing her expression as he did.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora's head tilted to the side, watching carefully as the man discarded his hood and cloak. Some of the tension fell from her face when she clocked the spartan Jedi tunic and saber hilt.

Oh, thank Ashla. He's not one of those uncouth cultists.

"Bernard, Jedi Knight,"

She paused, brow scrunching in thought. Bernard, Jedi Knight. Why did that name sound familiar? Before she could hesitate even longer and stretch this into something more awkward, Cora took the proffered hand a shook. His fingers and palm were calloused in the same way that most Jedi's hands were from training with a metal saber.

"Corazona, Jedi Knight. Pleasure to meet you, Bernard."

They disengaged, and she frowned as he swept a hand towards the ruins. Already decayed by time, and now they suffered the blows of combat. The scar that branched up her forearm itched, and she shifted her fingers uncomfortably, curling and uncurling them against her palm.

Cora paced forward carefully, past Bernard. She extended a hand to the mural, running her touch over a scene that had remained largely intact – aside from the chipped, faded paint. The marred flesh on her arm burned as she ran her fingers over the ancient depiction of the Reslian Purge, and she let out a short, shuddering breath before her hand fell away from the painting.

Bernard, Jedi Knight. Veteran of the Great Hyperspace Wars. From an era beyond my own.

She was sure that there was more, but that was all that Cora could pull from her memory. There were many in his cohort that had vanished into the galaxy on a similar timeline.

"You're looking for the Mirialian, then."

Absently, Cora massaged her aching wrist with the thumb of her opposite hand. She half-turned to Bernard and cocked a brow.

"She is...difficult."

 

[Bernard]

A moment of hesitation passed between his offer and her own introduction. In that moment, she'd taken a thoughtful expression. An attempt to recall something, Bernard thought. The most likely subject would be him, he guessed. But a more interesting detail caught his attention. At her wrist, she bore a unique scar. It had healed, but not to the same degree that modern bacta allowed.

Their handshake ended, and that thoughtful expression returned to her face as he guided her gaze across the ruins. This time, that attention was directed outwards.

Bernard finished his gesturing, and crossed his arms, content to stay in place as the woman explored the remains of this site of battle. Her battle, going by the lack of any protest to his deductions.

He noted the reaction in her fingers, and the attention she placed on her wrist as she paced alongside the mural, or rather, the attention she attempted to divert from it. But uncomfortable things had a tendency to make beings want to soothe them away. She finished her observations, and turned to speak again. As she did, her hand dropped to the scar.

He kept a friendly smile, even as his eyes scrutinized every movement. A gift learned from many questionings wearing the Marshal's badge.

"More than difficult. Dangerous."

She had encountered his quarry then.

"That," he nodded to her, lifting his hand from his elbow to point toward her arm with the smallest digit.

"She got you with Lightning, huh?"

He reached up to his collar, pulled it down by a margin and lifted his chin. Thin, long faded golden lines of artificial skin stretched from beneath the fabric in patterns not unlike those on her wrist. Ancient scars that could never truly heal.

"Courtesy of a Sith Lord. Same electric parting gift, of sorts. Got it when I was still a Padawan."

He righted his tunic again, and gave her an understanding look. Sith lightning had a nasty habit of leaving behind an echo. That darkness channeled by the Sith could still manifest its pain, even years after the scar first formed. The attention she gave her wrist implied that very phenomenon.

"Try to center your being, it tends to help with the discomfort."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

While she hadn't been facing Bernard , Cora could feel his eyes on her. That was fine - she was used to being watched, and any Jedi worth their salt would be able to tell when they were being observed so openly.

At least it wasn't the patronizing stare of a hundred aristocrats looking down their noses at her. That was a truly unpleasant feeling. But, they were not in the world of painted lips and hushed conversations behind ornately decorated fans. Bernard spoke plainly, calling his notice to where she'd fidgeted with her sleeve, and Cora held back a wince.

While she hadn't actively denied her involvement, a part of her was hoping to avoid the lingering sense of shame that came from her encounter with Sinestra. Was it from failing to capture the Mirialian? Being forced to flee? Leaving an ancient, crumbling relic in such a state?

She didn't speak until Bernard pulled at the collar of his tunic and presented his own scarring, faded from time but in that same telltale pattern.

"Oh," A soft little gasp left her, eyes creasing in somber empathy. "You must have been so young. I'm sorry."

