Welcome Home

[Keira Priest]

Music

Corellia​

Coronet City​

Home was a strange thing for Keira, as it had never held one single definition through the years. Over time it had encompassed many different walks of life and means of surviving in the galaxy, not a single one lasting long enough to gain any permanence. At many points it had been but a vague concept, manifesting only as a place to rest her head and nothing more. There was a time, however, when home had been defined by Corellia and Coronet City itself. That had been nineteen years ago, what seemed like an eternity, but even after everything that had happened there was still an undeniable sense of familiarity that nothing else other than her homeworld could encompass. Although she may have lost a touch of the reverence her people typically held for Corellia, she couldn't deny that it was the closest thing to home she would ever come to.

And now, well. Now she was going back. It wasn't as if this was the first time, but it certainly was one of the only excursions she had taken to the planet that wasn't in the name of some greater cause. Maybe that was why it was so strange for her, as she rarely traveled anymore without being deployed on this or that battlefield, or at the very least having some ulterior motive. But this was returning just for the sake of doing so, for an opportunity to reminisce on a past that was far simpler than present day and walk through streets that she had once known just as well as the back of her hand. It was difficult for her to determine how she felt about it, as she wasn't entirely certain herself. A part of her was more than looking forward to it, but another refused to look back on her past in fear of what might be uncovered.

However, she wasn't returning alone. Her younger brother was as well, despite her rarely haven't spoken to him since they first crossed paths. The return hadn't been mutual between them in the traditional sense, as they hadn't discussed it, and yet they were making the trip together. Not a word had been traded between them through the duration of the flight, and the two seemed mutually unsure as to what awaited them on their homeworld. Thalia, her AI, was piloting the small transport, leaving the two of them alone in their own personal silence. Absently she ran a hand through her hair, tomahawk hanging at her hip, Kalso's Revenge holstered on the other, her personal lightsaber concealed on the inside pocket of her leather jacket. It was far from her complete arsenal, but this was theoretically intended to be a peaceful venture.

The ship settled into the dirt with a slight shudder, and she looked to [member="Alkor Centaris"] with a raised eyebrow before pushing herself to her feet. Standing on her tiptoes and twisting at the waist she stretched, sighing quietly and stretching out her senses afterwards, slowly remembering the feeling of her homeworld. "We're on the outskirts of Coronet." Thalia's voice came over the intercom of the vessel, though the announcement was more or less unnecessary given their familiarity with the planet. "Stay with the ship, if you'd be so kind. As much as I'm sure you'd like the accompany us, it's better if you remain here." There was a brief moment of silence before a response came, "Very well. Just give me a call if you need a quick evac." A crooked smile turned up one corner of her mouth, "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Once again she looked to Alkor, nodded her head towards the ramp of the ship before stepping off, into the fresh air of...home.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

He sat staring for a long time at the floor.

The approach to Corellia was somber at best. There was little left of the familiarity that he knew as a child. All of those memories had bled away slowly, scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy by years of warfare and more killings than he could recall. Despite that, there were several deaths that he would never forget. As the alert that they were close to landing came, Coronet city flickered through his thoughts. The cycle engaged as normal, gears whispering as they ground into the dirt. The low, hydraulic hiss and telltale snap told them that they had arrived.

His gaze hardened as her blonde hair and bright eyes replayed in his mind. The murder was the first and only one that left a foul taste in his mouth. Many deaths had been nothing to him. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of his hits offered him the briefest glimpse of true enjoyment before he returned to the doldrums of apathy. Perhaps Alkor Centaris had always been broken. The exile's thoughts had always lingered on the fringes of dispassion or baseline enmity. He understood murder and how to do it in the most efficient manner, and his interactions with others were strained at best. Alcoholism offered him an outlet in a world he was disconnected from. Alkor had never learned skills pliable in the galactic economy, or at least, nothing reputable. [member="Keira Ticon"] knew him only for several exploits among the Mandalorians, but she had asked him to accompany her back to Corellia with an interest in his connection with the world.

