What Might Have Been

[Rugs]

Tension pulled at the air. Aurelius could feel it, as he walked along a quiet riverside avenue in the heart of Soldon. Even with the stores and restaurants packed with people trying to stay out of the misting rain that rolled in with the evening, there was an energy, an edge that lurked just behind everything in the Force.

Aurelius knew the feeling well. It reminded him of those warm days on Ruusan from his youth when distant thunderheads towering over the plains warned of coming storms. It reminded him of when the air thickened with humidity as the wind began to blow when the smell of coming rain arrived just before the storm itself.

Sith Embassy lay a mile or two behind him. He’d left after a long day’s work. He’d arrived only a few days ago, with the business on Ossus concluded. Solis had come long before. But as with the summit during the Archeri Crisis, there was plenty of work to be done. Security details. Ensuring that no one got the idea to try running to the Republic.

In a couple of days lawyers and diplomats and all kinds of important people from across the Sith Empire and Galactic Republic would assemble in the Galactic Hall — that monolith to peace and diplomacy that sat on the far side of the river bisecting Soldon — to try desperately to prevent war. It seemed a waste of time to Aurelius. They’d have as much luck trying to turn back one of Ruusan’s storms with their bare hands.

War was coming, regardless of anyone’s desire for it. Aurelius relished the chance to take to battle once more, to pit strength against strength. Beyond his own desire, he could see only one truth.

The Sith Empire and Republic could not cohabitate the Galaxy in perpetuity. Eventually, the peace would crack. Delaying the inevitable would only make the war more difficult, when it came.

Yet he was in no rush. The shorter-lived species, they might rush on to decision, but he had centuries left ahead of him.

And the peace, no matter how hard they tried, would not last near that long.

Aurelius strolled under a large covered pavilion at a waterfront plaza near the river. It was mostly abandoned, with the weather being what it was, but a few people lingered here and there, with more in a small coffee shop with a covered patio that jutted out over the river.

He wore a black, single-breasted coat, accented at the end of the sleeves and collar with gold. The line of polished gold buttons was off-center, along the right side of his chest and torso, and the back of the coat stretched to his knees. He wore dark grey pants below that, and some plain, if well-made, black boots.

He was unarmed, as was law on Prazhi. His hip was bare where normally there would be three lightsabers, clinking against each other in rhythm to his gait. Aurelius thought it was a silly law — he could drain the life from everyone on this street if he wanted to, and level buildings without laying a finger on them. But his position carried weight, in more ways than one, and so he abided.

The rain never touched him before he stepped under the pavilion. Rather, it parted, falling around him as if stopped by some invisible umbrella. He ran a hand through his shaggy blue-streaked-black hair. Despite his apparent youth, people kept their distance from him. That suited Aurelius fine; he felt little desire to interact with the rabble. Those who initially didn’t notice him turned away after a glance at his golden eyes.

Yet as he walked to the water’s edge, as he leaned against a metal railing and watched the river go churning by, he felt an unmistakable presence in the Force. A Jedi, and not just any.

The Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

He’d seen Shovaah Moho once before — they’d both attended the summit — but never spoken to him. For a moment, he thought to relocate. No, it was too late for that. Aurelius bore a powerful presence in the Force, and cared little to hide it.

He sighed rolling his shoulders and waited to see if the Jedi would pass him by in peace.

[Blue]

Moho considered the last time that he had been on Prazhi, only a few months back. Desperation had brought two warring states together, united in their desire to survive. It was never going to last, everybody knew it. But for a brief moment, there had been peace between them. Not a bristling, angry ceasefire. But a genuine, albeit wary, peace. And it had lasted until there was one single moment of weakness. Now things were headed straight back to war. The old Jedi wondered if anyone else knew just how soon that would be. The Empress, certainly. It would be by her will that hostilities would begin again, on her terms. The Republic were caught very much on the back foot, as it was their people who had ripped up the treaty. The Supreme Chancellor and even General Horst would denounce the officers that were responsible, disown their actions, but the damage was done. For once, the Empire had the moral high ground. Moho did not need Force Visions to tell him that would not last for long. Just long enough for the Empress to siphon what she needed from it. The rooms where he was staying felt too close, suffocating. So the Grand Master had decided to go for a walk, or a hover, to the nearest café in an attempt to clear his head. The rain... ah, this blessed rain! It had been so long since he had been able to enjoy the feeling of water soaking his carapace. He let it fall on him, drenching his robes, and revelled in it running down his face. As he moved slowly but steadily towards his destination, he met very few people. Those that were out and about stared as he passed. It bothered him not. His species was rare to see outside their home world, so it was not so unusual. The closer he got to his goal, however, the more he felt it; a warping in the Force, a sickly tint of Dark Side energies. A Sith is nearby. The man came into view through the downpour. Pale of skin and dark of hair, it was undoubtedly the source of the sensations that Moho was feeling in the Force. Furthermore, the Grand Master recognised the man: Darth Aurelius, Gold Pillar of the Sith Empire and, if Moho recalled correctly, a senior educator of the Sith Order. Moho could feel the attentions of the man as the Sith noted his presence. The old Jedi almost smiled as he felt the guard go up, read in his posture the readiness to fight... and flee? "Darth Aurelius," Moho said in greeting, turning his hoverchair slightly to face the Sith properly. Warm amber eyes looked out from a broad, smiling face, dripping with water. "I did not expect to see a member of the Empire's delegation out here in the rain." For a moment, the Grand Master's eyes looked out into the water, a strange look of yearning flickering in his features. How long as it been, since I have felt this homesickness for a planet I barely know? The need to slip beneath the waves and feel the flow and pull of the currents tug at me? "I was on my way to a café nearby, if you would care to join me?" Moho offered. It was strange. He would not normally have made such an attempt to dine with a member of the Sith, if only because his previous attempts to converse with those of Aurelius' Order had ended in snide remarks and murderous intent. But something made the Grand Master extend the chance to the Darth before him. A small tug, a whisper in the Force. Moho had long ago learned to trust such feelings.

[Rugs]

“Darth Aurelius.”

Aurelius sighed, shoulders rising and rolling as if stretching for battle. As he gave a long exhale through his nose, he turned just enough to regard the Grandmaster from the corner of a single, golden eye. Of course the Jedi wants to talk. The crab-man wore a smile that matched the warmth of his presence. Aurelius’ face remained neutral. Watching. Waiting.

“I did not expect to find a member of the Empire’s delegation out here in the rain.”

Aurelius made a sound that fell somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “It’d take more than a little rain to keep me from the night air,” he said. “I could say the same of the Republic, but here we both are.” Aurelius’ couldn’t stand dealing with diplomats and lawyers and their ilk. Nor could he stand being stuffed in the embassy for longer than was needed, no matter the importance of the task at hand. Besides, precipitation or fluctuations between heat and cold bothered Aurelius little; that he used the Force to keep himself dry was a convenience of power, not a requirement to his stepping outdoors.

The Jedi’s response caught Aurelius by surprise. An invitation to join him in the nearby coffee shop. Aurelius turned around, eying Moho in his huge hoverchair with a curious, almost amused look.

“Join the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order for coffee?” He made the same noise again, more a laugh than snort this time. When he smiled, the tips of his fanged canines poked out of his mouth.