Now that it had been brought up, Cora realized that she couldn't quite gauge his age. She swept that thought aside in favor of drawing stale air into her lungs, slow and deep. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she was silent for a few long moments while gathering herself.

"I've come here a few times to investigate reports of the Lortan Fanatics. They haven't been truly active for centuries, but there has been activity in their old haunts. Myself and another Jedi Knight managed to retrieve one of their old artifacts-" Her brow scrunched in displeasure. "We were never able to figure out who was behind it, but they used local children as guards."

Cora looked from Bernard, back to the mural, then to the jagged edges of the floor that had crumbled away. A few steps brought her closer, and she held the glowrod above her while peering cautiously into the chasm. How far had the Dark Jedi fallen? She'd clearly gotten away, if someone was now after her.

"I'm afraid that our interaction was short. I'm unsure if you'll be able to glean anything useful from it."

A burning sensation flared along the scar tissue of her arm, and she chewed the inside of her cheek. It bothered her from time to time, but it felt far worse here.

"Has the…does the pain ever stop?"

 

[Bernard]

Fanatics and children pressed into service as guards. Bernard filed that scrap of knowledge away for later investigation. At the current moment, the more pressing question taht came up was the Fanatic's continued activity in the ruins. If they still stalked the halls, there might be tangible danger here, and the two of them would need to be ready.

Bernard dropped to sit on his heels next to the other Jedi, arms resting on his knees. He felt a stern remark touch his lips, a note of caution about the risks injuries created by the dark side might carry, but he bit it back.

The injuries might never fade, certainly they hadn't in the last thirty years of his life. He still felt the phantom pain on the worst of days. Lightning searing away his skin and piercing its way towards his heart. He touched the fabric at his chest lightly, clutching the crystal pendant beneath. His injuries might not have faded, but he didn't want to dismiss the hope that her's might.

"It will, eventually," he spoke softly. Compassion had stolen its way into his voice.

He peered down the illuminated chasm, breathing away the moment of wistful sincerity. It seemed that Marshal wall of emotional invulnerability had lost a few bricks over the years. That wouldn't do, he thought, quietly chastising himself for the lapse.

He let go of the small crystal and pointed down at the chasm.

"What can you remember from your encounter with her?" He asked, finding his way back to the friendly professionalism from before. "Anything you can tell me will help, I promise, don't worry about the significance of what you say."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

It will, eventually.

Cora repeated Bernard's response over in her head several times, as if she could will it to be true. Really, she knew that she had to accept the possibility that the pain would linger.

Still, it was a kind sentiment.

Her eyes slid over to the elder Jedi, noting the way his fingers tensed around the breast of his tunic. The motion of his hand guided her attention back to the chasm. Cora took in a slow, steady breath and organized her memories.

"I was inspecting the mural when she approached and told me to leave. I refused, and she attacked. We fought, she struck me with…"

Her voice trailed, lost in her recollection of how the lightning had flared their dim surroundings to be brighter than daytime. The unpleasant seizing of her own body, a loss of control, and the violent burning of her arm were sensations she would likely never forget.

Cora cleared her throat.

"I was able to remove a few loose stones from the base of the pillar." She extended a hand towards the far end of the room. "It crashed down on her, and cause this. I retreated before she could climb out."

It was the end of the story, but Cora paused as if there was still more to add.

"She seemed…faintly familiar. I couldn't place her face to a name, though."

There was a tentative measure to the way she spoke. What if she'd glimpsed the Mirialian's face at the gala on Thule, where she'd been on the arm of a Sith Lord?

Cora's stomach rolled with nerves. That particular venture had felt like a lifetime ago.

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

He did his best to try and imagine the scene as it was painted.

The Jedi entered from the entrance just back there, glowrod in one hand and a scanner in the other. No, not a scanner. She'd come to examine the ruins not to document them, and he hadn't found any discarded electronics lying around either. She'd entered, made a noise, likely the same exclamation she'd voiced earlier, and drew Sinestra's attention. The Dark Jedi, feeling her space invaded, attacked. The lock of blonde hair indicates lightsabers, but they were been evenly matched in that regard.

Which meant...Bernard's expression softened as he regarded the wound again. The Jedi's—Cora's—expression became more flushed with heat, her brows very subtly furrowed as her more intense memories played out in her mind again.

Bernard sat quietly, offering her what space she required as he played through the next moments of the scene in his mind's eye.

