Deja Vu: Dax's Pax

[Hydro]

There are things in the universe, Dax remembers well. His Father’s laughter, his brother’s cologne, and his mother’s prayer.

There are also things Dax wishes he could forget. The cold touch of the stone floor of the room of a thousand fountains, the harsh whisper of the voice’s promising violence among the throng of Coruscant natives. The unending scream of pain and death, followed by a resounding silence, that echoed on and on and on. Markus’ voice when he told Dax he was sorry.

Yet, here he is again. Staring out the window, watching sentient, after sentient rage and rampage towards the Temple doors. The guards and Republic Soldiers holding them back, pushing them back, trying to sue for peace.

There is no emotion, there is peace–is a lie, there is only passion–

The guards struggle though, and this rings as odd, because while they did struggle, they didn’t faulter. Not really, not like last time this happened. They’re being pushed back.

Suddenly the line breaks, and with a cold feeling in his gut, and a slow progressively growing headache taking over, Dax realizes the line is not going to hold. This isn’t right. He knows this isn’t how it happened, but that knowledge doesn’t help him now.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

The door’s break, shatter really. The angry voices rush in, screaming for blood. The empty halls of the Temple ring with their fear, and anguish. The Temple guards rush to help the line, but yet still it pushes forward. Then the hiss of plasma…Light emits from the hall and soon the cries grow more fervent

There is no passion–I gain strength–there is serenity.

Harsher. Suddenly the crackling growl of Plasma on Plasma rings through, and with a sense of dread, realization hits. These people aren’t just Coruscant natives…they used to call it home, but no, its all the ones that left. Left for the War. Left to join Revan and Malak…the ones that echo still with the silence in their heart. The line does not hold, there is too much anger, too many spilling forth into the halls. They are overwhelmed by their strength–I gain power–

This isn’t right. This isn’t how it goes. He knows its not. Dax remembers this day very well, and this is not how it started. Yet the sound of death and conflict fill the Temple, reverberating in on itself. Building into a crescendo that he knows will tear him apart. He knows how this day ends, but if it gets this bad–if it has suddenly changed, what can be expected now? Their strength is too much, their power–I gain victory.–

The headache builds along with the growing background noise, reaching a fever pitch. Its becoming clearer to hear individual shouts. Promises of revenge, and violence. How could they do this? They were supposed to protect us, not conquer us. How are they any different than the Mandalorians that threatened the galaxy now?

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

Denial is not an unfamiliar thing for Dax. He lived in it ever since Markus was forced to take on Master Clarissa’s Padawan. Anger was a friend for a while, even with the counselor’s help, and honeyed words. Even now in his most desperate moments of loneliness and homesickness, he occasionally leans on the words Markus made to him so many years back.

You will be fine, I promise, but that promise was not what Dax wanted. It was no victory–my chains are broken–

Those words ring truer here as he sees Markus now, approaching him. Sauntering as he does, but the beautiful brown eyes are long gone. Replaced by the blood he’s spilled, harsh crimson has taken them now. Just like he was taken away from Dax. Maybe this will be a comfort, and the Force will welcome him home. He just wishes he could’ve helped more. Done more, but…as Markus activates his red lightsaber, and raises it to deliver the final blow, and Dax closes his eyes, in the end he realizes–

There is no Death, there is the Force–shall free me.–

Waking up in a cold sweat is not something Dax is accustomed to. He normally can rationalize his fears better than this. Something is wrong. Nightmares do happen, but this was specific, something else joined the cacophony…he can’t remember what it was exactly, but he remembers Thelion’s warning. He forgot to meditate, too tired for it then, and–

He takes out his commlink. “I am sorry to bother you, sir, but…I think there’s a problem. Yes, I’ll get dressed and make my way to the med bay. I’ll see you soon. Thank you Knight Teldranilith.”

Tired still, from not enough sleep. He gets dressed, and he moves forward. Its what he does. No matter what has tried to drag him down in the past, he knows what he has chosen for himself in the future. The path has already been walked, he just has to push himself through it and endure. He makes his way to the Medical Bay, wishing the migraine would finally end.

[Hydro]

Observation. Thats all it was supposed to be, right? Ca Jor asked to bring a Knight, Vosca just became a Knight, so she’s good enough. Long time coming, and well deserved in Dax’s opinion, but they were told it was just supposed to be observation. Nex was even there to observe for the Revanites, but once we got on board the Trident, it didn’t stay that way. Thornton didn’t care about observations, and he made that clear when he gave Ca Jor the authority to bombard the city if needed, that they believe there were no civilians left.

