Scattered sparks of magenta, trailing motes of dull pink and somber cobalt blue. The Flow had been growing darker of late, the tinges of shadow and creeping crimson becoming ever more visible at the edges of her sight.
Callista sighed softly as she entered her apartment. There was so much to do lately. Research and study, setting up the community center, preparing to take a Padawan, finding rare moments to teach — something she was still getting used to and lacking confidence in — to say nothing of the dramatic conflicts popping up surrounding Corbin, Raizen, and Trirst. Between all of this and working with the Masters on refurbishing and clearing a path to the Temple, she barely found any time to herself anymore. Stopping to sleep or even meditate practically felt like sneaking away these days, and she had the ominous feeling that things would only be getting more hectic soon.
The sparks in her vision danced like lazy, spectral will-o-wisps around her as she stepped into her bedroom and reached into the pack at her waist to grab something when suddenly her hand touched something familiar but forgotten. She paused, and pulled it slowly from its hiding place amidst the other contents. A small data disk, the one Beryn’s daughter Kara had given her.
“He wanted you to have this,” she said to Callista. “He said it was something to do with your training.”
How could she have forgotten, even in the midst of everything? Callista’s eyebrows knitted together in self-chiding disbelief, clutching the disc in both hands as she moved to sit at the edge of the bed. Might as well take a look now, she reasoned; her shower could wait.
A couple of minutes passed as she slotted the disk into her datapad and determined that the relevant data wasn’t an archive text or audio file, but a hologram recording. Curious, but interesting. Was this some final lecture, or a demonstration of something? It wasn’t like him to rely on such impersonal methods…
As she plugged it into her holocom for its projector, Callista watched the hologram hum and sparkle into being…
The blue-tinged image showed a view of a room — a cargo bay perhaps, judging by the crates and load-lifting machinery. A squad of Sith Troopers, including a red-armored elite and an assault droid, were inside, blasters ready and aiming at a closed doorway. No sound played from the recording, but it was readily apparent that they were anticipating a fight at any moment. It was clear why a few seconds later, as a pair of spots on the door started to glow brightly, and a moment later it was cut through, a circular hole left as the rounded slab of metal was thrown forward, crushing the assault droid before tumbling past and out of frame.
There, stepping through the red-hot opening, was Beryn Mornstrider himself, both sabers lit and shining, twirling in a warding shield of expertly precise Soresu Jar’kai. The hail of blaster bolts from the Sith troopers was swiped and batted away in a display that looked almost effortless. The old man twisted his body and spun his blades in perfect, controlled harmony. To Callista’s trained eyes watching every movement, it seemed like an eternity, but the moment was over in a couple of seconds at most as two shots were at last reflected back at the group one after another to strike a trooper’s thigh and then his shoulder, dropping the man to the ground. Beryn’s off-hand thrust outward towards another while his primary kept up the defense, shoving the next soldier hard against a set of boxes to then slump down unconscious against them. A skilled show of Niman.
The remaining soldiers slowed their fire to begin backing away, likely aiming to gain some distance or retreat. Beryn’s pace slowed as well, and he seemed to be looking at something out of view. Before the troopers could get very far, a sudden burst of lightning jolted into frame from the camera’s right, striking the elite first before arcing to the other two at his sides. Their bodies jerked and spasmed, seizing uncontrollably in pain as the electricity flooded through them and smoke began to rise from their suits. Despite the lack of sound, the imagined screams and gurgles of pain and anguish crept disturbingly into Callista’s thoughts.
From an unseen position, a dark figure strode into view, shrouded in a hood and armored robes. His gait was commanding and prideful, exuding a sinister confidence and focus made all the more revolting by the apparent lack of regard for the lives he had just taken. A single crimson blade shone through the bluish filter of the hologram as he stopped and stood across from Beryn, posture upright and stance echoing an arrogantly lax Makashi position.
This must be the sith Beryn spoke of. Darth Nevorum.
