What Comes Next

[Ysmir]

Tags: Blue

---

"Get all of them to the shuttle. This is it."

Macen stood resolute at the front of a squad of Republic Commandos. They were hand-picked by the Watchman for their combination of esteemed combat skill and natural intuition, a rare and valuable mix when it came to missions such as theirs.

Amidst the fighting and chaos that ensued once the JMOC's forces began their assault on Nar Shaddaa, there was a secondary objective; get all who still drew breath off-world and to safety. If the Spire on the smuggler's moon couldn't be prevented from firing, they could at least take solace in knowing they saved every sentient life that they possibly were capable of. Of course, in the back of his mind, Macen knew that such a victory would be a small one; the best case scenario, first and foremost, was a swift and decisive blow to the Chorus that they - hopefully - could not hope to recover from. That was the deal on paper, anyhow.

He had slain more of these foul creatures than he could truly keep track of; the whir of his saber as it danced through the seemingly endless hordes of fungal warriors continued to hold its splendor and grace, but inside, it was utter conflict. Once upon a time, these drones were different things entirely. Each and every one he cut down was once an individual with dreams, hopes, friends, and stories - a life extinguished because of a cause they may or may not have believed in. The Chorus preached unity and harmony, but Macen had scarved witnessed a more disharmonious coalition in all his years. Now, they stood on the doorstep of victory; the Sith fleet, once the ire of the Republic and Jedi alike, began their bombardment of the Spire from above once its defenses had been lowered.

It would be over soon.

---

At least, that was what he thought.

Macen sat alone in the grand archives of the Jedi Temple, scrolling through images on the holonet of Nar Shaddaa and what it once used to be. A haven for smugglers, vagabonds, and all manner of scum, sure, but also a place of a peculiar and elusive beauty. Such a world was brimming with the Force, in good ways and bad. Towering structures spread as far as the eye could see and projected beauteous and magnificent neon light into the heavens above, a beacon of fresh beginnings and anonymity that was so difficult to find in these times. It was a dark and twisted world, to be sure, but a settled one nonetheless.

No more. Whatever sembelance of structure that was left would take years and years to rebuild, a heavy price to pay for the retributive blow that was struck against the Chorus. Macen didn't hate them - far from it, in fact. He pitied them, in a way, for being so blinded by their devotion that rather than work toward true peace and coexistence, they sought to subjugate those that strayed from their vision. Tragic.

What had they accomplished? Many things; with the newest specimens obtained from both the battle and joint operations, a cure was devised and disseminated throughout the JMOC relief camps for those still afflicted with the fungal plague. No more new Spires were threatening to crop up for the time being, and whatever straggling drones that escaped from the battle over the moon were disconnected and scattered. It was well and truly a victory in any event, one that came about as a result of the most unlikely of alliances.

What had they lost? Everything, it seemed.

The excitement and relief of their shared triumph had come crashing down almost instantly on the dawn of the Republic's betrayal. The implications had weighed heavy on Macen's mind for days as more and more information about the sudden and vicious sneak attack had come to light, threatening the very balance that had just been established between the two ancient foes. And for what? Revenge? Mindless self-indulgence? The nature of this eluded the ever-thoughtful Jedi, so much so that he had felt more lost and confused than he had in years.

"Oh," Macen said with a quick lift of his chin, eyes drifting over to the new arrival. When he saw who it was, floating in on his iconic hoverchair and carrying with him an almost overwhelming presence of calm, Macen couldn't help but wear a small, relieved smile.

"It's good to see you, Master Moho. I haven't truly had the chance to settle in since getting back from the Outer Rim."