“You ask an interesting question, Shovaah Moho,” he said, “but let me reverse it for you.” Even turned around, Aurelius leaned against the railing, with elbows propped up behind him. Despite his earlier hesitance to be near the Jedi, he seemed at ease now — self-assured, almost cocky. But his gaze never wavered from the aged Jedi; he seemed to be studying him, weighing both through his sight and in the Force.

“Would you care to have me join you? I’ve killed more of your brethren than I can remember, during the war. I’ve kept most of their lightsabers, in a collection of sorts.” Aurelius smiled subtly. He held no particular hate for the Jedi Order itself — not like some of his fellow Sith for which the conflict was a more personal affair — but he felt no need to hide who or what he was, Grandmaster or no. “I don’t doubt I’ll be adding to it once we go to war again.”

Aurelius shrugged slightly and made a motion toward the cafe. “If that is the sort of company you're comfortable with keeping then, by all means, lead on. I’ll indulge you.”

[Blue]

Always this circling and goading and watching for weakness. Do the Sith never grow weary of it? To be on constant guard, for fear of betrayal and usurpation? The thought flickered through Moho's mind as his smile became fractionally sadder. "Killed many, perhaps, Darth Aurelius. But learned nothing," Moho responded, shaking his head. There was no heat to his words, though there was the smallest fraction of sorrow. "Come. It will be my treat," the Grand Master continued, turning and slowly hovering towards the café's exterior; the doorway into the building itself was not wide enough to permit the old Jedi's entry, so he would have to make do with one of the tables set out in front. Thankfully, one of the servers was clearing some exterior tables of empty cups and discarded cutlery when they approached. The young woman had barely stopped herself gawking at the sight of the tall Firrerreo man... and her jaw dropped entirely as her eyes fell on the massive creature in front of him, who she had somehow spotted second. "Some of the house special tea, please," Moho said politely. His warm, calm tones seemed to snap the server out of her shock, and she responded to the Grand Master's smile with one of her own entirely by instinct. Her body language, which had gone rigid upon sighting the pair, relaxed. "And a... coffee? Yes, a coffee for my companion." "Of course... erm. What coffee would you like, sir?" The server said, clearing her throat a little before speaking to the Sith. "As I said, it is my treat. Please, order whatever you would like," Moho reiterated to Aurelius. As he spoke, one of the chairs at the nearest table lifted and moved off towards one of the other, uninhabited tables. The server took a step back in surprise but, as her eyes flashed down to the robes Moho wore, she seemed to relax again as the Prell moved into the space where the chair had once been.

[Rugs]

“Perhaps so,” Aurelius flashed a small smile. “Perhaps not.” Sorrow was evident in the Grandmaster’s tone. More satisfying for Aurelius, it was evident in his presence. Whatever the truth of the old crab’s feelings for the High Archon’s prodding, he moved on, welcoming Aurelius to follow.

True to his word, and with a half-amused snort, Aurelius fell in behind Moho’s bulky hoverchair, until the two found themselves before a server clearing tables outside. Aurelius hardly paid attention to her reaction at the two of them. “Frappucino,” he said simply once. “Chocolate, and whatever dish you have with the most meat in it.” He was hungry, and who was he to turn down a meal on the Republic’s credit?

At that, he did laugh, to himself. The server gave him a wary look as she hurried back inside. What would Renata say if the positions were reversed? He could only imagine the conversation.

“Evening drinks with the Grandmaster,” he said as he settled into a seat opposite Moho’s hoverchair. Now with a chance to actually study the elder Jedi, Aurelius felt a solidness, a quiet self-assurance that eluded many of his companions among the shorter-lived species. The Grandmaster was old; how old Aurelius could not say, but he seemed to carry the weight of years of experience beyond what most could ever hope to reach.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the river flowing steadily onward below. “After knowing who I am and what I’ve done, at that,” Aurelius spoke on unabated, as thunder rolled over them.

He leaned back slighty, golden eyes catching the warm light from the cafe. “To what do I owe the honor?”

[Blue]

With the drinks ordered and the server sent on to collect them, Moho allowed himself a moment to really look at the Sith before him. There was a brashness to the man, held before him like a warrior's shield. He reminds me a little of Master Narnir in that regard. There was a hint of sadism woven in there that the Togruta wholly lacked, however. A man who pushes people's buttons, and enjoys doing so... that needed no great insight. Self-assuredness and cunning glinted in those golden eyes, but also a genuine passion, and a sense of reliability. Hmm. A steadying hand one day, perhaps. And under that, deep in the heart and hidden away... Interesting. That is no bad thing. "I am afraid that blood runs freely on both sides of our table, Darth Aurelius," Moho uttered quietly at the Firrerreo's continued prodding. Lightning flashed a moment after he had spoken, the brief blue light starkly illuminating the Grand Master's sad smile as thunder echoed in the distance. The server returned after a pause in the back and forth, setting out the drinks and assuring the Sith that his peculiar dish would be brought out shortly. There was a flutter of anxiety in the young girl, deeper than simply being in their presence- A mother under the covers, sweating from fever. A father watching helplessly from the side, gaunt of face and missing a leg. Desperation: I cannot afford to miss work, must work, they are relying on me! "Thank you," the old Jedi said. She smiled at him before hurrying off. In front of Moho, the tray of spoons and containers began to hover and dance in the air, pouring and stirring in elegant motion. "I suppose it is because my interactions with other members of your Order have been so narrow," Moho responded to the Sith's question, the gentle chiming of metal utensils on porcelain accompanying his soft, almost musical voice. "All of those that I have encountered, both those still living and those long dead, have only ever tried to either kill me or tempt me. Sometimes both at the same time," he added with a chuckle, recalling the various holocrons and shades he had encountered during his early years as a knight. The array of delicate things circling in the air settled down on the table neatly, and the Grand Master inhaled the aroma of the tea. "Besides, you are quite possibly the first Sith I have met in the flesh who has not radiated hatred and disgust upon seeing me, which makes for a most welcome and refreshing change of pace. The repeated stabbings and villainous monologues become rather wearisome and repetitive after you have experienced them the first few hundred times," the Grand Master concluded dryly. The cup of tea floated to his mouth and, after lightly blowing on it, he hummed appreciatively at the taste. "So I could say that this is my thank you, Darth Aurelius, for allowing me to engage in civil discourse, however brief it might be, with someone from the Sith Order. After four hundred and fifty years, it is always pleasant to get the chance to experience something new."

[Rugs]

“Have your run-ins with my fellows been so poor that I’m a standout?” Aurelius didn’t bother to hide his amusement at the thought. Renata had smoothed some of his edges, in turning him from Nieraan Onin to Darth Aurelius but even the Empress’ instruction could only go so far. They both knew this. Around her, and for the most part in his duties, he acted with the gravity his station commanded. “Perhaps,” he said, sipping on his frozen drink, “you should have offered them tea.

Left to his own devices... Well, Darth Aurelius and Nieraan Onin weren’t so dissimilar.

“Don’t worry old man, I’m not here to tempt you.” He gave a sly smile. “It’d be a waste of time; yours and mine. Tempting might work on a child still unsure of their convictions, but you?” Aurelius shook his head. “No, someone like you — a proud Jedi Master — would have to be broken. Have everything you love torn away, any hope recovery burned to ash in your hands. Again and again, until you’re left with nothing but despair and pain.” Aurelius still smiled, despite a bitter edge that crept briefly into his voice. “Even then, you might resist the call, dragging it all out.