Lightning illuminated the room and struck Cora's arm, the one she wielded her lightsaber in. Both statistically, and because of the glowrod, he'd surmised the one bearing the scar would be her dominant hand. Sinestra had resorted to a more familiar form of attack, one she'd felt would be more able to break the Jedi's defenses, and she'd used the attack to disarm her prey for an easier kill. That much tracked.

Sinestra was a Seer, more gifted in the Force than with a saber. Sith Lightning would likely come to her easily. And she employed tactically, with finesse. Bernard tucked away that bit of knowledge for the near future.

Cora motioned toward the far end, and Bernard's eyes narrowed as he continued to walk through the scene alongside her explanation.

The stones broke and crumbled. Sinestra, satisfied that her opponent was not defenseless, was too preoccupied with closing in for the kill that she didn't notice an attack coming from—Bernard glanced around the room—yes, from behind her.

Sinestra was prone to arrogance as well. Another useful scrap of information.

The stones dragged Sinestra below the floor and deeper into the temple. Cora, meanwhile, escaped to get out with her life, without confirming the extent of damage her attack had on the Dark Jedi. That much was unfortunate, but there were ways to learn that, even now.

Bernard examined the room again. Most of the evidence was explained by her recounting of events. There were the pieces of rubble and, strangely, plastic embedded in the wall that found no mention in her story, but Bernard figured that was merely another remnant of some telekinetic attack that had played out between suspect and victim.

Concluding his thinking, he saw a few pathways to pursue laid out before him, though one in particular interested him most.

"You likely knew her by a different name," Bernard began.

If she'd met Sinestra after her fall, the recognition would come easier to her. That her recollection was murky implied some measure of change between their first meeting and their battle. Or, of course, they'd never met before that point, and the vague sense of recognition came from a more static source, like a picture or a piece of writing.

"Halsia Myr, now know as Sinestra. She used to be a Jedi before her emotions led her down a more selfish, darker, path."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Halsia Myr.

Cora's brow furrowed as she strained to connect that name to anything – a face, a memory, a feeling, even. If she looked further into the woman's past, she would've uncovered her connection to the Jakku Jedi enclave as one of Romi's students. Cora had traveled there several times as a Padawan, so it was possible that she'd crossed paths with Halsia.

If she had, it was clearly nothing too memorable.

"I tried to speak with her at first. Some Dark-siders are amenable to...conversation."

Cora glanced to Bernard, perhaps gauge his expression. Not everyone agreed that attempting to talk a Sith or Dark Jedi down was the best course of action. That, and she'd left that piece of information out of her initial retelling.

"But, she wasn't interested."

She tsked, and brought her focus back to the chasm Sinestra had disappeared into. What had the Mirialian been doing there? Lorta was wedged between Alliance and Sith space, far from the Dark Empire's hub. If they had agents dispersed across the galaxy, then she supposed that was part of what made them so dangerous.

Idly, she wondered what sort of deductions Bernard made from her story. It wasn't much of a tale, though he seemed rather engaged.

"What do you plan to do, if you find her?"

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

"I tried to speak with her at first. Some Dark-siders are amenable to...conversation."

A frown creased Bernard's brows and he cast a brief sideglance at Cora. He adjusted the mental model of her encounter with Sinestra, and filed away a note about the blonde Jedi's disposition at the back of his mind.

"But, she wasn't interested."

His frown became the subtlest shake of his head. This tracked, too. Not only from her description of their battle—and the copious amounts of evidence there'd been a fight here—but also from the fact Bernard had yet to meet a Dark Sider in Sinestra's weight-class who was amenable to any path of conversation that didn't result in an attempt to corrupt their interlocutor. It was difficult to fault the more soft-hearted souls among the order in that aspect. Even the late Ryv had had his misguided moments of compassion towards irredeemable monsters, and Ryv had been among the greatest Jedi he'd known.

He breathed out into the silence.

Cora's glowrod illuminated part of the darkness below, but it didn't quite reach the bottom of the chasm. Most of what lay down there remained shrouded in mystery. If he wanted to find more concrete clues to Sinestra's motives for coming here, he'd need to go deeper and find out the purpose of her visit. Dark Jedi like her, he'd come to know, rarely came all the way out to planets like these for frivolous reasons.

Bernard glanced around the room again, going through the constructed narrative of their fight and referencing it with the pieces of evidence strewn about the ruined chronology of a peoples he knew next to nothing about. His eyes fixed the altar when Cora's voice broke him out of his analysis.

"What do you plan to do, if you find her?"

He looked at her for a moment. Kill her, the most simple and truthful way to put it, somehow didn't want to cross the line of his lips. He frowned, slightly.

