Callista Selkin - Selfish

[Announcer]

Dear Mom and Da

No.

Hey Mom, Hey Dad

No.

Mom and Dad

Hazy swirls of grey, oily murk. Callista sat on the edge of her bed, dressed down to a loose sleeping shirt and underwear, sleepy hazel eyes staring at the blank document page on her datapad, having started and erased several starting lines already. She couldn’t sleep, tired as she was. The day had been too much of a rollercoaster, her mind still pinballing from event to event, emotion to emotion. Outwardly, her expression was a glum deadpan as she hunched over the pad, one elbow resting on her knee to prop up a hand reaching into her wavy blonde locks, clutching tightly at the mane like her life depended on it. Her Jedi robes sat discarded in a rumpled pile in the corner. She’d wash them and fold them up tomorrow…probably.

Aizha, Iskellia, Zvadras, Mart, Sandra…Sandra. The very echo of the name in her head prompted a sighing puff of air out of her nose - a stab of fuzzy off-white to her upper left. Here and gone again. She’d made it sound like it wasn’t that big a deal, but Callista knew better, deep down. Now Mart seemed to have gone too, maybe. Her lips tensed against her teeth as she sucked them inward, her leg twitched and her heel bounced on the floor with repetitive pum-pum-pum-pum blots of brownish green. Had she really made any positive difference since coming here?

A quivering breath in and shivering back out in the chilly apartment. Callista’s climate control system wasn’t very good, and she’d put the thicker blankets out for Iskellia on the couch. Callista hated the cold.

Finally, her fingers untangled themselves from her hair and slowly hovered down to the datapad screen again, starting to type slowly. She was trying to stay quiet, not to wake up Iskellia. The poor woman needed her bed rest.

Hi, Mom and Dad, wherever you are.

I hope you’re all happy and healthy. I bet Jace and Kassia are really amazing by now. They always were incredible.

I’m 18 now and doing well here on Viscara. Veles Colony is a nice enough place, when you get used to it, and the surrounding area can be pretty interesting. The weather’s wild, and there’s a swampy smell to the whole place, but I’ve gotten used to it. There are some amazing crystal caves just south of town. I bet Mom would love it there.

I’ve met plenty of new friends, all kinds of people. Mandalorians and freelancers, lots of other Force sensitives. It seems like this planet attracts all sorts, and it never gets boring here.

I joined the local branch(? Chapter? sect?) of the Jedi Order despite my age, and I’ve learned a lot. I’ve gotten so much better at my lightsaber skills, all the cadences and drill sets for Form I. I’ve even gotten pretty good at the basics of Form II and its footwork. I know new ways to use the Force, and I can even kind of hold my own in a fight sometimes. I can only imagine how great Jace and Kassia must be, if you’ve been training them more all this time.

I’m a Padawan learner now. My master’s name is Beryn Mornstrider, and he’s a very kind old Echani. He reminds me of you, because he also left the Order a long time ago to get married, but he came back recently after his wife sadly passed. He’s a good teacher and I’m grateful to have him. A lot of his lessons feel similar to things you guys taught me.

Even with all these friends and my master around though…I feel really alone. As a Jedi especially, because all the others that were around when I arrived seem like they’ve disappeared. Even Beryn isn’t available very often. It feels like I’m the only Jedi around, but I’m nowhere near good enough to be a real help when something happens.

Even my first teacher in the Order who brought me into it, Sandra, has been gone. She came back again today and then left again, and I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Things I did, things I said, because I was stupid and didn’t know better. That’s just one more thing I’ve messed up, isn’t it? And she’s an incredibly powerful Jedi Knight, but only a year older than me. How much farther could I be in my training if I hadn’t run off that day?

I miss you guys so much. You’d know what to do if you were here. I want so badly to just go out and find you but it’s been eight long years and I wouldn’t know where to begin if I tried. I was hoping maybe if I joined the Jedi I’d get some idea, find something I could use, but it’s hopeless. I’m too much of a useless screw-up to do anything here and I hate it.

I just want to see you all again. Even one more time. I love you.

Big bantha hugs,
Cally

Quick choking stutter-flashes of morose yellow and teal, Callista’s breaths hitching softly as her arms went limp and the datapad dropped into her lap. She winced and clenched her teeth through blinding tears flowing free down her cheeks. All her fault. She fucked it up.