If she knew the galaxy in those times, she would likely have had nothing to do with him. He did not speak of the things that happened here, in this city, on this world. Though there was no one left to remember the Demon, the scars would never fully heal.

Alkor glanced up finally as the ramp lowered and the Corellian air and skies invited them, but he did not feel welcome.

He stood and moved, almost robotic. As they moved out into the dust ridden city, Alkor moved his gaze across a foreign skyline. This was not the world where he was born. Not nearly the way he remembered it. Much had changed over the course of eight hundred years. Something tugged his attention toward the blue light district, the place where he had spent so much of his childhood. He knew where it was innately, despite not walking it for most of his adult life.

Her name had been Elise. She was the daughter of a politician and spent most of her days involved with humanitarian things. Alkor had taken the hit from several thugs who felt slighted by her father, but he genuinely bore her no ill will. Hundreds of men and women had begged for their lives, but Elise did not. He still felt the warmth of her hand on his cheek when he thought of her. Her tears and sad smile haunted his thoughts. The words she spoke reverberated in his mind.

Don't lose yourself to this path. You aren't a bad person. You don't have the eyes of a bad person.

When she went limp in his arms, he felt something that was not hate or rage. The warmth that streamed down his cheeks confused him. He wanted to take it back. Elise was the reason he left Corellia, and why he never came back.

He never wanted to feel those things again.

His fingers moved over a blasted, fractured wall, but his gaze was distant. Where was her grave? He never got the chance to find out. He never got the opportunity to visit, or to...

...apologize.

It was after that when he met Plaga, almost immediately. That was the day his life spiraled out of control, and the very moment when he lost everything he was. Here, on Corellia. This was not home. It never would be again.

 

[Keira Priest]

The last coherent memory Keira had were the sirens. Growing up in a crime family the law enforcement was always bad news, something to look over your shoulder for rather than seek out for security. It was a sentiment that had been ingrained since day one, and to see the tri-colored lackadaisical flashing from down the street had caused her stomach to bottom out. Things would have been different, perhaps, if she hadn't known from exactly where they originated. Had the locale been somewhere else she would have chalked it up to another raid, the consequence of someone getting too careless with covering up their tracks. They weren't common, but it would have been easier to deal with.

But this wasn't just the end result of another's incompetence, nor was the source just another one of their strongholds. The Ticon family manor was the epicenter of which all of their operations spiraled, and if the police were there it meant something had gone horribly wrong. Her pace had quickened until she was sprinting through the streets, nothing more than a twelve year old girl afraid of losing everything she had ever known. All of them had planned for just about every eventuality, but this was one none of them would have ever expected. None among them were ever so lax as to lead the police right to their front door, and they all knew that. Even back then she had known full well something more was in the works, that familiar sixth sense whispering of something far worse.

No matter what suspicions she had, nothing had prepared her for what she walked in on that day. There had been no need to remove the white sheets covering the bodies, no need to ask what had happened. The fact that all of them were gathered there in various states of grief communicated more than words ever could. Their parents had been murdered. It was unthinkable for any child to have to suffer such a thing, but for her it hadn't been quite so unexpected. From a young age she had known what business her family was involved in, and she knew just how dangerous it was, the promise of an untimely death lurking around every corner. That didn't make this any easier to deal with, but it helped rationalize it, somehow.

From that moment forward every single one of them held a new notion in their hearts, one they didn't want to come to terms with but knew they had to accept. Everything they had, everything they had gained up until that point, was as good as gone. Certainly one of them could pick up the pieces and try to move forward, but this had already been allowed to spread too far as it was. The deaths of her parents was a sign of weakness every rival wouldn't hesitate to exploit, and they risked losing even more unless they dissolved and went their separate ways. It wasn't something she wanted to think about, but it was the truth.