“No easy task, not for the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order,” he said, shifting slightly in his seat, “and one I lack currently lack the tools or time for, sitting outside a cafe in the rain. But it would be interesting, wouldn’t it?” Aurelius paused to study the Grandmaster, unspoken thought on his face. Whatever he’d been on the edge of saying, he shrugged.

“Everyone has a breaking point,” he said, sounding briefly distant. “A lot of our number came to us from your Order after being forced beyond theirs, in one way or another. If I had to guess, that’s why your past encounters have gone so poorly.”

Aurelius drank again from the frozen drink. He felt the server coming before the door swung open. She emerged with a large plate, covered with an assortment of meat cuts. He acknowledged her with a nod as she set it down and waited until she returned inside to return his attention to Moho over the steaming meat.

“Me, I never had anything to do with the Jedi,” he said. “No love for you lot, but the sight of you doesn’t send me into a rage like it does to some other members of my Order.” A fork and knife rose from the table, seemingly of their own volition, and moved smoothly to Aureilus’s open hands. “So, here’s your chance. Pick my brain, if you wish. Just know any attempts to turn me to the Light would be as wasted as my own trying to pull you to the Dark.”

He smiled again, but this was cold, vaguely malevolent. “I’d say to enjoy the opportunity while we’re not at war, but we already are. Regardless of what happens across the river in a few days.”

[Blue]

"Tell me, Darth Aurelius, have you ever tried to invite a person to tea while they are attempting to stab you in the gut? It is tremendously difficult, I can assure you of that," Moho responded, his voice containing a light chuckle. Then, of course, came the 'break you' speech. The old Jedi sipped some tea while the Darth went on. While the setting for it was unique, it was not the first time nor, he feared, would it be the last time that he would hear such a thing. Overall, he gave the man a six out of ten. The delivery was impeccable, possibly the best he had ever sat through. There was conviction and passion behind it. But the contents were clichéd; he had heard the same speech, more or less, several times before. He let the Sith continue, however. It would have been immensely rude to interrupt. "Interesting, indeed," Moho replied, though this was directed more towards the man himself. The Darth wore a peculiar expression, and his words contained a bite to them that was not directed at the Jedi. "And you are correct. Everyone has their breaking point. However, you are mistaken in regard to temptations; they do not just belong to the young or uncertain. Everyone has those, too. Even I. I should also mention that one cannot be turned to the Light. One cannot be broken into walking it, as they can with the Dark Side. It is something that can be shown, but to embark on that path is a choice one cannot be forced to make." The teacup made a quiet clack as it touched the saucer, a gentle smile matching the Darth's colder one. "And with that, I think we have both indulged in enough clichés for one conversation, would you not agree?" The Grand Master took a moment to actually consider what he might ask a Dark Lord of the Sith. His initial go to question would be about how they trained their initiates; most of what the people in the Republic heard were horror stories about how they were routinely tortured and murdered and encouraged to betray one another until they came out as psychotic killers. But there had to be more to it than that, otherwise all the Sith would be broken children with access to terrible powers. The comment about the war confused him for a moment, and the Jedi shook his head. "You say that as if, for the last few years, we have been at peace," Moho said, his confusion evident in his voice. "I do not believe anyone with any experience in the ways of the galaxy believed that for a single moment. It was merely a ceasefire, nothing more. Breathing room bought to allow strength to be built, armies to be recruited, weapons to be conjured. Trust me, Darth Aurelius, there is no such thing as galactic peace. Like the tides, conflict will swell and recede, but the ocean will always remain. The resumption of hostilities was inevitable; the Republic officers' act of betrayal above Nar Shaddaa merely forced hands to bring it forward before it's allotted time." Moho made no attempt to sugar-coat his words, for that was what had happened: the Republic officers had betrayed everyone, from the treaty with the Empire to the very Republic they had thought they were serving. The Empress would not speak softly about it. Nor would the Grand Master. "However, as to the matter at hand... hm. I will admit curiosity on the training of freshly recruited initiates for your Order. In my youth, I encountered a holocron left behind by an ancient Dark Lord of the Sith; we spoke at some length, and one of the subjects was the training regimen of his students. He was very detailed on how they punished students severely for the slightest infraction, often publicly, and how they would give them impossible tasks in which they could only fail, simply to prove a point. I am interested to know if that still holds true today." The old Jedi watched Darth Aurelius through the rising steam of his tea as he spoke. That bitterness in the Sith's voice when he had talked about breaking people felt as if it had hit closer to home than Aurelius had meant it too.

[Rugs]

“Inevitable, yet here we are,” Aurelius motioned broadly at the river, to the Galactic Hall waiting on the far side, “praying to prolong this pretend peace.” For once he was thankful for the practice his position afforded him in keeping his tone controlled. It’d come as little surprise to anyone who knew him that Aurelius cared little for diplomacy. That he’d follow Renata’s will was absolute, but he sometimes wondered at the lengths to which the Republic and Empire strained to avoid conflict.

The grandmaster was right. Conflict was inevitable. In Aurelius’ eyes, running from it was foolhardy.

“What might have happened, if we waited until it’s ‘allotted time,’ I wonder?” Aurelius lifted a large slice of meat from his plate, eyeing it thoughtfully. “More time to entrench, more time to bring new weapons to bear. All that effort, and for what? Greater slaughter. Those officers of yours might have better served your Republic if they’d acted sooner.”

It was no great secret, these days, that the Sith Empire had been reeling in the closing days of the Pan-Galactic War. The loss at Coruscant fully halted its momentum, and the Republic’s counteroffensive out of the Core into the Inner and Mid Rim might have continued unabated to the Outer Rim,

Had it not been, of course, for the Republic’s own exhaustion.

Had the Republic used the treaty to force a pause in the fighting, then launched an invasion, the Empire might have been hard-pressed to stop it. But no, the Republic would never do such a thing; that’d be too Sith to turn on its word so.

And now it was too late for an easy victory — not that it bothered Aurelius one way or the other.

The Grandmaster moved on, posing a question about the Order’s instructional methods. Aurelius chewed on his meal as the aged Jedi spoke. It was tender, well seasoned, and Aurelius hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he bit into it. He’d have to return another day.

As for Moho’s question-

“Yes, everything you’ve heard is true. We start each morning by whipping the ones who sleep in more than a minute and a half late with chains. In the evenings, we gather those who pronounced our names wrong, break their legs and tell them to push boulders up hills as punishment.” He smiled coyly at the Grandmaster. Though Mohoh’s question hadn’t been about such cartoonishly-evil examples of training, he knew well the reputation the Sith Order carried, burdened by thousands of years of history, beyond its space.

“I think you would agree, Grandmaster, that for groups such as ours, such methods would be rather self-defeating, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, we push our students in ways you’d find distasteful, and yes, some face punishment for certain offenses.” He leaned back into his seat. Punishments tended to be issued toward the young or the stupid. Most Sith realized soon enough after joining that to rise within the Order meant following the Order's will - Renata's will. To go against it was only self-defeating. “But to assign them impossible tasks, or beat them for looking at us wrong? What good does that serve, other than to waste their time and our own and entrench bitterness toward us?”

Aurelius’ eye narrowed slightly. Impossible tasks. Forced to impossible fight, day after day. But his mother had never been a Sith.