"I'll deal with her," he said with certainty etched into his tone. "Make the galaxy a little safer for everyone."

A small injection of vagueness, and the same old Marshal line. Somehow he didn't feel like that really did enough to obfuscate his intent.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Deal with her.

There was a finality to the way Bernard spoke, one that heralded silence as it settled between them for a few long moments.

Cora tilted her head to the side in consideration. Ukatian society tried to balance itself between pomp and practicality, a line that wavered and waffled as easily as the wind blew. A man who chose to slaughter his enemies could be heralded as a great protector or a barbarian, depending on who was telling the story.

She glanced to Bernard, then the great gash in the stone floor once again. Not every tale was nuanced, and sometimes the hero and the villain had more in common than they'd have thought.

What had he faced, in all his years away from the Order? Perhaps he'd been the one to pass judgement on others like Sinestra. She was dangerous, and Cora felt a pang of guilt for not having the ability - or tenacity - to either capture or neutralize the Dark Jedi.

"Do you think," her voice was slow and careful, each word enunciated with weight as Cora turned to face the elder Jedi Knight fully, "that she could be saved?"

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

Bernard's attention split between the stone shards stuck in the mural and Cora. He sensed she wasn't quite satisfied with his answered. Or perhaps he wasn't. Either way, he kept his observations surface-level while he waited for her to continue.

"Do you think," her voice was slow and careful, each word enunciated with weight as Cora turned to face the elder Jedi Knight fully, "that she could be saved?"

Could be? Certainly. Redemption was a path any being could tread, but in all his years that had all it ever turned out to be. A hypothetical open path to be taken, but never chosen. He could count the number of redeemed Dark Siders on one hand, and each one of them had returned to the Light of their own will, no saviour except for themselves.

Halsia Myr, Sinestra, showed none of that same conviction. In everything he'd read about her since he'd discovered her name in the Jedi archive's lists had told of a woman whose path kept spiraling further into darkness, propelled by her own volition and desires. If there was redemption for her to be found, it wouldn't be with him.

Bernard shrugged, glancing away from Cora and toward the deep wound in the temple's floor.

"I could try to spin a more comforting truth, but I think we both know where my judgement stands."

His verdict, that she had to be stopped, was justified in light of all she'd done. The young Mirialan girl, Halsia Myr, was long dead. She'd killed too many innocent beings, committed too many atrocities in the name of the Dark Empire, and showed no guilt nor remorse. Her continued freedom alone put lives at risk. While her gift of Sight remained in service of the Sith'ari more suffering would befall the galaxy, and more lives would hang perilously in the balance. She needed to be stopped.

The verdict he'd reached about her life was just.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

"I could try to spin a more comforting truth, but I think we both know where my judgement stands."

"Yes," Cora's lips pulled into a faint line, reminiscent of a sad smile, "and I don't disagree with your judgement."

It was a practical choice to make. Sinestra had shown no remorse, no sign that she was wavering from her dark path. They had no personal ties, no shared past that would soften her heart. Mercy could a selfish thing with a steep price.

Killing could be the same way, too. Even in self defense, Horace’s death was a heavy weight.

Cora suppressed a sigh as she paced back to the gash in the floor. Peering over the edge, she held the glowrod out above the darkness, hoping to catch something she might've missed before.

"I had thought this to be the ground floor. What a way to find out that it's not."

Like Bernard, Cora had come in search of answers. Or, at the very least, bits of information that could eventually be strung into something meaningful. She leaned away from the chasm and walked along its length, stopping at the edge of the room where an ancient, thick vine had taken root along the wall from somewhere above the surface.

Cora drew in a slow, heavy breath as she pressed a hand to the vine. It was harder to call on the Light here, like thinking through molasses, but not impossible. With the Force suffused into the vine, it began to grow - sluggish but steady, creeping down the length of the crater, disappearing into darkness.

For a while, they were treated to the sounds of accelerated plant growth against stone. It was an odd noise against their dismal backdrop, scraping and rustling in the humid, stale air of the underground temple.

Eventually, the sound came to a halt and Cora pulled her touch away from the vine with a shallow gasp of exertion. She turned to Bernard, presenting the makeshift ladder with a mild flourish of her free hand.

"Maybe we could find out where she went, or what she was after."

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

"The more I learn, the sooner it will be over," Bernard said.

He took hold of the vine, testing the firmness of its roots within the wall. When they refused to give, he gave a satisfied nod.

"Good work. These should be sturdy enough to climb."