Thankfully, relief flooded Dax when the Cathar denied doing so unless he knew without a doubt the civilians were all cleared. Then it was fairly straight forward. The orders were barked, the overall tactical plan was made, and everything was underway. Nex, Vosca and Dax getting pulled into the operation.

Just observation.

The rumble of the engine, the hum of the hull, the anxiety of everyone else, Dax wasn’t even using his senses, but he could tell from the tenseness of Vosca’s shoulders, the manic glee of Nex as they started operating the cannons and getting ready. He’s handled this before. He’s set up The Beacon enough now he recognizes the system. Simir has shown him enough on how this works, how to operate the cannons, how to pilot a vessel this size no less. Let alone the times the Temple on Coruscant let the Initiates use the simulator. Once started, Dax felt even better, more confident. Yeah he recognized this. This was easy enough, some variance with the Trident’s own personal quirks, but the crews all read green on his screen.

Just observation.

The battle itself was pretty standard, volley after volley. It felt no different, except Dax couldn’t see the people he felt dying. He tried to ignore it, but because of the need to protect the lives of the Trident, and Viscara proper, he let the Force in. Speeding up his actions, his reactions, tracing at the same pace as the targeting computers, keeping up with them releasing chained firing lines in wide arc’s as the light turbolasers sent their dancing red lights out. Ca Jor growling out orders and where to focus fire.

Just observation.

The comms filling with outcries and concerns from the ground troops, saying there was quakes going on, and that gave Dax pause, especially once his stomach started to lurch. Vosca’s declaration of having a bad feeling, didn’t help matters either, but Dax was also familiar with this sensation, this feeling of taking a deep breath, waiting to exhale. Waiting. Always waiting. Apprehension growing as he hears the screams echoing through the commlink as Simir and her troops rush into the cannon that had been giving them problems, rocking the Trident, despite Weilliln’s efforts, keeping the shields running, keeping them steady.

Just observation.

With the focus on the Praetorian vessel, it was a curious thing. He was accustomed to waiting for the shoe to drop. Discover you’ve been Force Sensitive since birth? Exciting–Oh gotta leave your family. Living on a new world full of exciting sights and sounds? Oh the populace is angry, very angry, why aren’t we helping sooner? Faster? More? Your close friend, who promised you a future, a future where they would make you the Jedi you wanted to be? Oops, this person is better suited for them. A normal day that you actually looked forward to because it was the day you get to actually pilot a shuttle and learn how to really handle the controls? Screams–Always the screams–anger-pain-hatred–echoing out and out reverberating on itself-- more screams, a loud one, and various ones around the bridge, panic choking him, as some kind of metallic monstrosity covered in red glowing runes rips its way out of the ground, clawing its way free and making its way towards the Trident.

Just observation.

Being so open to the Force gives a little bleed over sometimes, Dax always knew this, but the feelings leaking around him made it hard for him to focus. Stay ready, his jittering fingers finding it difficult to tell the targeting array where to aim. Nex and Vosca’s voices rumbling in the background. There was an answer to this. There always was. There is no chaos, there is harmony. Be the eye in the storm. Finding the eye of this hurricane of darkness, Dax opted to trust in the Force, trust in the people he was fighting alongside. He opened up everything to the Force, letting his senses reach out, letting it enhance his reactions, his sight, his listening. Letting it guide his actions, giving himself up to the Force so that its Will could be done, and stop this abomination. Red lights streaking blindly as they cascade onto the creature, commands screaming to change targets, focus on the monster.

Just observation.

Hearing Keshli take down bomber after bomber, the Force singing through her even if she was deaf to it. Zalea and Sparky working in near perfect tandem raining down on the stragglers of battle, making their way to pick up Keshli that had to eject. Simir declaring they were almost in and ready, the Force of her voice leaving no room for arguments. Rodi’s bravery against the gargantuan monster as she left ripples in the Force with her fury and determination to bring it down. Ca Jor’s mind racing coloring the space with ferocity and dedication to the people of Viscara without realizing how the Force swirled around him. They would do this. All of them, all the friends and acquaintances he trusted to do their duty.

Just observation.