“It may surprise you to see the spirit of brotherhood that we’ve fostered in the sands of Korriban. Not brotherhood as the Jedi would see it, I’m sure. But the conflict you spoke of as a Galactic constant?” Aurelius smiled. “Conflict shapes us, sharpens us, strengthens us. Competition is the natural way of things, and in the Sith, as with nature, the strong rise to the top.”

A few weeds got cut along the way, but such was the cost for strength. “It’s a fine line to walk, fanning the passions of those you must strengthen without building such hatred toward your own that the Order destroys itself, but we’ve managed. Our numbers grow daily. For individual instruction, once a master selects a student, well,” he shrugged and for the briefest moment, his attention seemed to turn inwards, “everyone has their own methods.

“And what of your Jedi, old man? I know you lost many during the war. Even after.” He smiled subtly, knowingly. No small number of the Sith Order came from the Jedi ranks. In that way, the Jedi’s loss was directly the Sith’s grain. The transfer rarely ran the other way, though there were exceptions.

“Surely it’s difficult, rebuilding with such restrictions in the way of bolstering your numbers?” His voice tightened just so at the mention of the Jedi’s stringent ways.

Even if he had no personal feud with the Order, it’s strict laws, its rules that forbid so much, had long been a sticking point for Aurelius.

[Blue]

The old Jedi considered the Sith's words. Was it better that the war was started early, before either side had fully prepared their armies? To strike while their opponent was weaker was a far more sure way to defeat them, but what if neither side were ready? If either side were fully prepared, the war would have started again over Nar Shaddaa. The fact that the Empress did not retaliate indicated that she believed the Empire is not yet ready. The fact that the Republic did not follow through with the renegade officer's actions would say the same of them. So, neither side were fully prepared. And who goes to war when their plans are not ready to be put into action, or their defences not completed? Not many, from his own observations, and rarely successfully. As the subject of his question emerged, Moho listened intently. Yes, it made a certain amount of sense that if the teaching of students was too harsh, none would live to learn at all. However... "You make an excellent point, Darth Aurelius," Moho conceded with a nod of his large head. "However, I would say that there are a few among your colleagues that appear to be intent upon self-defeat, or self-destruction, that reach to quite high heights in your hierarchy. People with broken minds, but powerful Sith Lords and Ladies nevertheless, who's only interest is in cruelty for cruelty's sake. Those are the ones I have commonly encountered; hence my eagerness to speak with yourself." Darth Aurelius continued to speak, and Moho nodded along as the man spoke. Strength through struggle, power through agony. These were, as distasteful as he personally found them, valid pathways to power. Short-sighted, perhaps, but valid. That the Sith Order possessed so many among their number of dizzying strength in the Force was an undeniable testament to this fact. Still, Moho felt some small amount of relief that even in such harsh environs, the Sith were able to discover some amount of companionship with others of their kind. "It gladdens me that the Sith can find bonds of comradeship with one another," the Grand Master said, with a genuine smile. "Life can be a hard path to walk alone, constantly looking over your shoulder for the next threat. That you may find comfort in the companionship of one another... well, it gives me a sense of happiness." The words soured, a sound discordant in the voice as the subject turned to the Jedi Order. Moho saw the flickering of emotion on Darth Aurelius' face, his senses instinctively following those lines into the heart, feeling- Resentment, anger... fear. Grow stronger, faster, you must be powerful, break your chains! The pain is your key, be free! Moho sighed as the vague vision faded away. More emotion than sight; not uncommon when sensing feelings triggered them. The old Jedi's warm amber eyes focused on the Firrerreo's own yellow orbs. An answer unfolded in the Grand Master's mind from what he had seen and felt. "Your teacher. They were a Jedi, once." His tone was soft, but the words spoken were not a question.

[Rugs]

Silence lingered for a moment between the High Archon and the Grandmaster. Aurelius could sense something unusual about Moho. A shifting of the Force around him. Subtle, nearly imperceptible, even to his refined senses.

His gold eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His fork lingered, half-piercing a thick slice of meat atop his plate. What are you up to, old man?

"Your teacher.”

Aurelius’ brows began to rise. Moho spoke on before a reaction could fully form.

“They were a Jedi once."

For once, Aurelius was caught flat-footed. A conversation with a Jedi, regardless of their standing, could go any number of ways. Aurelius had expected pity, high-horse feigned sympathy, even aggression.

This, he had not prepared himself for.

Crack!

The plate cracked, leaving a jagged tear down the middle. Smaller cracks radiated out from where Aurelius’ fork had pressed through the meat and into the thin ceramic. Warm juices leaked onto the table. Aurelius lifted the fork, now with three pieces of meat skewered onto its tines. Amusement flickered across his face and he shook his head as a to-go tray from a nearby stand lifted, seemingly of its own accord and floated to sit before him.

“I have heard,” he started as he set about transferring his meal to the tray with the Force, “that you are a Seer. That you can read the currents of the Force and gain insight into happenings, past and present, and even into the future.”

Aurelius’ tone was conversational, almost friendly, but his eyes bored into Moho. “I admit, old man, I didn’t think I’d be a subject of such ability, but I should have prepared for that, shouldn’t I?” With his meal transferred and the spilled juices removed from the table, Aurelius leaned back in his seat.

“Alright then. No use hiding what you can see anyway. You’re right. Partially. I had two teachers, though never at the same time.” One half of the broken plate rose from the table, followed by the other. They came together, their pieces fitting smoothly together. The smaller fragments that broke off remained on the table, leaving an imperfect recreation of the plate as it’d been.

“They were both Jedi. You may have known them, once. Until they ran away together.” Aurelius looked from the plate to Moho. “Ran away to have me.”

"Now ask what you will."

[Blue]

Moho saw the eddies of the Force swirl turbulently for a heartbeat as the Dark Lord took in his words. The old Jedi did not imagine many things caught Aurelius off-guard, but the mentioning of the teacher struck them man unawares. The crack of broken porcelain was a physical indicator, a small loss of control. The Grand Master took no pleasure in such a thing; ill memories must surely be rising in the Sith's mind. Moho gave him an apologetic smile. "Trust me when I say that it was not my intent. While I am capable of inducing Visions through meditation, even small fluctuations in the Force can sometimes trigger them involuntarily... say, when a person speaks on a topic with elements of resentment, subdued fear and anger, and a deeply tangled sense of... love." Moho explained. Such occurrences were usually brief, diluting his real time perception until even Visions lasting thirty seconds took place in the same time it takes for a single beat of a hummingbird's wing. As for questions... what questions were there? "Hmm. Let me see," the Grand Master said. He leaned forward slightly, looking deeper into Aurelius' eyes. Firrerreo age slowly, so he is most likely far older than his physical appearance would indicate. From what I can sense, he is probably four or five decades old... "I remember two Firrerreo Jedi that came to the Temple nearly a century ago. The man, Ared, had a promising future as an educator, patient and kind. The other, Kamirille... well, she was a brash and straightforward woman, with little time for such things. By the time it came to our attention that there was an affair and a pregnancy, they had already left to parts unknown. I had always hoped that they had found somewhere peaceful to start a new life, to raise their new family... you. Though now we are both sitting here, on opposite sides of a coming war, I am guessing that this was not the case." Moho frowned, running the memory over in his head. Questions left unanswered for a little under half a century returned to the fore of his mind. "What I could not understand is why they fled in such a manner, as if they had committed a heinous crime. Yes, they had broken one of the most basic tenants of the Jedi, but the worst they would have had to endure from the Council was being ejected from the Order; clearly this was not what concerned them, as they left on their own accord. Even if any of the Council at the time had been of the mind to take the child of their union from them, I would have never permitted it. Not while I still had breath." A moment of quiet consideration. "Perhaps they wanted to leave on their own terms, rather than be removed? That does not sound like something that Ared would have done... but it may have suited Kamirille's mind perfectly. She had always been a prideful person." Moho continued. He chuckled then, another memory surfacing. "There was an... incident, early in the days of her time as a youngling, when her instructor asked her a question to which she did not know the answer. Instead of admitting that she did not know the answer, she invented one herself, and became angry when the instructor corrected her. Accused him of being... oh, what was it?... Ah yes. Accused him of having 'a stupid head, that was full of stupid'." The laughter faded as the memory faded into the present, the Sith before him swimming back into view. So many 'what ifs'. "If you are willing, I suppose the only question that I have is... what became of them, after they left the Order?"