[Blue]

The fallout of the battle above Nar Shaddaa was still rippling throughout the Republic political spheres, and it would be a lie to say that the Temple was an exception. Moho had spent a good few days moving between his brothers and sisters of the Order, sharing what information he had with them, trying to calm the younger initiates who could sense the upheaval going on around them, and conferring with the masters both on Coruscant and off-world. They had a little time left to prepare and plan, and the Grand Master was already setting some things into motion. But it was merely a deep breath before the oncoming storm, and it was drawing in fast. Already another war on the horizon. No matter of 'if', only 'how soon'. Ego and pride. Power, and who has it. Lives reduced to numbers on a screen: military forces, civilian relocation, acceptable losses. Death, payment for ambition. Ideas had been forming in the old Jedi's mind, but more research needed to be done before anything could begin to grow. Speaking with those Jedi used to working on the outskirts of the Republic would be important, but first he needed to check the Archives. The Grand Master doubted that he had been the first to conceptualise what he had in mind. If not something exactly the same, perhaps something along similar lines. The search had been fruitful, with several accounts and training texts on Jedi working, as one entry put it, 'under the radar'. But nothing recorded, as far as he had found, of something on the scale that Moho had in mind. They had the people, the funding, and the knowledge. Now it was simply a matter of how much time they had before the old war began anew. As the Prell was making his way out, his hoverchair humming quietly in the pervasive silence of the Archives, he sensed a disturbance; a mind in conflict, uncertain and lost. Moho changed direction, moving towards this person, and found Knight Oran perusing the holonet. The human Jedi looked up at the Grand Master's approach, smiling and greeting him. "Knight Oran. It is good to see you," the older Jedi replied, smiling in greeting. His amber eyes looked down at what Macen was looking at, seeing the scenes of Nar Shaddaa in the aftermath of the battle. Another of us trying to process what happened in the skies above that planet. "You are troubled," Moho continued. It was not a question. "Know that in this, you are not alone. The events surrounding Nar Shaddaa have disturbed many of our Order, myself among them." Though it was not something that had been completely unforeseen. The Visions that the Grand Master had received of late indicated that this betrayal was likely to occur, but such things were never certain. The future was fluid, and contained so many possibilities, often abstractly presented and coloured by the eyes of those who witnessed them. Moho was seasoned in their decryption, but he was not so arrogant to assume he was always right in deciphering the messages contained within them. If Moho had stated this event as a certainty to the Republic military, it might have changed things... very possibly for the worse.

[Ysmir]

Of all the members within the Order that Macen had become accustom to seeing and interacting with over the years -- dare he even say it, amiable -- the Grandmaster never failed to calm the Watchman's mind through his mere presence. Although his earlier years had been marred by a maverick rebellious streak that earned him equal parts praise and ire from his superiors, Moho was a voice that Macen's ears always ensured to listen to intently. He knew of the old Jedi's prophetic visions and prowess with the Force, such that those who would deign to think him an inconsequential threat due to his handicap would be proven terribly mistaken. The Prell, for all his soft-spoken gravitas, had certainly earned his position in the Council.

And it was because of this knowledge that Macen reacted with virtually no surprise when the Grandmaster addressed him so casually, so assuredly. He knew that war was a scar, one that cut deep into the Force whenever it was witnessed. Those acquainted with war bore the marks on their connections with others sub-consciously, even when they went to great lengths to conceal it. No doubt Moho could sense the echoes in his mind that resonated outward.

Of the few Sith he had encountered in his time, every single one bore these marks. Less like scars, though -- more like medals or trophies of achievement. The spoils of battle.

Macen sighed. "I guess that's one way to put it," he began, pushing himself to his feet from the chair. Beneath his homespun robe, Macen's battle garb openly displayed the signs of conflict; carbon scoring, abrasions, the slight tear here and there. He was nimble, but not untouchable. Macen bowed his head respectfully to the Prell Grandmaster after nearing him. "I've done what I can for the younger members -- counsel, comfort, even pragmatic reason when it's applicable. But words can only do so much, I suppose."

It was often that Macen found himself attempting to mend the wounds and woes of others in order to tend to his own soul. It was most certainly a self-defense mechanism, a way of coping with the turmoils of his own mind without confronting them directly, though Macen hardly drew any line between those distinctions.

"We won, Grandmaster -- but it feels like a hollow victory." He turned from the Prell in the hoverchair to look over the vast collection of shelves in the Archive room, eyes squinting together in thought. "Every battle I've ever fought has always had a clear outcome, black and white, evil and good. But for a species to die... this feels more grey than anything else has."