Her eyes wandered over to her bag in the corner, and the sheathed blade sitting beside it. Her heart pounded a few times, and she tore her gaze away again, forcing it back to the datapad.

[DELETE DOCUMENT; ARE YOU SURE?]

[YES]

[Announcer]

Slow, rolling splashes of grey-green and pink, like the humming mechanical heartbeat of the laundry machine.

Two days later, Callista sat once more in her apartment, waiting for her robes in the wash cycle. Her eyes were focused down towards a flimsiplast sketch pad she had been drawing on earlier that day. A shadow of a smile hung on her lips, her panicked rush of emotion subsided by now - but she had sold her vibroblade at the general store, to be safe.

Maybe everything would be alright after all, she mused silently. Maybe she hadn’t screwed up.

The words shared between herself and Mart swam lazily through her memory. He was happy now. More like what she assumed must have been his real self than she’d ever seen. How could she be upset at that? Everything beyond that…wasn’t for her to worry over.

She wasn’t alone, not in the way she had thought. Even in the absence of other Jedi, she had people to rely on, to ask for help, to talk to when she needed. Not just Mart, but the new colony doctor, Avor. People she trusted.

But that wasn’t what troubled Callista now. Talking to Mart and watching him together with Zvadras had stirred some thoughts in her, some feelings that she had never expected. At first she hadn’t been sure what to make of it; Zvadras had apparently assumed jealousy, which of course was ridiculous…or was it?

Callista was happy for the two of them. She didn’t want to get between them. She didn’t want Mart, not in that way. But it made her wonder…what did she want?

All this time, she had been working to not just become a Jedi, but to be the best Jedi she could possibly be. To become something that would make her parents proud. Something she could be proud of, herself. That was all she had wanted…or so she thought. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Ultimately, she told herself, it shouldn’t matter too much what she wanted in that sense. Jedi weren’t allowed romantic or sexual relationships. Too many risks, too much danger of blinding oneself with passion. Callista giggled softly - the thought of herself being as madly obsessed with someone as Zvadras seemed to be with Mart, that in itself seemed like ridiculous fantasy.

Yet, at the same time, she had begun to realize that in all this time, since joining the Jedi, since arriving on Viscara in the first place, since being sold and sold and sold again until arriving at that dreaded Altapin Academy…she had given very little thought to what she really wanted. It was all what would placate her masters, what would satisfy others, what would make her parents proud. What she felt she was supposed to do. It was an invisible set of chains still tethering her that she had never noticed before. Chains she didn’t know how to break.

People and ideals change, that was what Sandra had told her. You must always be true to yourself. But who was Callista Selkin?

She sighed lowly, eyes drifting away from her sketch pad. So many questions, so much uncertainty, but as she reminded herself, all the time in the galaxy to answer them. She stood up and wandered into her bedroom, to the set of easels and canvas in the corner. She propped up her drawing on one and took up a brush and some paints, and slowly started the work of recreating what she had sketched.

A glowing tunnel of shimmering blue, the view seen from a starship’s front viewport when traveling in hyperspace. Now, it would have a plethora of other colors mixed with it. She already had a name in mind for this painting.

“Freedom.”

[Announcer]

Myriad wisps of countless colors, leaking up to the ceiling like lazy streams of vapor and staining the dark-tinged flow. One moment dull and numb, the next swirling in vibrant intensity. Too much to sift through.

Callista lay in the guest bedroom of Mart’s house, her robes and boots discarded on the floor beside it, leaving her in only the bottom-most tunic layer of her clothes. Distantly, through the closed door, she could hear the muffled, unintelligible sounds of him and Zvadras talking — faint, tiny glimmers of greyed blues and greens, purples and reds, like ripples in an unseen puddle.

It had been a very long day…and it started with Shade.

She’d found the Sith standing by the gate out to the wildlands in Veles, talking with the trandoshan Qyilisc. She was cold, brazen. “Speak clearly, young Jedi, you do yourself disservice,” she’d said. Asking questions, but non-confrontational. Scared and in a hurry, Callista had deflected and moved on.

Beryn. He was holding a lesson on a hill in the mountain valley. Aizha was there, and Ira’dana. The Twins and Kross, too. Callista arrived to join them, only to be interrupted, first by Bob, then by Shade once more. Sandra arrived, and Keyan, but Callista was tasked with aiding Kross in taking Aizha and Ira to safety. They’d gone and waited, Kross leaving to return to the others and help with the possible confrontation…but someone was watching them, Callista and the other students. Watching from above, though only briefly. Later, Callista came to find out that another Sith had shown herself that day too, a redhead according to Sandra.