The ‘but’ Dax was now trained to wait for? You will succeed, but. You can save these people, but. You have potential, but. You mean the galaxy to me son, but. Dax could feel the tide of battle turning into their favor, but. The air rent as he began to realize the quakes never stopped. Only recessed. A new, bigger, stronger, grotesque beast broke through the ground, but this was worse. Oh so much worse. Dax was nowhere near Malachor on the other side of the galaxy when it happened. These screams? They’re still alive. They’re not the cries of the dead that cleaved through the Force. This was much worse. Five hundred souls. It was a chorus of pain, and suffering. A cacophony of desperation for it to stop, for it to end, to be saved.

Just observation.

No chance. He knew it. He was already dealing with the migraine from opening his senses let alone to the degree he did. Pain Control can’t help this. Nobody could numb the pain of five hundred souls all crying out for salvation. Without realizing how wet his face was from tears, and blood dripping from his nose. A blackness throbbing at the edges of his vision, he had to do something. He knew this. He knew this had to be stopped. He would have to go beyond whatever else he has done before. Dax knew what he had to do, he just prayed he had the strength to do it. Vosca’s voice breaking through the haze of pain and anguish. He clung to that anchor, letting his senses wrap up in the familiarity of her presence, of the people he could rely on. They will stop this. They will save others from this fate.

Just observation.

The sounds between turbolasers, commands, comms going dead and static fought with the screams of the monster and the people it was made of. Metal raking over the hull of the Trident, causing more voices to join the screams. The calm he gained briefly, the anchor he had was slipping. He knew he could only hold on for so long. At the end of the day, Dax realized, despite all his accomplishments marked on his body, all the goals he set for himself and met. They meant nothing in this moment. He was just a man, clinging to the hope. The light the Jedi promised him. That very light, struggling to push against the darkness threatening to consume it. Dax discovered the Code is much easier to understand than even he thought.

Bring Peace to Emotion.

Bring Knowledge to Ignorance.

Bring Serenity to Passion.

Bring Harmony to Chaos.

Bring the Force to Death. Bring Life. To Death. Rebirth.

With one last press of a button, he let the starboard batteries unleash onto the beast. Though it still stood, Dax trusted in the Force. Trusted in his allies to finish this. He gave everything he could, and when the beast and screams of the souls bound to it echoed violently around the planet. The black crowding his vision consumed the light, and all was darkness.

The light however didn’t fade entirely. Dax found himself curled around it, protecting it. Refusing to let it die out. The darkness had consumed them, but. It did not win. It would not win. This is what the Jedi prevented. They may have failed these five-hundred souls, but they will find peace again. He knows the others will make sure of this. Dax realized with a sense of hope, that this was the path he was meant to walk. Its not platitudes and promises. Action. It was action that thrived the word of the Jedi. Maybe the Order forgot about this, maybe they forgot sometimes it needs to act to stop tragedy at its source before it can bleed out.

What felt like days later, light began filtering in through his eyelids as consciousness found the Mirialan once more. Force it hurt. The room kept spinning. He could still hear the voices colored in pain and fear, but it was more of concern than fright. More of injury, than the threat of it. He wanted to get up and help. He really did, but the dizziness kept him from doing so. Only when he opened his eyes, seeing the look of terror on Vosca’s face as she checked over him to make sure he was physically fine, cleaning up the blood, tears, and dust he saw the toll of what happened today all over her. The lines of her body were coiled tight, waiting for a threat that wasn’t there yet. Eyes that were waiting for bad news, to see the worst. He couldn’t let her spiral like this. He roused up the energy to reassure her. Promise her he was fine, and that she needn’t worry anymore. He just head a headache and was dizzy.

Now Dax knows better than to lie to a Jedi. They usually will call you out on it, sensing deception. He knows there’s ways to hide that, but after the day they just had, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to tell, just yet. Leave a little bit of truth to it, and the rest will bleed over. She wants to believe he’ll be alright. So he will give that to her. He knows the blatant lie won’t hold long. He can feel the silence coiling inside him, the need for it like what happened last time after Malachor. Silence was a comfort sometimes. He never liked silence. It always bothered him. Still does. He’ll make it through this though. That part isn’t a lie. He just wishes that the path ahead wasn’t going to be so difficult. He knew the path he walks wasn’t going to be easy. Anything worthwhile never is, but he finds comfort in this moment. This was the moment. His eyes lose focus as he realizes this. This was the moment he had been waiting for. The one where he decided the future he would walk. Everything that led up to fate meeting him here, this was where he made the choice. He chose to save. He chose to help. He chose to fight. He chose the Light.