[Blue]

As Knight Oran stood, Moho took note of the more physical signs of wear and tear on the human Jedi. It made the Prell's heart ache to see such young faces marred by the ugliness of war. It should not happen. It should have never- Cradling the limp body in her arms, the Mirialan woman looks up at me. The normally serene features covered with dirt and dried blood, save for the tracks where the tears had fallen. "Master Moho, please! Bring her back! I know you can heal her, you must! Please!" She was a Jedi. But Jedi are not automatons. We can still feel. We can still be hurt. "I am sorry, Master Raturi. She is beyond... beyond us, now." Any words of comfort tasted like ash, and were left unsaid. I remember the little girl, face full of joy as she touched the Force, moving the ball through the air. I remember her potential and strength, her desire to help others. Blank eyes, cold skin. All things she could have been extinguished as easily as a candle's flame in a storm. She should not have been here. The Vision, stronger than mere memory, slammed through Moho's mind. He could still taste the burning air. He could still hear Master Raturi's scream. And... yes. The anger. He could still feel that cold and dreadful fury, looking down on that Padawan laying so still, gone long before she had any right to be taken. I remember the little girl. As Macen spoke, the old Jedi sighed. Did Knight Oran truly look out on a field of battle after the fighting stopped and see victory there? Moho could not, not in all his years of service in the Order and to the Republic. He saw failure. A breakdown of peace, brutality in extremis. Uncountable futures, endless possibilities just... gone. "Were things so simple, Knight Oran," the Grand Master said sadly. "While such viewpoints have their place in the heat of a moment, when overthinking can be fatal and we must trust in our instincts, do not allow yourself to be blinkered in the aftermath. Black and white, good and evil... these are things of rigidity. Life is far more fluid than that. It may be easier to view the world is such a way, but it can just as easily lead you down dark paths. We must confront the things that we see in such times. We cannot shy away from them, cannot let them dwell within the shadows of our minds, for in doing so we are allowing our fears to master us." A large pincer reached out and rested reassuringly upon the human Jedi's shoulder as the Grand Master continued. "You are a Jedi, Knight Oran. And an exceptional one at that. But you are not an automaton, nor does anyone have the right to expect you to be. That weariness, that conflict you feel, it is natural. You must take the time to rest, and to meditate on those emotions. It is only by accepting them that we are able to let them go, and maintain our inner peace." In truth, Moho was a little concerned for Macen. He was certainly not the first Jedi to believe more firmly in their Order's martial prowess than their peacekeeping duties, nor would he be the last. But the older Jedi had seen far too many follow that path to their destruction, and that of many others, not to be perturbed when it surfaced. Still, he could sense no darkness in young Macen's heart and, while he was closer to his emotions than some of their Order would think safe, the Grand Master was confident in the human's dedication to protecting others. Besides, as in the case of many free spirits, it was always wise to let them spread their wings. To attempt to confine them unnecessarily was to invite discontent and anger. Moho withdrew his pincer, a half smile on his broad features. "But I am sure you did not come here to be lectured by an old crab," the Grand Master said. "Yes, for all their actions, the Archeri Chorus are still living beings, with a right to survive. But they are also without any predilections of diplomacy, lacking empathy for the suffering of others. Whatever their motivations are, what they attempted to do, and succeeded to do in far too many places, was monstrous. To treat others as fuel for your own ambitions and needs..." Moho let the words hang in the air, shaking his head. "Even the Empire, and the Sith Order, are capable of cooperation and in some case temporary peace. Though admittedly they have so far only done so when they had something to gain... or lose."

[Ysmir]

Were things so simple, Knight Oran...

They had been. Once upon a time.

Macen's eyes turned downward away from the Prellian Grandmaster, though whether out of shame or some other necessity was unknown. More than ever now, the Jedi had turned his thoughts backward to the time when he was but a child on Ord Mantell. He thought of his mother, and the Ithorian Loba Rhett. It was a fond and bittersweet feeling that budded within his core, faint but certainly felt. He recalled a specific circumstance when his mother was forced to work a long shift at the Lady Fate. As Moho spoke, the words echoed within Macen's ears as a reflection of Loba's.

"You must never mistake good and bad intentions, Macen. It is not so simple. On my world, we take things as they are and in stride. There is no use pondering the nature of these troubles; simply work through them."

The Ithorian reached out a hand. He placed it on Macen's shoulder.