There was no fight, thankfully, but the lesson had to be moved. They went to Kross’s dojo in his home on Kho’s land. A strangely decorated place, all lit flame braziers, stone obelisks, and spiky decor, plus a fire-breathing statue of a dragon right out of a fantasy role-playing game. Curious decisions from Kho for providing the man furniture.

The lesson proved…interesting, if nothing else. The Twins seemed uninterested and unreceptive. So why had they come? There must have been some reason. There was debating, talk of revenge, Beryn trying to philosophize but being rebuffed repeatedly. Trying to convince them that vengeance wasn’t worth pursuing. “How would you know unless you’ve walked that path?” one asked him, putting seemingly no stock in the wizened Jedi’s words.

“…I have,” Callista had found herself saying. Stepping up in front of everyone to do so. It had taken every fiber of her being to force herself into it, and she trembled as she spoke and…told them. Told everyone what she had done those few short years ago. Once the first sentence was pushed out from her lips, the rest came spilling forth. She was amazed she was able to get through it without crumbling. It was the first time she’d told anyone at all, there, in the hopes that maybe the sharing of her experience might add some weight to Beryn’s words…

But the Twins seemed less than even unfazed. If anything, they sounded bored by it.

The rest of the time in the dojo that day was a blur, only a few flashes remaining. Kross quietly exuding some unknown rush of intense emotion…that icy yellow-eyed glare, followed by full suppression and deflection.

The next thing Callista knew, she was walking out through the wildlands, wandering from place to place, unable to decide where to go to process and cool off. Then Beryn found her. He reassured her, told her it was alright, impressed upon her that her very regret made her better than she feared. It was comforting that he claimed, at least, to think no less of her.

Then she’d wandered again to Sandra’s ship, where Iskellia was being measured for outfitting. Callista returned the old equipment Sandra had given her when she first joined the Order as an Initiate, for Iskellia’s use, and they talked a while. They made plans: a girls’ night out, set for two days from then on Mon Cala. Something to take Sandra’s mind off her troubles for at least a little while. It would be fun! Something to look forward to!

It was getting late by then. After a short talk with Sandra alone about Kross and his true nature — in which time Callista got the sense that Sandra knew more than she was letting on — Callista went out to the wildwoods. Emotions were still bubbling away inside her, emotions she didn’t want to face in that moment, so she set them aside to focus instead on training. Her Sight. Meditating, practicing combat precognition with gimpassa and kinrath, stretching her senses to the absolute limit to keep herself aware of every detail, every movement, every shudder and breath of life and feeling around her. Bringing the Force into as much clarity as possible in her vision.

Callista remained there for hours, pushing herself as hard as she could on this focused aspect. But never was she able to fully quiet the tumult within. Finally she gave up for the night. She needed some company. Mart, she decided. She would check in on Mart. She’d promised him some materials anyway, in the hopes he’d find use for them.

She never expected to find Mart Webber a limp, tear-stricken mess on his dinner table. Her own troubles flew away. Mart had helped her so many times already when she was in need, now it was her turn to respond in kind. She sat with him and consoled him, trying to ease his guilt and misery over the awful tug of war he’d found himself in.

Then Zvadras called, screaming and furious, demanding Mart come to her on Mon Cala to talk. It was worse than Callista had thought. Not wanting him to have to deal with this alone, however, she went with him on his ship, allowing the condition that she was to wait there for him to return once they arrived at the planet.

That plan was shattered when Mart returned after only a few minutes, carrying an unconscious, overheated Zvadras in his arms. She’d collapsed on the beach, just after Mart reached her.

The effort of reviving her, bringing her body temperature back down, was intensive. They sealed the ship bedroom, cranked down the climate control a whole 40 degrees, and placed ice bags over her chest and forehead. Callista did what she could through the Force to keep her stable, ease the tension in her heart and brain, all while shivering in the awful, freezing cold with her breath crystallizing in front of her. She still hated the cold, hated it terribly.

Eventually, however, the Chiss awakened, feverish and delirious. She screamed in Cheunh, reliving some horrible memory, before passing out again. When she came to once more, she was still somewhat out of it, but once she finally reached clarity the argument started in earnest. Accusations. Pain. Distrust. And Callista trapped in the middle of it.