His light hasn’t gone out, and it won’t for a while yet. He doesn’t know what happens from here on out. He just knew that there was a path he had to follow, and he was diligent, with the promise of what the Will of the Force offered. Now he will serve. Now he will walk.

The day was supposed to be an educational one. Observation. To learn the skill of warcraft, and strategy. Hopefully diplomacy, but.

Just observation. They observed. Now it was time to act.

Just act.

[Hydro]

It had only been a month, maybe a bit more, since he was last on Coruscant. The sight, the smells, the people, the energy even. It felt odd now. Why was everything kind of dull and lifeless? Durasteel and Chromium. Shiny, for sure, but, it felt different to him now. Not smaller in the way he’d expect to feel if he went to Mirial to his childhood home, but, the difference in life energies was drastic.

It felt nice to fly around Coruscant again though. The voices, the eccentric energy of having to weave in and out around the throng of people, finding a harmony, a rhythm to the chaos. It didn’t take long before arriving to the Grand Temple, and docking. Dax used to remember playing in here when he was supposed to be in classes when he was much younger. Testing his boundaries recklessly. He wonders how Master Pavarti was doing, before remembering, and frowning. He makes his way to report in that he was visiting, and the purpose of his visit. Dax was grateful how understanding some of the Jedi were on Coruscant, and how patient some of them could be. Not to say his new temple on Viscara wasn’t, but he knows a lot of them still remember him when he was little. A bumbling Mirialan who was homesick, but eager and excited.

Making his way to the old dorm he occupied not even two months ago, was easy. He could walk it in his sleep-and had. It didn’t take long to get down there, despite the quickly moving Initiates and Padawans of various ages. It made him think back to his days running to lessons, making sure to not run into anyone. Seeing a few Initiates he tutored on various lessons, unaccustomed to the new braid hanging from his hair. Despite the congratulations, he kept moving on, he needed to make sure it was still there. It was the last piece he had. He didn’t want it destroyed in the war, that at least some fragment of the things he shared with his dad might live, letting him live with it

There is no death. There is the Force.

Distractedly tapping on the console, Dax’s mind was a bit all over the place, and if you asked him he’d tell you it felt warranted. He hadn’t looked at it since he was twelve. When Markus couldn’t–

There is no chaos. There is harmony.

Thankfully they hadn’t assigned it to anyone yet. The sterile surfaces and air was off to him. To know so much of his presence here had been wiped away, cleansed. Purged. He just hoped that it hadn’t gotten thrown away with the other things he refused to bring.

Carefully going to the floor duct, he pries it open without too much trouble, careful to not bend it too far out of shape-it already was, why was he lying to himself?-and reaching into the little square he had cut loose to hide his treasure.

He grabbed at the fabric wrapped around his prize. Pulling it out wasn’t hard either, thankfully. It was still there, he kind of knew it, but this was a reassurance. He wiped away the dust, and webbings, wrapped tight in adhesive seal bag, was the last thing he had of his Father. The last thing his brother gave him before he left to join the Republic, and the Mandalorian war.

There is no passion. There is serenity.

It occurred to Dax, that in truth, his father was still with him of course. People return to the Force, and since the Force is in everything, so is everyone who has returned to it, but it hurt still, to see the last physical thing his father cared about besides his wife and kids. He used this pocket watch to help Dax fall asleep so many times as a kid, letting the ticking noise help him sleep.

Realization isn’t a new thing for Dax, a lot of the time its not something he feels genuinely surprised by, but he comes to acknowledge that this is probably why he cannot handle silence well. He’s been comforted by sounds all his life, his mother’s voice. His father’s pocket watch. His brother’s loud stomping about the house. As Dax looks upon the pocket watch, he smiles at it and takes out the replacement energy cell, and the tools he needed, and gets to work to replace and fix it if it needs it.

There is no ignorance. There is knowledge.

Once the ticking fills the empty room again, Dax feels himself relax, and slump. The familiar sounds that he knows just as well as his own name. Ibenion’s word’s echo in his head. Reminding him about the dangers of attachments, of relying on comfort from physical things, from material things. The Force would provide, as was commonly said. To trust in the Force, to find a way to comfort himself without needing something to anchor him. To let the Force anchor him. He knows it won’t be easy, and its going to take time to wean himself off of things, but he will do it. The path is walked already, he just has to see it through.