Macen lifted his eyes from the ground as he felt the weight upon his form, turning to look back at the Grandmaster in his hovering rig as he continued. He blinked away a few times from the praise heaped upon him; he felt it undeserved. All his life, in the pursuit of peace and prosperity, Macen had only ever done what he determined to be his job -- his calling in life, even. Had he been overzealous? Was his training failing him, allowing these emotions to cloud his judgement? Macen cracked a smirk. Master Varn would positively ream him if the Korun had seen him in this sorry state. The Master was always so wise, so hopeful for the future no matter what difficulties might be laid down before him. It was an infectious feeling, not unlike the oneness that followed Grandmaster Moho wherever he floated along. Macen's eyes found the warm amber gaze of the Prell as the pincer was removed from his body.

"Old crab or not, nobody has a way with words like you, Grandmaster," Macen said, still with a smirk, turning his body to face the Prell fully, "I wonder if it's natural talent, or a result of all your experience?"

Macen's arms crossed over one another as he regarded Moho, standing before the Prell. "I know what was done was... necessary, if that word applies here. I guess my conflict isn't stemming from regret over what was done, just a feeling of melancholy over why it was done. I mean..." Macen frowned as he broke off, shaking his head and looking down at his feet a moment. "Their cause wasn't what I'd call an unjust one. Galactic unity, I mean. Isn't that essentially what we strive to accomplish? Just in a different way, of course. Their methods were the only difference, and it turned out to be the most important one. I swear, when that Spire fell..." Macen trailed off, and he released a sigh. As Macen recalled the echo of pain and disbelief that pervaded the entire Smuggler's Moon at the pivotal moment, a portion of that feeling could be perceived through the Force by the Grandmaster. It was of a disturbing emptiness, a hollow shell that was once teeming with life. Snuffed out. "I felt for them. Even if only in that moment."

He looked back to the Prell, his brows knitting together. "The Empire... the Sith. Do you think they'll want another war?"

[Blue]

A smile quirked at the corners of Moho's mouth at Knight Oran's words. "You tend to pick up a few things after your first century," he responded jokingly. Seeing into the hearts of people was something that the old Jedi could always do with relative ease, following those lines of emotion etched into their being, echoing through the Force. Moho could see the feelings of Macen clear as day as the young knight recalled that moment on Nar Shaddaa, feelings that the Grand Master himself had felt even on Coruscant. That astounded uncertainty, so alien to the Archeri Chorus. The desperation. The emptiness when all was done. "It is no bad thing to feel empathy for those that would call themselves our enemies," the Prell said. "Even though it can make the decisions we must sometimes make harder. The Chorus desired unity, true. But it was unity through the subversion of free will, making slaves through forced biological and spiritual change. Such unity, such peace, brought about by such means are a cold, terrible thing." The subject soon turned onto the Empire. That was the question on everybody's mind, was it not? Would the war begin again? "While the Empire is ruled by a member of the Sith Order, they will always look to war," Moho claimed sadly. "It is a part of their nature to seek out power and destroy those who they see as weak. Though there are those among their number who do not share such viewpoints, they are mostly the exception, not the rule. Many do not survive for long. The only reason the Empire agreed to a ceasefire originally was because they had been severely weakened after their failure here on Coruscant. Peace was only ever going to last until they had regained their strength to strike once more, and now that the Republic have struck them, the Empress can do nothing but reignite hostilities. It is a matter of self-preservation for her now, and for her regime. I suspect that, regardless of how the arbitration on Prazhi resolves, the Empire will begin to prepare for war again in earnest. The last thing she can do is appear weak herself... but nor can she wade into conflict lightly, before the Empire is ready." Moho sighed. It was exhausting, wading from one war to the next. Times of peace were seldom, and so brief. "Time has been bought, but precious little of it. Enough to prepare ourselves, perhaps. And when that time runs out, decisions must be made for our Order and it's own part to play in the coming onslaught."

[Ysmir]

Perhaps it had merely been a passing fancy, his empathetic nature showing through, for as soon as the subject turned, so, too, did his mood. Macen's reflections on the Sith were anything but positive. Sure enough, he had a spectacular grip on his emotions, and sometimes violence achieved more than diplomacy despite the Jedi teachings... but the Sith did not employ it for altruistic pursuits. Their purposes were their own, their power the only manner of self-actualization that they knew. In a way, Macen failed to see the fault in the Republic carrier's actions; a lack of wisdom and tact, yes, but not the fault. Their alliance with the Republic and the Jedi was one born out of necessity, not desire. It would only be a matter of time, in Macen's eyes, before the old, embittered rivals were at each other's throats again.