A week later she had left for the Jedi. It was a decision that would continuously haunt her for the rest of her life, but in the moment it had been the best option available. They were offering her a new life after her old one had crumbled to the foundation around her, and she had taken it. Four years later that had shattered as well, and three years after that she was back to what she knew. Twelve years more, and here she was, back where it all began. The name Stargo still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

He was remembering too, of course, that much she could sense inherently. Much of the same turmoil and conflict simmered beneath the surface, and it was perhaps one of the few things they shared in. Wordlessly she reached out to merge her presence with his own, a gesture meant to put forth some idea of solidarity. They were the both of them broken in their own way, pieced back together and reshaped into something more as time marched ever on. And like most things they had returned to their origin, for better or worse, to remember.

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

When was the last time he had seen his mother?

The woman was the only person Alkor had ever developed a bond with, if fleeting. He recalled the intense self-preservation instincts that tied him to her, despite her perpetually laconic state. There were track marks up and down both her arms and legs, and several times he had caught her in the act of stabbing herself with a needle to administer the drugs that her mind had grown dependent on. If his father had not left, he sometimes thought, things may have turned out differently for Amara Horn. He knew only that his surname, Centaris, was the solitary memento that the male donor of his genetics left behind, and even that seemed boorish. Despite all of that, Alkor never hated the man.

Hatred was a complex thing. He tasted so much of it, and held on to so much that it was deeply ingrained in who he was. The pit of his soul, where all the theorized emotions he held festered and died away slowly boiled with a never ending rage toward so many things. The Dark Jedi Order, in no small part for the way they had used him, and for how they had turned him into a murderous, efficient machine. Corellia itself for the way that they had exiled him rather than giving him true, Corellian justice. The Jedi, for their incompetency and failure to make anything right or even just better. The Sith, for their futile and selfish struggles. Not least of all, Alkor hated himself.

But that hatred drove him ever higher.

Alkor sought after excellence the way his mother had drugs. He could never have enough. The perfect combat he sought, that enemy that proved his equal- that was something that gave his existence reason. The prospect of a battle worth dying in gave him hope in a galaxy utterly bereft of the sentiment. This endless, unfathomable conflict that ensnared the galaxy in war made the Demon of Corellia relevant. Until the day there was true peace, his life would always have meaning.

And he did not hate the fact that peace was a lie. The Sith had that much of it right. His life up until now had confirmed that much for him. There would always be struggle, and people would always suffer. The difference lay in how they rose from that and became something else. Alkor was the ugliest of all creatures that climbed from the abyss, but he was a true testament to the resilience of its denizens.

Coronet was a desolate place, but for the few lively streets and seedy taverns that refused to ever close. Spacers might stop in during wartimes, but they would still find a drink there. Alkor glanced warily over to [member="Keira Ticon"] , the woman who called him "little brother." He wondered if, in that same darkness, she had found her own reason for living. Had she seen death on the grand scale that he had? What gave this woman the confidence to walk through the broken streets of a place she once called home, and how did she not fall to her knees?

For Alkor, it was a matter of disassociation. All things came back to that same coping mechanism. None of this was a part of his life. Not anymore. Alkor never had a place he could call home for very long. Corellia... Corellia was just a font of emptied out promises, a place he longed for but would never belong to.

 

[Keira Priest]

There was no doubt that Keira had witnessed death on a scale far greater than any individual ought to in their lifetime. Whether by her own hand or the sheer cruelty and unforgiving nature of war, she had seen more lives end than she was willing to count or even so much as lend thought to. It was something impossible for anyone to rationalize, but through the years she lad learned to do just that, taking on notes of apathy in order to move past it. Not the most effective of coping mechanisms, but people like her eventually learned to settle for what was best in the moment, over time doing such a thing instinctively as they focused on what they believed to be the more pertinent issues. Perhaps not the most constructive of mindsets, but one she found all too easy to develop.