It was a long discussion, and a very heated one from Zvadras’s side. The poor young Padawan did everything she could to try and assuage the Chiss’s emotions, with only moderate success. Finally, after some terse words directed towards Callista instead of Mart, silence fell.

Then, apologetically, Zvadras turned the conversation to Callista. She tried to encourage her, but still Callista was all apologies, beginning to retreat inward. When Zvadras asked why, and Callista explained…it started. The flood. The rushing, drowning wave of memories. With her confession at Beryn’s lesson so fresh, it spilled out again, freely this time, from hushed, quivering lips on a dead-eyed, horrified face.

“…I killed him…” She went into a daze, feverishly repeating herself and shaking. “I-I didn’t have to, but I killed him…” Widening eyes bored a hole through the table at an invisibly encroaching fog of dark yellow and red and agonized purple, fingers dug into the edges of her chair. “Back straight, eyes forward, back straight, eyes forw-”

Zvadras was finally able to pull Callista out of her stupor. Suddenly her anger at Mart was dampened with concern for the young Jedi. Much of the rest of the conversation blurred by. There was consoling. Reassuring, wiping of tears. Laughter. Rippling pools of blue-green. Calm again.

Not trusting herself to be alone, Callista asked for and was given permission to stay at Mart’s home that night. He carried her to the guest bed. Spoke with her a short time, and then when first turning to leave, said the most peculiar thing.

“Good night, little sister.”

It was shocking, it was elating, it was bittersweet. He did remind her so much of what a grown-up Jace must have been like. Even now, still lying in the bed and staring at the clouds of intangible color overhead, the highs and lows of the day still fuming from her being, she smiled.

Mart and Zvadras had stopped talking by now, not that she’d even noticed when. She sighed quietly and closed her eyes, shutting out at least the physical world and turning onto her side. She was ready to sleep…it had been a very long day.

===================

They k̸̫͖̲̝̟̱̹now…

They know, you’re guilty…

Mu̢͔̱̜͕rder̸̖̻͓̼er͠ (gu̢͔̱̜͕ilty!) they know…

They know (they know!) they know (wort̰͙̣͈̝h̤͎͍͙͓̗l̙͖̗ess!)

They know̞̝̘̮ͣ (little bitch!) they kǹ̼͓ow (di’̠͠k̪͚͘u̖̬̻̳̥̖͇ṱ̮̥̻̜͠!) they know (foolish!)

Unw̞̝̘̮ͣanted, ina͉̱̘͖̖͉̼͝de̬͔̼q͘uate, ungrate̜͠ful, false͇͖̥̳̦ͩ̒͑ Jedi w̞̝̘̮ͣeakling, T̸͉́́H̟̱E̸͠҉̰Y͏͉͕ ̩͔̲̦Ķ͇̯̣̬̦̀Ṉ̩͈͖̟̭͈O̡̫͕̼̠͖̪W̶̢͇̤̘̟̪̖͜ͅ

Callista’s eyes snap open wide, trembling and staring forward across her pillow. Her outstretched hand ahead of her grips tightly at the throat of the bloated, blue-faced body of a Lannik staring right back at her, dead eyes full of fear, hate, and betrayal. A strained shadow of his voice, that vile, nasally, breathy vessel of condescension, utters from his lifeless lips with coy, taunting playfulness almost like sing-song: “Myree…”

[Announcer]

Faded cloudbursts of sunset pink and bittersweet cerulean like a still-rolling storm moved into the distance. Wafting ribbons of sparkling jade.

It was an early morning, Callista freshly home from a late-night get-together with Rowler and Sandra. Two redheads and a blonde sharing drinks and cake, laughing and enjoying one another’s company…a joyful time. Exhausted, Callista had only bothered to remove her shoes, belt, and vest of her party clothes before dropping onto the bed, and now she stared up at the ceiling watching the aurora of the Force, lifting a hand and tracing her fingers over the intangible colors. Thinking.

She smiled still, but her heart ached. The cerulean shimmered; she brushed a hand through the nebula and swirled it together like mixing paints that refused to fully combine.

Poor Sandra, she thought. So much pain and doubt. So much conflict. Guilt and shame. Just like me.