The young Mirialan runs his hand over the pocket watch. This will work. It’ll be the perfect reminder of the dangers of attachments. His father may be gone, his brother whereabouts unknown. He doesn’t even know if his mother’s still alive, but no matter where they are, or how they are. They’re connected through the Force, and that is the comfort he needs. That is what he needed the most.

The hallways of the grand temple were always spectacular. They had guests to entertain, diplomacy to encourage, and while he never needed for anything, at all, it felt like a gilded cage. Now though? Now he’s seen more of the galaxy, and will see even more of it, Force-willing. But thats a time for later—

“Oh pardon me, sorry.” Dax is startled out of his thoughts as he is stopped by the Jedi Knight in front of him. He looks at her and realizes who she is. Meresar Killesa. Markus’ Padawan–former? Padawan. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to bump into you, my apologies.” The smile she gave was genuine, she clearly meant it, but everything in Dax wanted to act as if something foul-as if a hutt had touched him.

“Its alright. I was deep in thought. Be well Knight Killesa.” Dax quickly made his way further down the hall, despite her confusion, and then sudden realization. He heard his name called, once, twice, three times before he stopped, and turned around.

“Dax? Dax Fitzim?” Her cherry kissed cheeks glowed under the sterile lighting, he knew it was nearing Winter on Coruscant, they wouldn’t let it get too cold, they’d have to shut down too much, but, she must’ve been somewhere cold just recently, maybe a training room. He realized she was still talking when he focused back in. “Its been so long! How’re you doing? Padawan! Thats fantastic news, congratulations.”

He knew it was genuine. It wasn’t her fault her master died during the Mandalorian Wars. One of the space battles, she had been away from The Korvast on an errand for her master when the ship had been dragged into a distress call from a fleet. Dax vaguely remembers how poorly that skirmish went, but for her it must be still something she thinks about. “Thank you. I am glad to see you’re a Knight now. You deserved it.” He needs to be an adult about this. He needs to know- in his heart of hearts-where Markus was. The closure would do him well. “How’s Knight O’viln? I am sure he was tiresome after a while. Prattling on about the Swoop Races.”

Her face while still pleasant, lost some of its shine. He needed to gird himself. He knows he did. Markus must’ve not made it. Something had to have happened. How many Masters did she leave to die?-- “He’s on Sullust. He’s teaching his new Padawan the importance of diplomacy. He’s negotiating with some rogue agents that want a more ‘exclusive’ Sullust. It won’t be long before he’s back. I think they had just finished yesterday and were to arrive soon.” Her black hair fell over her shoulder as she talked, as if it wasn’t something he had been desperately wanting to know for ages. Why hadn’t Markus gotten back with him? Why did he…

“I am glad he is doing well. Please pardon me, I need to get back to Viscara. The warfront there is still testy these days.” Dax paused a moment, thinking as he was trying to get away, but he needed this, just as much as she maybe needed to hear them too. “I-…Meresar, I wanted to apologize. I am sorry for how I acted and treated you those years ago. I was hurting, and I hope with all my heart I didn’t hurt you too. I did not react well.”

Her smile was softer this time, more reserved, but still the kindness in her eyes shone. “Dax, you don’t have to apologize. You were so young, and upset. You had growing to do, and it was too dangerous. Markus’ feelings for you were too strong, and if he had taken you on as his apprentice, it wouldn’t have done either of you any good. He had good control, and he’d never hurt you, but he admitted to me that when you were of age, he fantasized about asking you to leave with him. He couldn’t do that to you, nor could he do that to himself. The galaxy needs us now more than ever, and you two will always mean something to each other I am sure, but, I hope you see it was for the best now.” She looked apologetic as best as Dax could tell, but at first it was almost as if she had cored him out. The longer he thought about it though, the more he realized, maybe she was right.

There is no emotion. There is peace.

“Thank you, Knight Killesa. I appreciate you explaining it to me. I see the wisdom of the council on this particular matter. I do need to go though. My Master will want to speak with me before long, and its a few jumps back to the Mytaranor Sector. May the Force be with you, Meresar.” The Mirialan began walking backwards, giving her a farewell wave.

“You as well Dax. You as well.” Dax quickly turned around and made his way towards the hangar bay. His hands were shaking a bit, he knew why, but it wasn’t bad information, nothing he didn’t already know. He did have feelings for Markus, it was hero worship at first, but Markus was handsome, and brave, and it appealed to Dax. Despite his best efforts, it always would. He had learned to let it go before, he can do it again. As many times as necessary. Rebuilding a foundation until it can withstand anything takes time.