Where he saw confidence she viewed it as simple survival. There was nothing spectacularly strong or brave about what she was doing, as in truth returning just for the sake of doing so after all this time dealt a blow to her that wasn't easy to explain. Certainly the psychological impact took the majority of the toll on her, but something else ran deeper, a psychic imprint that never quite dissipated. It had been the first time she had ever felt the deaths of individuals she cared about. The impact of feeling the severing of life so deeply at so young an age was indescribable, but over the years she had learned to detach herself from it, maintaining the position of an outsider looking in who never quite connected with those on the other side of the glass.

In a way she looked at their homeworld much the same as him. It was a place that harbored what was and could have been, its purpose having worn itself out as time went on. Certainly there was still a kind of sentiment there just for the history it retained, but beyond that the both of them knew it could no longer be home. From the moment each of them had departed, that had been laid out as simple fact. They had been destined to wander the galaxy until they found somewhere else to call their own, and for her such a thing had taken far more time than anyone would have guessed. Nineteen years later, and she was finally confident enough to say she'd found something comparable to what Corellia had once been.

It had been a long time coming, but Echoy'la and the Crusaders were what she dubbed home and family now, the final cause to which she dedicated herself. It was him she had agreed to have brought into that fold, seeing an inkling of what she'd been and could have become in who he was. Perhaps some part of her wanted to help him find something more, or maybe she just wanted to offer him the support system she never had, but whatever the reason she considered him just as much family as the rest of the vode, though the bond the pair shared was something different entirely.

"All of this makes me wonder what we expected upon returning." Something about her voice was distant even as she looked directly to Alkor when she spoke. "We have nothing here."

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

"In some ways," Alkor replied, "I never did."

The story was far older than either of them, what with whatever had happened; but it was Alkor's story. There were none left on Corellia to remember the man they once called Demon, though perhaps the planet itself remembered. In the Force, it was an ancient and luminous entity, filled to overflowing with life and death in ceaseless revolution. When he stepped onto the surface, it played a bittersweet elegy for all those who had died, and who would die.

In some ways, Corellia had missed him. In others, it wished he had stayed gone. It loved its children, even if it did not love the sins of their hands. While mother Coronet wished her son well, she hoped he would not bring his profession back home. Alkor could appreciate that.

"For me, it has been only fifteen years. The galaxy recalls it over epochs." His hands trailed across the debris that scattered, remnants of a sundered home. "They called me Demon and cast me out. In all things, to my own people, I ceased to be Corellian that day."

His hollow gaze reflected emotionless acceptance in a fractured window. Alkor strained to recall the tears that had never come. When had he become that monster? It was before Plaga, before he had learned to harness the Force. The briefest glimpses he had of humanity were stolen from him by the Dark Jedi, that was true, but the man had never quite been whole.

"I have missed her seas, and her skies," he admitted, "and I have longed to taste her fruits. I wanted for Corellia so often that I often convinced myself that to have her would heal the wounds in my spirit." Alkor covered the image of his face with his hand and glanced to Ticon. "The only thing I have learned in this return is that it never robbed me of anything. I had never felt any of those things to begin with."

He paused, then added. "Not in the true sense." Alkor held up his hand and cupped the nothingness. Air flowed over his palm. "I have felt everything, ever sense I was young. I have been aware of all the world, all of the galaxy. But that awareness was numbing. All of it ceased to feel real. I sought time and again to actually attach myself to anything. I wanted to feel that normal life, if only once."

His fist clenched, and Alkor sighed as his eyes closed. "I have only ever found anything in war. I was taught to kill, I was made a machine, and my only fuel was this madness that burns away our galaxy."

His shoulders fell, and Alkor glanced toward the faint sunset on the horizon. "In time, one of the two will burn away- the galaxy, or my life. I am not so vain a man as to believe I will outlast something so massive. I am simply content in the understanding that one day, I will end. Until that day, I will continue to be what I am."

He smiled, genuinely, sadly. "A Demon."

[member="Keira Ticon"]