Her mind replayed her whispered conversation with her former mentor, just steps away outside the apartment building after Sandra had walked her home. She thought again about the quiet confessions.

“I broke them…snapped them like twigs…bladed down so many with barely a second thought…” The blue cloud, like colored ink in water, spread and pulsed, invaded now by a second spreading cloud of pale, fearful yellow.

“…in their sleep…with their lovers…” The two colors mixed into an ugly cluster, together but distinct, immiscible.

Callista’s hand trembled a bit. No. She refused to believe Sandra was like that. She waved dismissively through the murky cloud of fear and sadness, sending it billowing away but still lingering at the edges. The glittering green, the warm, rosy pink. That was what she wanted.

Her eyes wandered, over to her bedside table where her foil hilt sat, beside a holotape Sandra had given her. One she would likely need to return the next chance she got. Callista smiled; she’d finally been able to watch it after she came home. Seeing Sandra as a young Padawan with her old master was a treat. She seemed so young in that recording. Stiffer, more awkward…but still with that trademark monotone to her voice. It was cute. She acted even younger than she looked at the time.

Another similarity between us, Callista mused. I’m 18 now, but I don’t feel 18…I don’t think I act 18 either.

Her eyes turned back to the dancing hues overhead, her hand drifting down closer to her face as she watched. She could still faintly smell the citrus… The pink brightened and came more into focus. The scent warmed her smile and her eyes closed, but her hand still trembled a bit. Was this normal? Was she really just trying to console and heal a treasured friend?

…Or was she falling into the trap of doing exactly what she had been warned not to do?

“Myree…” That voice. Her eyes shot open with a gasp, staring up to see him staring down at her, his pudgy, goblin-like face grinning down at her smugly from amongst the colored clouds. The pink and green and blue all faded, slowly being tainted with hot red and the spreading sickly yellow.

The Headmaster.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, oh dear me, little Myree,” he tutted with taunting disappointment, materializing further as if emerging from a viscous pool until his whole body was in view, squat and fat as ever in his gaudy finery and floating above her, looking down like a scolding parent. “Watching the young grow is such a delight~, but here you are…playing with fire without even the notion that you might get burned.”

Callista stared up at the hovering phantom, eyes alight with terror and guilt. “No! No, you’re not real! You’re dead, you’re not real! This is just a dream!”

“Come now, Myree, not so loud; you’ll disturb your neighbors,” the Headmaster waggled his finger with a snicker. “You’re quite awake, and if you keep this up then soon they will be, too.”

Hands flying up to her hair as her breath came faster and harder, Callista turned away, sitting up on the side of her bed. Her fingers tightened in her locks and tugged at the roots of her hair, and it hurt — she was awake.

“N-no! No! You’re not real!” she repeated, squeezing her eyes shut. “Just a hallucination…i-it’s the virus, the fungus…you’re not there…you’re dead, on Altapin…”

“T͘he͏re ̧i͜s̸ ̕no d͘eat͞h́, ͡ ̨Myr͏e͏e̶,” his horrible, rough voice growled breathily into her ear, and she imagined she could even feel his breath as she jumped up. She pushed herself against the wall and stared at him, now sitting down just where she had been. “You carry me with you now, Myree! How very sweet of you. But oh, how little things have changed…you are as witless as ever, I’m afraid. Still a Pawn, only now you don’t even know who your Imperator is. A pity, you were so very good at Shah-tezh.”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up!” Callista clenched her hands tighter into her hair, trying to cover her ears and shut him out, but his voice carried through unimpeded. She looked on him with miserable horror, at the malicious sunset blend of reds, yellows, oranges, and purples emanating from him like a crackling fire in slow motion. “I killed you!”

“Just like she killed so many?” the Headmaster asked, unfazed. “What a confession, and such fear it put in you…but yet, you took her hand and held her close. What would your doting master think? What would your Mandalorian ‘big brother’ think? Seeing you cavorting with such a dangerous being?”

“No, it’s not like that! It’s not like that!” She shook her head and quailed, quivering in place. “I just want her to be okay! I want her to be happy! Just like Mart, and Iskellia, and-”

“Is that so, Myree? Are you sure?” his mouth opened wide into a sharp-toothed cackle, throwing his head back and lifting his grubby-fingered hands. “Lying to me is lying to yourself, Myree, so you’d best be sure you know the truth!”