This, it seemed, merely expedited the process.

Arms still crossed, Macen paced across the Archive flooring to one of the many databank shelves that lined the grand halls. His eyes scanned over the glittering blue bytes that stored within them thousands of years of history -- their history. As a Youngling and Padawan, Macen spent countless hours poring over these words for some sense of direction, purpose. These questions that burned within him were the things that drove him to seek out injustice and snuff it out, such was his conviction. It was only natural that his desire to see evil brought to light meant he gravitated toward war, toward conflict. Macen's brows furrowed once more.

"I've always seen myself as something of an avenger," Macen began, somewhat off-handedly once Moho finished his ruminations, "-- silly, I know, but... it's true. When Master Varn was instructing me what seemed like a lifetime ago, he warned me against perceptions like that. One of his constant rules was to trust only in the Force, and I do -- to an extent. But I think right now, from all that's gone on, even the Force finds itself somewhat confused."

It wasn't a random, stray thought that led to this observation -- Macen had spent a great deal of time in meditation, both to center himself and to divine some sort of guidance, since Nar Shaddaa. But very little found its way through the folds of tangled chaos that was the Force's presence in recent weeks. The loss of life, the destruction of the Archeri Spire, and the uncertainty abound throughout both major factions had muddled his sight. Was it only him? Did all feel this curtain draped over their eyes? He had wished he could talk to Meira or someone else who knew him on a more personal level, but the Grandmaster knew the Force and its higher mysteries better than any of them, even if he claimed not to. He turned his eyes back to Moho.

"I guess what I mean to say is... I understand their way of thinking. The Sith. I understand the importance of self-reliance and resilience to them, why it matters so deeply. In a funny way, when I was learning, it sometimes became a little difficult to see the difference between us and them. Many say the Light and Dark side are just two sides of the same coin," he stated, leaning onto the back of the chair with his hand as his eyes flicked down to the floor in thought, "but just because I understand it doesn't mean I accept it. I think you're right, Grandmaster. Everybody's known that this has been brewing beneath the surface for months, now. It was never going to last, as much as we all wanted it."

"If it comes to a fight, Grandmaster, then you know I'm going to fight," Macen affirmed, "I can't sit idly by and watch the galaxy fall to ruin without helping." When spoken, Macen had lifted his eyes from the ground, and within them was a sparkle of powerful self-assurance and resolve that had failed to be impeded by the trials set before him. Though to the Grandmaster's perceptive gaze, one could see Macen, like Moho himself, was tired. Tired, but willful.

"How have you lasted through so much, Grandmaster? To live as long as you have, to have seen the things you've seen... it can't be easy," Macen asked, tilting his head a bit before continuing, "I don't mean to pry if it's something you'd rather not share, I just find myself curious. About your point of view."

[Blue]