[Rugs]

"I remember two Firrerreo Jedi that came to the Temple nearly a century ago...”

Aurelius fell silent as Moho drew from his expansive memory. Ared and Kamirille. “Yea, that’s them,” he said quietly. And for the rest of Moho’s recollection, he listened in stony silence.

What descriptions Moho had to offer were accurate, as far as Aurelius could tell. His father had ever been a kind, thoughtful soul. There was a time, as a youth when Nieraan Onin had been much the same. Then came Kamirille. Fiery, prideful, and quick to anger. Deadly.

Terrifying.

"If you are willing, I suppose the only question that I have is... what became of them, after they left the Order?"

“What became of them?” Aurelius rolled his head back as he barked a laugh. “Nothing good, old man, I can tell you that. Nothing that you would be proud of.”

“Well. Not in the end anyway. My father tried...” His voice trailed off as his hand tightened to a fist, grappling with unpleasant memories. For a few long moments, his gaze went distant, then returned to the Grandmaster, sharp and focused.

“Actually, you know what? I can show you.”

Aurelius took hold of the Force, and before allowing the Prell to say anything further, reached out to the aged Jedi’s mind. For all his considerable strength, telepathy had ever been something of a blind spot and what skill he had was focused almost entirely on keeping others out, away from the secrets he wanted concealed from the world.

What use was that now, with the Force having revealed to Moho what Aurelius would rather not dredge up?

So he reached through the Force, awkwardly, clumsily, like a man fumbling for a light in the dark. And then he found it. It was impossible to ignore, a torrent of Light. It was blinding, in a way, and Aurelius hesitated a heartbeat, then plunged ahead.

Calm that he hadn’t felt in years — since his youth — washed over him. It should have given him pause, but the clarity of mind only narrowed his focus, hardened his resolve. He dragged up memories, long-buried, and pushed them to the fore for the Grandmaster to see.

—-

“You’re back already? I hadn’t expected you to come out of the cave so soon.” Ared sat under a tree about seven yards away from the cave’s open mouth, datapad in hand and posture relaxed the way he liked to do when reading. “It’s hardly been half an hour.” His smile was small, but genuine warmth spread to his gentle eyes and bushy, untamed eyebrows.

Nieraan grinned like a self-satisfied cat as he emerged from the cave, moving with all the swagger his four-days-past-fifteen-year-old body could muster. “I did,” he declared, pride shining in the voice. He kept his hands behind his back, keeping his prize from his father’s view until he reached him. “You were right — I knew it as soon as I saw it.”

He was a lanky lad, looking somewhat stretched along his skeleton after a growth spurt had spread out the lean body mass that was slowly continuing to develop, from training and a generally-active lifestyle. His eyes were bright, vivid green in sharp contrast to the deep black and dark blues of his hair, which was tied into a tail with some thin leather cord. Only a few unruly bangs had wrangled themselves free so far.

“Well, come on, out with it,” said Ared, switching his datapad off as he rose to meet his approaching son. “Won’t do any good hidden back there in your hands.”

Nieraan laughed but waited until he closed on his father, grinning like a fool all the while. “Well, if you insist,” he said, pulling his hand from behind him. His fist was still closed, in an obvious attempt to drag things out a few moments longer.

Coyness could only contain his pride for so long, however. He lifted his hand and unfurled his fingers, revealing the crystal he’d found in the cave on his palm. It was a deep gold, like the morning sun. It was smooth and clear of defects, save the gentle breakage along the bottom from when he removed it.

Nieraan could feel something deep inside it. Pulsing, resonating, like an echo of himself.

Ared smiled and clapped a broad hand to Nieraan’s shoulder. “That’s a good pick, lad. It suits you.

“Now, this is only the first step,” he went on, sounding ever the mentor. “The next will be much more involved, you see. You have to bind it to you, to who you are…”

—-

Aurelius scowled. No, that wasn’t the right one. My father tried... Another memory, drawn to the surface by the last traces of conversation. Relevant, perhaps, but not the right one. There was something else, he wanted to show Moho, something more.

—-

Sunlight spilled into the Temple courtyard. The sun was just breaking the horizon, visible through some of the gaps in distant skyscrapers. Coruscant never really slept, but the city world — or this part of it — was waking up, such as it was. Soon the Jedi Temple, too, would be alive and abuzz with activity as Jedi, from the newest younglings to the eldest masters, began another day of study, of reflection and meditation, of working to uphold the peace and ensure the safety of the Galaxy and her people.

Who am I? The thought echoed like thunder over the scene unfolding in Aurelius’ perception. He could see this memory, but it was not his. He was a large, lumbering creature, of unfathomable age to most. He felt strangely at peace.

Young Kamirille stood in the courtyard's center, performing katas with her blue lightsabers. Her blue-streaked black hair hung loose, swirling about her shoulders and back as she flowed effortlessly, skillfully from one stroke to another, from one form to the next. Shii-Cho, the basis from which all the higher forms flowed. Niman and Ataru. Juyo. Ferocious. Dangerous. It suited her, in a way.

A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision, a flutter in the Force, drew his attention to one of the smooth pillars at the courtyard’s far side. Young Ared was there, turning to slip away inside. Curious. Had he been watching Kamirille?

Yes, it would be worth keeping an eye on those two...

—-

No. No, no, no. No. That was one of the old man’s memories. Aurelius didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to know of the lives Kamirille and Ared had as Jedi.

He plunged recklessly on, found the memory he meant to share, and dragged it to the surface.

—-

Sweat dripped onto Nieraan’s lightsaber. He heard the hiss as he slowly rose from ground, but paid it no mind. His head felt stuffed with cloth, and he wondered if the relentless, throbbing pain at his side was a bruise from being thrown at the wall or a broken rib.

The small basement was dark, and damp in one corner where condensation from a pipe overhead dripped slowly to the floor. Nieraan heard one drip, then two as he struggled to stand. Getting slower. He’d lost strength since the first time she threw him at the wall to leave his father to face him alone.

Where was the hiss and scream of saber hitting saber? “Father?” he turned around.

His green eyes went wide.

Ared lay on the ground, unconscious. Kamirille stood over him, triumphant if a bit worse for wear. Nieraan’s blood ran cold at the sight, at the small pool of red gathering beneath his father’s head.

“No. No you couldn’t have. You monster!” His voice cracked as he screamed, bringing his golden lightsaber to bear.