His vile gaze softened to a mocking smile upon her, his eyes a shade of piercing green they had never been in life. “She called you an angel! Foolish girl, how can you cleanse her filth if you are so filthy yourself? How can you make anyone happy?”

“Could you make me happy?” Callista blinked, and suddenly the Headmaster was gone, replaced by Sandra standing in front of her, staring at her just as she had not even an hour ago. Callista’s heart skipped a beat, and she shook, her face turning red. She blinked again, and suddenly it was Mart, his helmet off and smiling at her affectionately. “Or me?” Another blink, then bright, cheery Lacie. “What about me?”

The next time, it was all of them at once, and more. Iskellia, Aizha, Avor, Ki Pi, on and on, everyone she considered a friend on Viscara. They spoke in unison. “Could you make any of us happy? Is that even what you want?” She choked a sob and covered her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“Do you know what you want, Myree? Or is this still just bending to the will of others like a good little student?! You must have your own passion! Passion to gain the strength to break the chains YOU put on yourself!” the Headmaster’s nasally gravel demanded in a barking shout of sadistic glee. “Well, Myree? What do YOU want?! M̢y̼r͔̖͝ͅe҉e̮̼ ͝T͠r̴̫͎e͎m͕͝è̱͓̗̯̗͚ͅn͇͉̦̹̘̩e͙̠̕! ̵̺͔̖̰̥̯ A̪̖̟̠͉̗͝n͕͚̫̱͇̖͔s̞͇̮͓̝w̟͕̪͇͙̜e͏r ̰̝̠͇͢m̡̫̬͖e̶͎̻!”

“TH̛́AT̨̛̕’̡S̴͠ ̴N̡҉O̧͢T̴̨ ̷͝M̸̨͢Y̸̷ NA̵͟M̡E̷! ͜” she screamed, and in the blink of an eye, the hilt of her foil flew from the bedside table to her hand and ignited. Before she even realized what happened, she opened her eyes and saw her arm extended forward, the blade of her foil thrust through the Headmaster’s neck. He was smiling.

“How curious, Myree,” he said softly, his tone even and smooth, but dark. “You always go for the throat.”

The Headmaster’s victorious smile seemed to remain for a moment even as his body dissipated into nothing like he was never there in the first place. Callista stood frozen in place, eyes wide with dread but shedding no tears. Her whole body burned, her arm worst of all, from calling upon the Force while still ravaged by the spore infection.

Barely able to move, she gasped and let her hand go limp, dropping the deactivating foil onto the floor and then collapsing against the wall. Dimly, she watched the menacing aura the Headmaster had projected fade and seep back towards her, before passing out.

[Announcer]

What once was faded cloudbursts was now a hurricane of swirling pinks and flaming orange-red, flashing lightning yellows, and raining blue. Too much to handle.

Callista ran across the Tatooine dunes under the sunless night sky, fleeing as fast as her legs could carry her. Fleeing from the storm that followed her everywhere, fleeing from herself. Sprinting away from the shame and guilt and awful, wonderful excitement, but never escaping.

She had to get away. On Viscara, she couldn’t sleep. She was too close. But even now, dashing at breakneck speed like a rabbit from a beast of prey, feeling like a soaring bird in these new robes, she could feel it. No distance would be enough.

Had anyone ever felt like they were flying and drowning at the same time?

[Announcer]

Months later…

Mood Music: Shadow

A writhing, nibbling glow of yellow fear, like a burning seed reaching out its tendril-like roots to take hold. By comparison, the shadowy pulses of insidious red from the crystal within the lightsaber hilt she held was nothing, an afterthought. Callista had spent hours in meditation and practice now on the Kar’ta Farr working to kill that seed before it grew. But no matter how small it shrank, it refused to disappear entirely.

The things to come would be harrowing. Charros IV was utterly surrounded by Sith, evacuating the civilians would be a tremendous task, even worse if the group was pulled into battle. And finding Sandra… even more so.

Feed the flames. Strengthen the Forge.

Using her master’s teachings would be more important now than ever before, to maintain her composure, not just for her own sake, or for Sandra’s… but for everyone’s.

Feed the flames. They grow higher.

Looking over her shoulder to the disguise behind her, to be layered over the newly improved robe designs from Mart, she took a slow, determined breath and ignited the saber in her hands, looking defiantly at the crimson-glowing blade.

Cast my fear into the fire.

I am coming, Sandra.