Macen's words did not shock the older Jedi overly much. The young human would not be the first of their Order to feel some similarity with the Sith, nor would he be the last. Neither would he be alone in meditating on the Force, only to be left confused by the tumultuousness felt within it. Instead, what troubled the Grand Master the most was the use of the word 'avenger'. "I have always seen the Force as akin to a great ocean," Moho announced, as he considered how Macen described himself. "It has it's own eddies and currents, impacted by the things that move within it. Sometimes, it is calm. Other times, it is a roiling tempest. With knowledge and experience, we may navigate it, learn to move through it, live upon it and even predict when ill winds herald a coming storm. I take comfort in that, even in times when it's flows seems confusing, the Force will always have patterns and purpose for those who can unravel their meaning... Though even I have trouble doing so sometimes." Macen's eagerness to fight in the coming war was a sentiment shared by not a few others in the Order. Most of them were young, but even some of the older Jedi, like Macen, would jump to answer the call to arms. Moho remembered the conflict the Council had faced when the Empire first struck; commit to war, or remain as peacekeepers? Some of their Order forgot that they were not soldiers or warriors, like those that split away to fight in the war. Many did not return, and most of those that did were not the same when they came home. That same conundrum was upon them again, only this time, sitting Council members were so few in number. Moho had his thoughts and he would put them to his fellow Jedi, but they could not afford to delay. A decision had to be made ahead of time so that the Order were not so slow to react again, one way or another. But for now, Macen was asking him a question. He gave the knight a small, sad smile. "I learned long ago that I must accept the fact that, no matter how long I live for or how much knowledge I acquire, there are many things that I will not be able to control. The past cannot be changed and the future... the future cannot stop changing. I cannot prevent the younglings I teach from growing old so quickly in front of my eyes. I cannot bring back the dead, even when I dearly wish sometimes that I could. But while I hold the memory of them in my mind and in my heart, they are still with me. The Force will remember them. And so shall I." Moho sighed, even as the avalanche of Vision-memories assaulted his inner eye. He saw faces that had been gone for centuries, saw skies he had not seen in decades, heard the laughter of hundreds of children that were now venerable Masters. "Sometimes, Knight Oran, the greatest victory one can achieve in life... is letting go. Of an emotion. Of the illusion of control. Of the things that were. Of the things that may be. And, one day, even of life itself." The Grand Master's smile became brighter, then, as he considered the young Jedi before him. "But the one thing that I doubt I will ever be able to let go of is the knowledge that we can still do good in this galaxy. For all the terrible things that happen, for all the pain and suffering people cause one another, there will always be someone, somewhere, who will help. Today, those people are us."

[Ysmir]

As Moho spoke, Macen smiled. It was like being recounted to a story by a grandfather, or some other familial figure of great wisdom and warmth. Sometimes, Macen wished he could have the same effect; to comfort a crying child with nothing but a friendly gaze, to offer aid in the form of words to someone grieving a loved one. He felt like nothing but a simple brute with a lightsaber when he compared himself to the Grandmaster; and so he left those comparisons aside. They'd offer nothing but contempt for himself that he couldn't afford to harbor in these trying times.

His words carried weight, so much so that it gave Macen pause. He looked down to his feet and the smile faded from his face while his brows furrowed inward. Perhaps he hadn't been looking hard enough? Turning to the Force for guidance had become something of a habit for him, as it usually did for all Jedi of his age and experience. Did he only feel lost because he had become that way by his own hand? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. For all his confidence, Macen had a knack for recognizing and vigorously attacking weakness within himself, seeing it as a personal disservice to deflect or deny such things. He'd take these words to heart in the future, for certain.

As Moho continued on, a vision glazed itself over Macen's eyes. He was reminded of his old Master...

"Macen, you need to remember..." Varn stated with a sad smile, placing a hand upon the boy's shoulder, "that oftentimes, the hardest thing you'll ever have to do won't be saving a life. In fact, it won't even be taking one. It'll be learning to let one go once it's gone."

Macen nodded along with the Grandmaster. He turned his eyes up from the ground as Moho summarized his self-reflection. They were lessons Macen had heard dished out time and time again, but never by somebody he felt had lived through them so personally. When the Grandmaster spoke, the pain of a thousand losses laced his words. But through that pain, Macen felt and observed, the Grandmaster had emerged all the stronger. It was a ray of hope for his troubled mind, and something that gave him cause to believe that, even in the state the Galaxy was in, there might yet be a way out of this slump. He stood fully from the table.

"Oh, Grandmaster, don't get me wrong," Macen said with a grin, both genuine and cocky, as he crossed his arms, "I've never once lost faith in our ability to do good. I suppose I just needed a strong reminder from an even stronger person as to what we're doing it for."

He turned his eyes upward, still smiling, absorbing the glittering blue lights that cascaded down from the shelves which lined the Jedi archives. Then, he nodded his head. "I think I know what you mean now. I know I have a role to play in all of this, but it's a fool's errand trying to figure out what it is before the wheels are in motion." Macen squinted at the numerous lights of the archives, wriggling his nose in thought.

"All I wonder is what comes next; do you think peace through war is actually attainable?"