“Now Nieraan, your father’s perfectly fine.” Kamrille’s cold smile, her golden eyes gleaming in the dim light, should have sent Nieraan running. “Or he will be-”

“Shut up!” He screamed at her as he ran forward, using every ounce of strength — of body and of the Force — that he could muster. “I won’t let you hurt him anymore!”

Kamirille caught his single blade on her two and forced a lock. She smiled at him as a Nexu might smile at a nerf caught in its lair. “Very well, Nieraan.” She held his lightsaber at bay and — for all that he vainly struggled to press hers back — did not seem particularly bothered by the effort. “Let’s see what he’s taught you.”

She moved aside smoothly, guiding Nieraan’s lightsaber harmlessly around her so that he suddenly had nothing to press against, and his forward momentum nearly sent him stumbling to the ground. He recovered and rounded on her.

Nieraan attacked his mother with everything he had. He battered at her defenses, trying to force is way through when it became apparent that he was a step too slow to slip around. But she was too strong, too skilled. For half a minute, that felt like it dragged out into eternity, he tried everything.

And then, as he brought down an overhanded blow with all the strength he could muster, she raised her blade, caught his, and guided it away from her. Then her foot was in his gut and the world spun out of focus as he found himself gasping for air.

Fire cut across his back, like molten durasteel poured from a spout. Nieraan screamed, or would have if he had any air in his lungs. What emerged from his throat was a pained sort of gasp, a desperate plea against the agony lightning his back afire. But he strengthened his grip on his lightsaber, and tears blurring his vision, turned on Kamirille again, refusing to abandon his father to her.

He attacked, again and again. Every time, she evaded or turned his lightsaber away. Every time, she was behind him, leaving another trail of fire as her lightsaber seared his back.

Finally, after the exchange played out three more times, she ended it with a blast of lightning from her fingertips that threw Nieraan against the wall. His fingers went lax as his strength failed.

As consciousness slipped away, the last thing Nieraan saw as his mother standing over him, smirking as she picked up his lightsaber.

[Blue]

The Grand Master listened to the bitter laughter of the young man in front of him, nodding sadly as the Sith spoke. Nothing good. It was something that Moho had always felt, but had hoped that in this one instance his feelings were wrong. Over the century proceeding the event of his parents' disappearance, the old Jedi had wondered what had happened to them and the unborn child. Not all stories ended well. But they all end. The offer came and the act followed with little chance for Moho to respond one way or the other. Of course not; I wonder how many dare to deny a Sith Lord of this man's position. Still, the Prell could not help but smile congenially at the Firrerreo's stumbling attempts to telepathically connect with his own mind. "Here. Allow me to aid you." Finding Lord Aurelius' centre was hardly difficult; the controlled Darkness within him was like a beacon to Moho's senses. With the gentleness gained through centuries of teaching, the old Jedi nudged the Sith's aim until the link was forged between them. There was terrible power there; the mere touch of it might have left a permanent stain on the minds of other Jedi. Yet, Moho felt no ill-intent... at least, nothing so blunt as a plot to corrupt the spirit of the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. For a heartbeat that stretched on forever, the two cores flickered against one another like twin flames, Light and Dark dancing. Then the memories came. The first brought the familiar face of Ared into view, and Moho could not help but beam as he interacted with the young boy. Even after self-exile, he remained the patient teacher. The second was... unexpected. A memory belonging to himself. Moho felt Aurelius psychically recoil and shunt them away from it. The final one, the one that the Sith actually intended for Moho to see. What became of his parents, of the two children the Grand Master had known. One dead, the other Fallen. She still felt like she had in the Temple, but now she was revelling in Dark. A deep sadness filled Moho at the sight. What more could we have done? Was there anything we could have done? We cannot dictate people's emotions or actions. We can only help guide... oh... oh dear... There was a familiar trembling in the Force, not unlike a small ripple in a still pond that steadily and exponentially grew more turbulent. Not unexpected, but hardly ideal. Moho reached out with his mind to the alien identity in his consciousness. "Pardon me, Lord Aurelius. I'm afraid that your presence may have triggered a Vision and it is far too late to safely disentangle you from our link. I shall do my best to shield you from the worst of it, but I would ask that you brace yourself. I fear that this will be... unpleasant." A warm, comfortable enveloping sensation cocooned the foreign mind as the ripples grew, becoming tides, becoming great waves, becoming a tsunami crashing upon the two interlinked minds until- All was dark. A faint buzz hummed in the distance, but grew stronger, more defined as time passed. Becoming voices. Becoming screams. Light now. Scenes bubbled up within it: a man torn to pieces by grey monsters, a child cradling themselves under the limp arm of their still mother, men in armour gunning down a panicking crowd, a hundred thousand instances of suffering and agony. Emotions and sensations paired with them now, smashing down and as crushing as the fathomless depths of the darkest oceans. Fear lanced into the heart as Moho's and Aurelius' parents and friends were killed, agonising pain tore at nerve endings as their bodies were ripped asunder, rage roiled like a mental storm at the injustice of their suffering. All external. All oh so very... r e a l- The flashing images stopped, freezing on a dead woman's face. It expanded, spiralling in on her eye until the void of her pupil was all they could see. Star fields blinked into existence, flaring up and winking out. Suns and moons span, planets were created and destroyed, faster, faster faster faster FASTER FASTER FASTER FASTER FAST- Moho exhaled. The Vision was ended. They were back at their table outside the café, sat across from one another. Moho's eyes were fixed on the space that Aurelius occupied, but were replaced by orbs of almost painfully bright blue light flecked with gold, now slowly fading away as the Grand Master unwound the connection. A few more breaths, and the warm amber once more appeared to the man sitting before him. He smiled. "Apologies, Lord Aurelius. And my thanks. While it pains me to know, ignorance is by far worse." The rain had stopped. At some point during the connection of the two Force users, a circle of empty sky had opened up around them, centred of the small café.

[Rugs]

The final memory faded, but Aurelius’ and the Grandmaster’s minds remained entwined. It appeared, to Aurelius’ perception, that they drifted through a thick fog with thick, turbulent currents. The High Archon might not have possessed Moho’s gift of foresight, or a particular talent for telepathy, but he was as gifted as feeling the ripples and eddies of the Force as any, and something was wrong.

Wrong might not have been the right way to think of it. Something was coming. Moho warned him of a coming vision. Aurelius braced himself, scowling as he felt the Force dragging them onward.

Eddies became a maelstrom.

Something formed around his perception, some bulwark offering comfort and shelter against the coming storm. As the Force’s vision came rushing over them both, it offered some safety, some protection against the surge of images that flashed one after another, too many to count, too rapid-fire to comprehend.

But Aurelius could see some, through a haze, as if watching thorugh a frosted window.

---

A city burned around him. He ran, slipping and stumbling and the blood and muck and mud. Thousands of the dead and dying sprawled over the ground around him. His enemies. His own men. No time to mourn. No time to think. Just run, run, run from the pale tide sweeping over the city.

A backward glance. He tripped over a corpse, foot catching on its limp hand’s outstretched fingers.

The guttural screech was the last thing he heard before the jaws shut around his throat.

---

“What is this?” Aurelius demanded The force surged into him. If Moho would not release him, he’d tear himself free-

---

A fleet of ships over a distant world. One stood out from its brethren.

“Fire!”