The two seemed to be speaking to one another, though Callista couldn’t read Beryn’s lips. She could only assume that Beryn’s daughter and grandchildren were mentioned, as her master looked tense and focused, a quiet anger — no, rage — about him that she did not need her Sight to observe. He looked tired, like he was pressing on through both the exertion of combat and the pained exhaustion of countless years weighing down upon him. How long had he fought to get to this point?
Nevorum remained calmly loose, save for the occasional gesture. There was a calculating coldness about him, and looking at the two, Callista presumed that the Sith must have been employing Dun Moch quite effectively judging by Beryn’s reactions.
Despite this, the wizened Jedi held his ground, seeming to steady himself. His stance slowly, subtly shifted in a way that Callista recognized quite clearly as he prepared himself. Seeming to grow tired of the standoff, Nevorum struck first, launching a flash of lightning before lunging forward in a blinding-fast shiak thrust. In a rush of movement just as impressive, Beryn’s off-hand saber took the blast as he pivoted and swung himself around to avoid the stab.
The battle had begun. It was a dizzying flurry of whirling blades and intricate movements, with Beryn in the full-blown throes of Juyo like Callista had never seen him before. It was almost like a dance, simultaneously unplanned and deliberate, chaotic and precise, a staccato series of unconnected yet masterfully intertwined shifts and dodges, strikes and feints, parries and redirections and ripostes mingled with acts of acrobatic finesse amongst which the years melted away and the old Knight fought like a fresh young man again. His Forge was strong.
Despite the unpredictable ferocity of Beryn’s movements, however, Nevorum kept up with alarming prowess of his own. Brilliant Makashi skill honed with an incredible economy of movement shone through as he tapped and twirled his lightsaber in rapid tempo, somehow keeping up with both of Beryn’s blue blades while he slipped and slid from one position to the next, even the smallest of movements made with tactical calculation. The sith almost looked to be enjoying himself, his shoulders periodically shaking with what looked like laughter.
Their duel carried them around the room step by step as they leapt over and rolled beneath each other’s swings. It seemed entirely even, a synchronized tango of death, but little by little Beryn was being put more and more on the defensive. Time was marching on, and Juyo was taking its toll on his body the longer the battle continued. Nevorum pressed his advantage eagerly, shifting from wily Makashi to punishing Djem So as his countering strikes became more battering and powerful, forcing Beryn back more and more.
What was previously a battle of attrition quickly shifted into Nevorum’s favor. He pushed and shoved with his curved-hilt blade, seeming to anticipate Beryn’s movements now and striking accordingly. Beryn was starting to take hits, small taps, and grazing swipes here and there that were wearing at his stamina rapidly. The Sith’s confidence grew, seeming to hardly even notice the slice carved across his chest plate in a particularly skillful, hilt-spinning counter-attack.
He began to throw in blasts of lightning at seemingly random intervals, pressing hard at Beryn’s defenses. A narrow zap here, a fanning flash there, even bouncing bolts of electricity off of walls to strike Beryn in the back. Beryn was growing more and more injured, his movements slowing. Nevorum was practically toying with him now it seemed. Callista’s heart sank, and she watched in agony at the sight of her beloved master being abused so.
The aged Echani kept going far beyond what many would have expected of him. The duel had been carrying on for minutes now, and he was summoning every last ounce of his remaining strength to fight. He made a calculated push, driving Nevorum back step by step with a disjointed series of instinctual strikes until the Sith had his back to the load-lifter at one side of the room. It seemed that this was the final straw for Nevorum, who threw a wide parrying strike to force aside Beryn’s sabers and flung his leg out in a kick to knock the elderly Jedi back. As Beryn recovered himself, Nevorum gave him no chance to retaliate, throwing both hands out in a powerful storm of sith lightning to stream directly into Beryn’s wavering body.
The jolting, torturous blast flooded across Beryn’s form, and just like the Sith’s own soldiers before him, he twitched and spasmed and shook with what looked like unimaginable pain. He fell to his knees, unable to stand against the withering onslaught. For the first time, he did not just look old and tired. He looked frail, weak… defenseless.