He hesitated a moment before he began the descent. Proper etiquette demanded that he should wait for Cora to go first. But with an unknown destination, and potential threats lurking, proper procedure specified that he, as the more experienced combatant, should take point. Though his parents had tried their very best to embed proper etiquette into his every action, it didn't take long to let practical concerns win out in that debate.

It didn't take long for him to reach the bottom. Even without the glowrod, he could make out their surroundings well enough. A short corridor extended forward, while the path behind had become blocked by debris and whatever remained of the pillar. Roots had dug their way through the stone and begun to grasp the edges of the scattered stone pile. The other way, at the end of the corridor, stood a set of curved stairs leading further down below into the depths of the mountainside.

Nothing struck him as immediately posing danger. Neither to his conventional senses, nor within the Force.

"Clear," he called up to where Cora would likely be following down the vines.

Bernard moved ahead a few paces, trailing the walls with his fingers. They were barren, unlike the chamber walls above. There was no mural depicting long lost history, and no embellishments to serve as decoration. The architects had kept the tunnel barren, dug directly into the stone. The only adornment were bricks laid along the floor to make for a more even tread. The sparse decorum implied this to be a passageway, often used but never seen for long. Despite being built more for function than form, the passageway was high enough to allow Bernard to stand at full height.

This place and the grand mural hall above formed a system necessary for the temple to perform its function. Some sense of deeper significance about the thought made him linger on it as he traced the craggy stone, watching the many lines as they fractured and rejoined along the wall and ceiling.

He turned toward the vine-ladder once the sounds of Cora's climbing stopped and he'd confirmed her safe descent.

"Forgive the tangent, but have you seen much combat in your years with the order?"

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora smiled faintly in acknowledgment of Bernard's praise, her expression likely lost in the dimness of their surroundings. His hesitation didn't go unnoticed – perhaps he was wary of the integrity of the vines after all? – but he descended without further comment, and she followed shortly after he'd signaled for her to do so.

Her feet touched the ground, and she untucked the glowrod from her belt loop to illuminate the corridor better. Compared to the room up above, this was far more spartan. The remains of a few sconces were affixed to the wall in what seemed to be equal intervals, though they'd mostly crumbled or fallen away with time. At one point they'd likely held torches, or vessels for burning oil.

"Forgive the tangent, but have you seen much combat in your years with the order?"

Bernard's question caught her off guard. Cora's brow crinkled in thought. Had he asked that because she'd displayed poor combat skill in his mind's eye against Sinestra? Or perhaps, it was a more benign question and her tendency to overthink social cues was rearing its head.

It took her a few long moments to think of an actual response, during which she let her eyes wander over his shoulder and to the roots that clawed into the stone debris at the other end of the hall.

"I can't imagine I've seen as much combat as those who fought through the Second Great Hyperspace War. I fought on Exegol, but I was still quite young then."

Cora brought her gaze back to Bernard, then tilted her head to the staircase and began walking. Even after the Maw had fallen, there had been no end of lingering cultists and emboldened Sith powers that had to be struck down. She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to appropriately phrase the next part of what she wanted to say.

"Plenty of missions took my comrades and I into the Outer Rim territories of Sith space, but my training was...paused, for a year or so. I returned to my home world for an arranged marriage, as our custom dictates, and left again after I was widowed. I was able to resume my training afterwards."

Her voice was steady, a carefully chosen tone that was just a hair too practiced to be entirely natural. There was no detectable sorrow, nor was there any joy.

"I gather that you've...been away from the Order for quite some time."

It wasn't a question designed to elicit any specific response, but rather a statement that Bernard could correct, or offer additional context for.

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

Bernard followed her cue, moving toward the stairs.

The steps weren't exactly steep, but untold years of what seemed to be heavy use had worn them down, prompting careful steps as they descended. Other than the wear, however, the architecture was remarkably well preserved. Though that much was to be expected, Bernard supposed. He didn't feel any air currents this deep into the temple structure, and with air so dry indiviudal dust kernels stung his nose there wasn't much that could whittle away at the carved stone.

"I've poked around the Unknown Regions the last decade or so. I barely recognize the faces of most Jedi nowadays," he briefly glanced toward Cora.

The march of time wasn't too kind to warriors, who routinely experienced wars that shook the galaxy. Most of the Jedi he'd served with during the earliest days of the Order had moved on, died, or fallen. Those he'd known who remained with the Order had been Initiates and Padawan back when he'd left. In the time he'd been away, they'd all grown up and moved on. It had felt strange to read the records on his return and find Padawan like little Gabriel Pryce bearing the titles of Librarian and Master of the Jedi.