A city, its people shrouded in shadow as the very earth beneath them rolled like waves at seas. As chunks of rock tore free and shot into the sky or crumbled away into the depths. As spouts of lava soared into the blackening sky.

They screamed and cursed and pray--to their god, to their rulers, to the Force, to anything that might listen.

Nothing.

No answer.

Just despair. Just death.

Absolute, unyielding death.

---

Aurelius sucked in a breath as he was abruptly back at the cafe, sitting across from the aged Jedi master. His hands shook where they rested on the table. His body burned. So much of the Force, churning within him. Too much. A release--he needed a release.

He lifted a hand, fingers outstretched, to the open sky above them. A single, branching bolt of blue-white lightning erupted from his palm, cracking skyward, every skyward toward the starry sky beyond the broken clouds.

Thunder, not from the evening’s storm, rumbled across the city.

Aurelius’ golden eyes focused on Moho as the old man spoke. What was that? Dragged into one his visions, though he couldn’t make heads or tales of the countless things thrown before his mind’s eye.

Taris. Yes, one was of Taris, of the Rakghouls running wild across the battlefield. The others? He couldn’t say. Perhaps things to come. Perhaps nothing — visions shaped by the tension and fear of coming conflict that smothered Soldon.

“Yeah well,” he started after letting silence stretch on, “if it eases your mind any, Old Man, my fath — Ared didn’t die that day.” A bitter laugh, as if at a cruel joke. “Kamirille decided I would be the tool she used to kill him. And for twelve years, she tormented me. Twelve years, on Metellos, right under the Order’s nose, and not once did a Jedi — did a protector of the peace and of the Galaxy — come to my aid. Nevermind that my suffering was born of your Order’s rules. In a just world, Old Man, I would be among your number, rather than carrying the cost of my parents’ sins but no. Now I’m tasked with tearing your Order apart.”

He made no effort to hide the bitterness from his voice. If Aurelius had one beef with the Jedi Order, it was this one. “But crucibles strengthen us, you know. When you’re in the fire you can only strengthen yourself and learn to endure or die. And that’s what I did.”

He blew air through his lips, feeling as — relatively — young for one of his species as he was as he leaned back in his seat. For a moment, his thoughts turned to his own children. They’d have a better life than he did. In the Empire, they’d see more opportunity, more joy and promise, than the Republic ever offered him. And he would be better than Kamirille. He had to be better.

“I didn’t kill him when the day came,” he continued, after a few moments. “I refused. Kamirille decided to see to the matter herself. Took off one of his legs. He may yet live.” Aurelius shrugged. “It’s not as if he matters to me, these days.”

Aurelius — Nieraan, at the time — had thought to kill Kamirille that day, after she was exhausted from fighting his father. He’d come close — oh so close — but that, too, slipped through his fingers.

He inhaled deeply again, regaining some of his lost composure, and watched Moho.

“So what was that?”

His question needed no explanation.

[Blue]

The old Jedi observed with great interest as the Sith Lord took the overflow of Force energy and expelled it in a dramatic display of power, causing the air to crackle with static as the lightning pierced the now clear heavens. Curious. Not what I expected. Those that worked with the Dark Side typically absorbed such emotional outbursts to fuel their own internal power, regardless of where that emotion stemmed from. Yet Lord Aurelius had not, choosing instead to remove it from his person, albeit it a spectacularly violent manner that nevertheless harmed nobody in the process. Moho said nothing as the Sith vented his thoughts, his face maintaining its usual placid expression... although concern lingered around his eyes as the Prell listened to not just the words, but the conflict behind them. He did not argue back; one would not be able to untangle the arguments for and against the Jedi Order's ways from the bitterness of experiencing the result of one of its failures in a single cup of tea. For that was the reason for the existence of the Sith Lord before him, as the man himself stated; a failure of the Order, their failure to communicate and empathise and consider the state of its members, as well as a failure in training. The Council back then were more... conservative than the current one, and would have doubtless expelled the both of them without giving them a chance to speak. But there was one aspect in which Aurelius was mistaken... The Grand Master's train of thought was disturbed first by Aurelius' question, then by a tremor of fear in the Force. Moho turned his large head and saw the server watching them with wide, terrified eyes from a crack in the door to the café. "There is nothing to fear, child," the old Jedi said, a warm smile on his broad face. "The Lord and I were merely exchanging thoughts and techniques on the Force. No harm will come to you, or anyone here; be at peace." Despite the focus of the woman's fear still being very much present, the Grand Master's simple presence and words seemed to go some way to counteract it. She simply nodded and gave a weak smile in response, before ducking back into the café with close to indecent haste. Moho returned his attention to his dinner companion and his question. "It was as I said. A Vision," Moho stated. "The emotional undertones of your memories triggered a vision from the Force and, since your mind was intertwined with my own, you were subjected to it, too. I must compliment you on your restraint from using brute force to remove yourself, Lord Aurelius. Even for those well-versed in telepathic Force techniques, such an act would have very likely shattered their mind entirely." Moho calmly sipped some tea in a pointed manner before continuing. "Such visions are a common occurrence for me, as I have mentioned. Sometimes it is just vague sensations, but most of them are as you experienced; you feel what others feel, their raw pain and emotion. On occasion, it is not limited to sentient beings. I once even experienced what it feels like for a planet to break under the attention of the vast, immeasurable forces of the cosmos! Allow me to tell you: it is not the fun you might believe it to be." The soft clinking of hovering porcelain filled the air for a moment once more as Moho tidied his side of the table, then began neatening up Aurelius' unused items as well, piling them orderly to the side for when the server dared to approach them again. "Tell me, Lord Aurelius. Was that your first time, sharing a Vision with another Force sensitive individual?" Moho inquired, as the spoon clacked quietly into the tea cup, finishing up the elegant dance of floating dining items.

[Rugs]

A vision. Yes, that much was apparent, but what was it?

Aurelius was no stranger to seeing things through the Force — surely all Force-sensitives did, at one point or another. A hint of some distant happening, a flash of warning in the heat of combat — these were some of the most basic manifestations of Force sensitivity. But these, Aurelius would not call visions.

These things were nothing compared to whatever had assaulted him as his mind linked with Moho’s.

His gaze slid sideways, watching the door through which the terrifying server had disappeared. Even with the Gradmnaster’s calming words and presence, he could still feel her — a knot of fear among countless others as the nearby workers and passers-by noticed the hole in the cloudy skies above or struggled to come to terms with a bolt of lightning arcing up from a cafe porch.

Their fear, their curiosity, their worry — these Aurelius understood. They were visceral, near to the point of being intoxicating. To understand the feelings another felt from within that person’s mind — Aurelius could understand that, even. It was nothing uncommon for powerful telepaths, such as his apprentice.

But to feel things that were and were not, to reach across time and space?

“Taris.” Aurelius said the world’s name, and all it represented, evenly. “I couldn’t make out most of what I saw in that mess, but I saw Taris. I felt it.” A cataclysm, nearly a decade past, and for an instant it’d felt as though he were there.

He was there, in that instant, in that doomed solider’s head as the Rakghoul ran him down.

“Seems as much a curse as a blessing,” he muttered. He’d heard, yes, that Moho’s gift of Seeing allowed him glimpses of the past, present and future, through the Force. In his mind’s eye, those glimpses were as one might observe a holodrama--a passive, third-party watching a moment that was not theirs. He was, it seemed, quite mistaken.