The scene seemed to play out in slow motion as Callista stared at the hologram in horror. Where her heart had fallen before, it now felt like it had risen to choke her in her throat, and she couldn’t stop herself from gasping out a mournful sob. She paused the playback and her hands clasped over her mouth, eyes squeezing shut. She couldn’t keep watching this, how could anyone subject themselves to this kind of anguish by watching a loved one in such terrible pain? The aching lump in her throat and the spasms in her chest restricted her from breathing, and her hands shifted up to lock into her hair as tears streamed down her face.
Why, Beryn? she pleaded in her head. Why did you want me to see this?
Gone were the violet sparks and motes of blue, the colors around her instead now whipped into swelling waves of grieving blue and angry red. Losing Beryn was one thing, but to watch him suffer…?
“I died two days ago,” he’d said in his final moments. This was that moment, that she was watching now. The fall of Mornstrider, done in by his own brother’s apprentice.
“…your training…” she heard Kara’s voice again, and through blurred vision colored by her pained aura, she saw Beryn’s face again in her mind.
…One final technique of the Healer’s Stance… his words echoed, from one of their final training sessions together. Callista’s jaw clenched, and she gulped back the sobs that were fighting to escape. This was important, she determined, brushing her sleeve across her eyes with a sniffle and an outward gasp.
Beryn was gone now. This pain was in the past, and nothing could hurt him now. Death, yet the Force, the teenaged Jedi Knight reminded herself.
She shut her eyes again and took a few moments to breathe and focus, centering herself again. Beryn would be ashamed of that display. She had to keep watching. Tentatively, she hit the ‘play’ button again.
Beryn shook on the ground, kneeling and in pain as the assault of lightning carried on, feebly blocking a portion of the arcs with one saber. Even in this moment of near-certain defeat, he would not be broken.
Nevorum paused his barrage for just a moment, appearing to laugh behind his ominous mask, and Beryn staggered back to his feet. The old man’s body trembled against his wishes, but he resumed his stance as Nevorum presumably taunted him, unbowed and unwavering in his resolve. When the Sith raised his hands to lash out with the finishing burst of lightning, Beryn lifted both blades and held them out parallel almost like a pair of lightning rods. The searing forks of electricity zapped into the plasma blades and arced between them, some tongues arcing down to burn at Beryn’s hands, but most starting to catch into a strange back-and-forth loop between his sabers, becoming more orderly and controlled somehow, shining brighter.
Nevorum leaned back, seeming to recognize that something was amiss with his final blow, but only too late. With a focused heave, Beryn thrust his blades forward, redirecting all of the caught, and now purified lightning in a concentrated burst at Nevorum himself, overwhelming the Sith and treating him to a deadly dose of his own shock treatment medicine. The scream must have been blood-curdling as the man convulsed and smoked, parts of his clothes catching fire, the finish on his mask blackening, until at last he slumped down onto his knees, quivering and shaking with agonized, belabored breaths… before falling to the ground.
Standing over his defeated foe, Beryn lowered his sabers and gasped for haggard, weak breaths of his own, and the decades piled back on with all their copious weight. He slumped down and disengaged his blades. Then he searched Nevorum’s body, taking something from a belt pouch, and after a few long moments, summoned a metal pipe from somewhere in the room to himself to use as a cane and hobble out of view.
Callista heaves a quiet, shaken sigh as the playback ends and the hologram winks out. So that was what her master had wanted her to see, she muses solemnly to herself, rubbing a hand at her reddened eyes. A true demonstration of that most dangerous technique. The Lightbringer, he’d called it. To take on, purify, and redirect a Dark Side foe’s attack back at them.
Quietly trembling as she stands up, Callista removes the data disk from the projector and sets it aside on her bedside table, mind swimming and still recovering from the rush of emotion earlier… and silently dreading the day that she would need to use such an ability herself.
“Thank you, Beryn… for this final lesson,” she utters in a hoarse whisper, before wandering out of the room with heavy thoughts.