[Blue]

The old Jedi shook his head with a small smile as Macen referred to him as an 'even stronger person'. Moho could not consider himself stronger than another senior member of their Order in any way or form. There were many far more knowledgable than he. There were many far more powerful than he. Macen himself could doubtlessly best the Prell in a contest of speed and lightsaber skill. Moho had always felt most comfortable serving in a supporting capacity, cultivating and teaching, where his centuries of life could be utilised the most effectively. Moho was pleased, however, that his words seemed to ease the knight's mind to a degree. Many believed that, if one could see the future as the Grand Master could, that they would spend their days picking at those threads to force the galaxy onto a certain path. Those people were usually unaware of how, in the act of doing so, they would violently shunt new futures into their place, many of which could prove far worse than that they were trying to avoid. A small nudge was always better. A gentle cultivation, so that a new path could form naturally. Moho smiled at Macen, though the smile grew sad at the question he posed. "Just as conflict is inevitable, so is peace. Achieving it through force of arms is of course an attainable goal, though the cost in life would be dear, and the results would be... unstable, at best. Peace through subjugation..." A dark mirror, an empty field. Familiar face wearing a mask of cruel emotion. It was not him. It could be him... "... is a cold and terrible thing," Moho finished, the memory-vision of his ordeal during his Trials flashing behind his eyes. "Which is why the Order strives so hard to attain peace through diplomacy and compromise, wherever and whenever we can. It is far more sustainable that way."

[Ysmir]

Sustainability. Now there was a thought.

It was something seldom few sentients in this big, wide open galaxy ever seemed to give a lick of consideration. Most, despite their pre-conceived notions of self-righteousness, tended to live in the now; Macen, himself, was guilt of this at times. It was easy to see life as a river that flowed constantly toward its goal, never stopping or slowing, carving itself through whatever may be in its way no matter if you were ready to face such tasks. But the more Macen grew, the more he learned that it was actually akin to an ocean. The tides ebb and flow, pushing and pulling in a tandem balance that sought to remain unobstructed by what happened beneath the water's surface. It was a difficult state of mind to comprehend and accept, and one that Macen himself was unsure of. For much of his life, Macen saw destruction brought about by inaction to be as great a sin as committing the crime itself. Of course, such a radical point of view couldn't be applied to everything. Were that the case, the Jedi Council would be held equally as responsible as the Sith for the state of the galaxy.

Were they, in the eyes of others? It was a disturbing yet realistic truth. On the one hand, it was a complete fallacy to attribute the same level of heinous disregard of life that the Sith held to the Jedi. But Macen couldn't deny that it seemed, at times, like their movements were sluggish, only performing their best work after the fact. Such was the nature of what Moho discussed, the idealistic desire for peace through diplomacy. But the Jedi Knight seemed somewhat unconvinced as his eyes turned downward to his feet.

"I want to believe it's possible, Grandmaster, but I just don't know," he said with a inward furrowing of his browline, turning his eyes up to Prell. "The Sith don't believe in peace the same way we do, that the Republic does. Or..."

He cut himself off for a moment. The Republic had changed more than any other element in the galaxy since the Archeri Crisis had begun, and it showed in many ways, most of all in the fact that it was by the Republic's own hand that hostilities had once again cropped up to the surface with the Sith Empire. While it was difficult to pin the crimes of the few on the shoulders of the many, Macen could hardly blame those that did so.

"... or like the Republic did, I should say." Macen finished his thought with a sigh. His eyes met Moho's in a brief moment of silent reflection.

"What my senses have been telling me aren't just limited to the state of the galaxy," Macen admitted with a small frown, "but the Republic, as well. It feels... sick. Like it's on the verge of catastrophe. I know that isn't a realistic thought, but... part of me trusts that instinct. Have you felt it?"

[Blue]