"Nor do most of them recognize me," he said, giving a slight smile that faded again to a more somber expression. "I'm sorry for the loss of your husband. Even in these more peaceful times, tragedy still seems to strike."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora hummed in acknowledgment. It was the nature of their work - to fall in battle, to disperse among the stars. Even to succumb to the allure of the Dark, at times.

What had brought him to the unknown regions? Curiosity turned in her mind, but she left that stone unturned for now.

"Thank you."

Cora's lips paused right before they closed, a hair's breadth apart. She was weighing whether or not she should insist that Horace's death wasn't a tragedy.

Ultimately, she decided to let that point rest. It would've been volunteering too much, and perhaps elevate their conversation to a level of discomfort. Instead, the only sound between them was their footfalls hitting stone.

"What brought you back?" She asked finally, venturing an answer in her head. With the Dark Empire advancing, it was no wonder that Jedi from all walks were slowly congregating closer to the core.

Darkness permeated the entirety of the temple, but it was faint and aimless without a master to guide it. The lower they descended, however, its presence began to noticeably thicken.

The winding staircase gave way to another room, spacious and suspiciously bare. Stone pillars stretched between the ceiling and floor, carved from the same material as the ones in the room above.

Aside from the staircase, there were two other paths to take from here - narrow corridors at either end of the room. Before either Bernard or Cora could fully take in their surroundings and make a guess on which hall to follow, a distinct presence was felt moving through the Darkness.

From one of the passages, spirals of thick smoke silently billowed past the threshold and drifted into the room. It was unmistakably Dark in nature, and though it was quiet, felt viscerally in the Force.

The plumes drifted like thick, cloudy tentacles, twisting and coiling around one another as they began to change shape…

Bernard

 

[Bernard]

Surprisingly, the woman next to him felt no sadness about the death of her husband.

None of the tell-tale signs of sadness or grief appeared on her face. Her expression remained neutral, caught between two trains of thought. Likely weighing whether to continue or let the matter rest, either course entirely appropriate given the personal nature of the subject. However, the heat in her face refused to dim in the infrared. Instead, it even increased marginally. Patterns more consistent with politely suppressed anger.

Bernard tilted his head slightly, now himself weighing whether to speak or not. The inconsistency with the expected reaction made him curious. Of course, it could simply be an unusual manifestation of grief, in which case pushing the subject would make it doubly uncomfortable.

Fortunately, Cora saved him before he ventured to say anything.

He cleared his throat to answer, finding it suddenly dry.

"That is a long story. It comes back to why I left in the first place," he smiled slightly.

"I had much to consider. After all the warfare and conflict I've experienced since I first stepped outside of that dingy old temple on Arkania as a youngling, I notice I began to lose myself, always finding new cracks and flaws in who I was.

"Out there, in the Unknown Regions, I had the time to reassemble what was left."

Their footfalls echoed a little more as they approached the bottom of the staircase. It opened up into a large and unilluminated hall or chamber, the purpose of which was not immediately apparent at first glance.

"I found meaning to strive towards. A Light that would never abandon me."

He opened his mouth to continue the thought, but stopped when something deeper within the chamber moved. His hand had fallen to the hilt of his lightsaber before he'd even consciously realized he could almost feel Darkness manifesting tangibly around them. He removed the hilt from his belt, and held it out into the room.

The blue blade snapped to life, and the melancholy smile he'd worn up until that point faded to scowling focus.

The shadows themselves seemed to move between the pillars. They flowed over the stone floor and gathered in the chamber's center. Trails of smoke snaked their way into the chamber from one of the entrances, and pulled together into a larger cloud where the shadows converged. The glowrod and lightsaber cast their light into the room, but what illumination they gave seemed to be choked out. A wall of deep darkness kept forming, stretching out to fill the room with the smoke, ash, and shadows.

Bernard stepped forward, between Cora and the advancing darkness. He could sense the evil. Be felt it all around them, but it was so dispersed and spread out. Every time he tried to fix it with his eyes, the Force, anything, the presence seemed to evade his grasp like a shadow mirroring his every move. Bernard tightened the grip on his lightsaber.

The smoke coalescing in the center seemed to be right in the chamber's center, and hiding behind each pillar, within each shadow, or hidden in every cloud of ash that came loose from the central shape.

Corazona von Ascania