“But a useful one, if you can untangle the pictures that lie within.” Or even recall them. It seemed about as easy to do as figuring out a puzzle from a jumble of pieces thrown on the floor, without any idea of what the full picture was supposed to look like.

“A vision of that sort, never,” he said, finally circling around to the Grandmaster’s question. He smiled coyly, thinking of a childish joke left unspoken.

“You know, Old Man, I’d always wondered, once I heard rumor of your... gift,” the strain on the word indicated he wasn’t sure he’d call it that at all, “why not pierce the future, read the tides of coming war or whatever before it gets here?” It was an oversimplification — Aurelius was no novice with the Force and knew well things weren’t so simple. Still, he was curious to see Moho’s reaction.

“Seems to me it’s not as easy as that, is it?.”

[Blue]

Moho nodded as the name of the doomed world came up. Yes, there was no doubt that it was Taris that took the limelight of that Vision. He remembered feeling the deaths of all those people from almost half a galaxy away as strongly as if he had been on the planet itself as its people perished. That Vision, with all its visceral sensations, served as no refreshment in his mind of how terrible it had been; he could recall every ounce he had felt that day with absolute clarity. Aurelius made his comment on the old Jedi's powers, and Moho considered the Sith's words. A curse or a blessing? No. Neither. It simply is. "Yes. It took me many years of training to make sense of the images and feelings that would flash into my mind, distilling them into something understandable," the Grand Master replied with a smile. "As a youngling, I would often wake in the night, screaming in terror, after spending hours locked in a trance I could not escape. Visiting one horror scene of the galaxy after another. I lost many family and friends, died countless times, before I was even chosen as a Padawan." Moho's warm eyes went blank for a brief moment, staring into some ancient memory, but soon returned to their normal brightness. The Prell felt no embarrassment or discomfort with sharing this fact with a member of a group so opposed to his own. Unlike the Sith, he believed that there was a power in admitting weakness. Especially to those who might call themselves an enemy. "Of course, all those things went away once the Visions ended. I was still Shovaah Moho of the Jedi Order, not the farmer who lost their lands and watched their wife die of sickness, nor the soldier who lay on a battlefield for hours waiting for death, or the victim who was tortured to death in a dark room by one whom they once trusted. But... well. You experienced what my Visions are like, Lord Aurelius. They are all real. You become them, see the world through their eyes. And perception is what forms our reality." The young woman was lingering nearby again. It was no great feat of deduction that she was aiming to take away their cups and plates, but was still too afraid to come too close. Moho offered her a reassuring smile and a nod, and the items lifted and floated over to her on their own. The server held out her hands uncertainly before grabbing at them and scurrying back indoors. The Grand Master hummed when Aurelius offered his thoughts on using the Force as a way to get out ahead of events, and how it obviously was not so simple. "Just so. Despite numerous attempts to enforce some form of order upon it, life is by its very nature chaotic. Uncountable numbers of sentient minds attempting to push their will upon the universe, all at once. It is like... hm. How best to describe it..." The old Jedi contemplated how to explain the sensation of disentangling possibilities, settling on the closest analogy he could. "Image that you are watching a holodrama. One screen, easy to follow and hear. Then another screen appears. Then a third, a forth. A tenth. A hundred, a thousand, millions, billions, trillions of screens, all showing unfolding events all at the same time, moving and screaming at you," Moho explained, his smaller fore-pincers moving as he spoke. "The past is simple: immutable and constant, unchangeable. The present is more complicated, many things unfolding at once, but also constant, similar to watching a live holo-feed. But the future... the future fractures infinitely, pathways forming and fading in the time it takes for the heart to beat, because it is always in motion, always shifting. The future is intent, desire, hope, fear; and the further you peer into it, the more it splinters and diverges. Some paths you see may never come to pass at all, as they are simply the ripples in the Force reacting to someone's state of being, not what is actually being done. Some paths exist only because one is seeking answers in the first place and, in the process of attempting to prevent that future, you bring it about yourself. "Now, imagine you are not simply witnessing these holodramas. You are experiencing them, first hand. Thankfully, my species is naturally adept at multi-tasking; a perk that comes with possessing so many limbs, I suspect! Separating and isolating these Visions is easier for me than it might be for others, so I am not constantly bombarded by images and phantom sensations. Still, there are days that it can be somewhat... taxing," Moho finished with a weary smile. He opened his mouth as if to continue, but stopped himself with a rueful chuckle. "My apologies again, Lord Aurelius. I did not mean to start a lecture, as if we were in a classroom. Habits are hard to break, after all. Perhaps I could interest you in a refill of your coffee instead?"

[Rugs]

Aurelius had to admit, though he and the elderly crab were supposed to be enemies, Moho’s explanation of his Visions was fascinating. Though even were he so inclined, the ironclad laws or Prazhi prevented them from falling to conflict. Even were he so inclined to breach that, he was not to deal with the countless diplomatic and administrative headaches — to say nothing of the Empress’ ire.

So he sat and listened, as he had for the whole of their little talk, attentive. Only when the server returned to get their dishes — or have them delivered to her — did his focus waver to watch her from the corner of a golden eye.

Moho’s explanation confirmed the truth of what Aurelius witnessed in his own perception. The visions could be fragmented, broken things, as real as the two of them sitting beneath the split sky. That reality could split into a thousand disparate pieces, and those each shatter to a thousand more.

He could see again the countless flashing scenes playing out before his eyes, too jumbled and frantic to make out. Why did two of them stand out? Taris, and some unrecognizable calamity. Taris was rooted firmly in the past, a scar branded firmly into Galactic memory. With the Republic and Empire together — with the threat of open war hanging by a frayed thread over all their heads — Aurelius could at least follow the trails in the Force that might bring that disaster rushing to the forefront.

But the other? He knew nothing, recognized nothing. Was the vision a portend of some coming cataclysm, or one so buried in the past to have faded from memory? Or was it nothing, a far-off fragment of a potential timeline itself so broken and unlikely to bear fruit that it might as well be a fiction?

Curious.

“I wonder if, in those millions and billions of screens, you ever saw us seated here/ But no, I think I’ve had enough for now, Old Man.” Aurelius smiled wryly as he raised a hand to turn down Moho’s offer of another drink. “This talk has been interesting, but I need to be going, anyway. The Empire’s work never stops.”

Aurelius stood, leaning back in a stretch with his knuckles pressed into the small of his back. The serving girl was still watching them, throwing stealthy glances through the cafe window when she thought they might not notice. Her eyes caught Aurelius’ and she turned around with a start. Aurelius shook his head and glanced skyward.

The hole in the sky yet remained, but its clean, clear edges — at first as if carved out with a precision laser cutter — were softening and fading as the blanket of clouds over Soldon lazily drifted in to reclaim the gap torn open by the Force. A wind blew in from across the river, cool and damp and heavy with the scent yet another round of rain. Thunder rumbled as distant lightning danced among the clouds.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to see you again soon.” Aurelius gestured with his head across the river, toward the Galactic Hall. The dawn would bring the beginning of the arbitration procedures. Whatever happened there, the Peace of Prazhi would be fundamentally changed, if it survived at all.

Aurelius didn’t need to be a Seer to know that much.

“‘Til then, Old Man.” Aurelius lifted his hand in parting as he left the Grandmaster and the cafe behind in the moonlight.