It was all too easy for Moho to understand Macen's hesitance to believe that achieving peace through discourse was an attainable goal. The cycle of violence was not a pure one; it consisted only of waxing and waning, with no periods of absolute peace but plenty of eras where war and strife reined completely. But as the young knight proclaimed that something was feeling wrong with the Republic itself, the Grand Master's expression shifted. He was brought back to the Supreme Chancellor's office not twenty-four hours before, of the revelation he was subjected to, there. The look on Alder's face as he spoke. The sensation of heavy resignment. Moho nodded at Macen's words. Sick. Perhaps not an inappropriate term. "In times of desperation, good people can be driven into vile deeds, Knight Oran," the old Jedi replied. There was a heavy sadness in his voice, and the tiniest hint of confliction. "I am sure that you have encountered this in your time as a member of our Order. For some, the line that defines what is decent and what is necessary become hard to focus on in such times, when there is someone at your door who wishes for nothing less than the complete and utter destruction of not just you, but your very way of life. In this regard, your instincts are not far from the truth, I would say." Moho's gaze swung through the Archives, the dancing blue lights of the knowledge contained within holding all manner of stories and tales of heroism and disaster, of villainy and victory. "Are the Empire capable of peace with the Republic through diplomacy? As we have said already, most likely not. Is conflict the only solution? Perhaps. As the Archeri Crisis showed, these two powers are capable of working together, even if only in the interest of survival in the face of extinction. But... such things are completely out of our hands. We are not the Empire, and the Jedi will never rule over the Republic... at least, not while I still live and breathe. The decisions that the Senate makes are outside of our ability to change. We can only attempt to council their membership and, in such trying times, our council is commonly only heeded when it falls into line with what the Senate desires in the first place." Despite his usual manner not being fractured, there was still the smallest, almost imperceptible glimmer of bitterness in the old Jedi's tone. The Jedi Order were not infallible or all-knowing, nor were some of its member always altruistic. But it seemed to Moho that over the last one hundred years, the only time a Jedi was welcomed to mediate or to dispense advice was with the expectation that they would always rule in the favour of Republic officials. It was even more evident during times when independent planets and systems were offered, or requested to become a part of, the Republic. The Grand Master had served as a mediator during such transitions, and the old Jedi could not count the times the Republic emissary would attempt to push him into convincing the independent party to accept a deal that the superpower would profit more heavily from than the newcomer would. "As much as it pains us to do so, sometimes the only thing that we can do is react to the events unfolding around us, to the best of our abilities. We are not omniscient, despite what some may believe so that they can lay all sorts of blame at our door. We can only do so much. We can only do our best. Sometimes, that is enough. Sometimes... sometimes, it is not."

[Ysmir]

Despite his best efforts to hide the inflection of distaste in his tone, Macen was ever perceptive. The words he spoke were sincere, this much the Jedi could ascertain. But he had the distinct feeling that the Grandmaster was not being one-hundred percent truthful; nor would Macen ever expect him to be. He could guess and guess for months on end what Moho discussed with the upper brass of the Republic, but it would never bring him any closer to the truth -- a truth he most likely did not really wish to know.

For the most part, he believed the Republic was the Galaxy's best chance at true unity. Democracy, fairness, equality; these were words and titles ascribed to what Macen believed to be basic sentient rights. Though despite the best efforts of the Council and those like-minded individuals of the government, not all saw it this way. At its core, the Republic was a conglomerate, an organization, and in order to thrive it must sometimes take its own interests to heart rather than those of others. A sad but necessary sacrifice, one that Macen still had trouble coming to terms with.

But if not for his own sake, but for the sake of the Grandmaster, he'd at least give it a try. Macen nodded.

"Then I guess we just need to have faith," Macen began once Moho concluded his thoughts, "as always. Faith that the Force will figure everything out in the end. I've always put my trust in it first, and I feel like it hasn't led me astray. I always recall Master Varn's first teachings when I'm thinking of the galaxy at large; that the Force is indifferent. It never singles anyone out, and it doesn't go out of its way to cause change unless it's necessary. It's not evil, it just... is. I suppose that's the lesson to be drawn from everything that's happened, that will happen. Change is inevitable."

With a focused stride, Macen turned from the terminal desk and walked toward the doorway that led into the main hallway. He lingered at the threshhold of the room for a moment, his lips drawn into a tight line. After a short while, he turned his eyes back to Moho. "Thank you, Grandmaster. It's always enlightening, talking with you. I have a lot to reflect on, but I promise you, I won't do anything hasty." He nodded his head affirmatively, before a wry smile found its way onto his features. "Not without consulting you first, of course."

Macen gave the Grandmaster a respectful bow of his head, a traditional farewell, before turning back toward the doorway and exiting through it. He made way to the meditation chambers, carrying the words and lessons Moho had bestowed on him to better try and understand his role in things to come.

Whatever it may be.