The hiss of the hangar doors snaps Dax out of his thoughts, and he makes his way to the Beacon. He needed the sanctuary, the hum of the hyperspace engine. The ramp lowered for him to enter as he made his way closer, it wasn’t until he was halfway up, he saw a familiar face off in the corner. Markus and his new Padawan.

Dax braced for it. He waited, and waited. Waited some more, but the pain didn’t come. He was expecting to feel devastated by the sight of Markus, alive and well, but never knowing it for years. Cruel maybe, but distance maybe worked best here. Despite himself, he smiled and waved. A shocked expression–thats what he was expecting. Oh. Oh no.–on his handsome features. Markus’ Padawan clearly sensing something was wrong, kept asking him about it, but the older Knight just stared on. It quickly got awkward for Dax, he needed to leave. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. Not to Markus, nor his Padawan. Markus would be fine. He is a strong Jedi, and while Dax knows we all struggle with our emotions, we can’t let them run rampant. We can’t let them dictate our Path. He steps up the ramp further, and gets to the cockpit, and makes his way back to Viscara. He wouldn’t let what-ifs, and could-be’s get in his way. It was difficult if Dax was being honest with himself. He wanted to go back, he wanted to hug him, and tell him how much he missed him, and spend the day chatting, and catching up, and–

No. He had promises to keep. His path leads toward the Force. Not to someone else. With a shaking hand, Dax activates the engines, and begins his ascent out of the Temple Hangar. Confirming his trajectory as he made his way up and out of Atmo.

He left a part of himself there on Coruscant. The hopes, and dreams of another life. Of a life on Alderaan, with kids, and hovercars, and bureaucracy. He had to leave them behind. Hathegura’s warning about attachments echoing in his head, as he realized the fantasy he built up with Markus so quickly upon discovering the intention. Dangerous. Taking his father’s pocket watch in hand, he takes a small soldering tool from the kit he had in engineering, and etches Markus’ initials into the back in small Aurabesh. Markus O’viln, “Mern.Osk.” So he would never forget the dangers of how an attachment can sneak up on you. How a seed of desire can twist up inside you if you let it take root. He’ll have to work on it, but he trusts that he will see through it. The pain, and struggle isn’t what makes him strong. Its the promise beyond them that he will keep climbing towards.

[Hydro]

Sitting in his room. Dax looks at the fledgling pieces of his would be Lightsabers. He contemplates the metals and additional bits of constructive material, the emitter lens, and power cell. The shape of the handle he wanted that would fit best with his hands and movements. He remembers back to the memories he had. His mother, and the childlike fog still over them, having been washed away more recently. Then of his Brother and the hope of his security and safety.

He picks up through the first failed attempt, and coming back to the second frame, and refines it some more, leaving its base Durasteel casing, but placing over the casing, he slots over a brass cover, and then inlaid within the groove of the handle there, silver that bleeds into a soft grip for where his hand will rest for better handling.

The pieces start to float a little as he physical places together some of the pieces, though the Force, he carefully manipulates the internal circuitry, the assembly within. The Power core, the lens and the emitter carefully connecting, and twisting-locking together. He recalls the promise he made. The promise of the Force for when sentient’s return to it. Even now it warms him, better than the hot chocolate he would guzzle in hopes to fend off the bitter cold of the harshness in the galaxy. Each piece slotting together after repeated failed attempts, and salvaging pieces from his mess ups, finally, it seems to click, finally they lock into place. Another fork in the path, contemplated, and then walked as he tried to follow the Force home.

Once more his mind wandered as the Force guided his hands, and maneuvered the pieces of the Lightsaber on the desk, gentle clacks of softer metals of Brass and Silver along with the durasteel core where the Heart of the Sabers would hold. His mother bore so much for them. Struggled so much for him and his brother, and herself. Though she heldfast to her beliefs as a Priestess of the Mirial Temples, she too was weary and worn down. Who was there for her? Who was there when she needed comfort? He remembers through the cloudy memories of his youth that, they were there for each other, but in truth. His father had never left. He wasn’t there in the physical Force, but throughout the Cosmic Force, where we are to return. The comfort of that was fitting for Dax, to know that even as his mother tried to make her way through life, she endeavored. She kept to her promise too, even when it made her so tired, even when it made her want to give in.

He would be his Mother’s Son. He will stand steadfast as she did. Even when life becomes a challenge. Even when those out there that are facing hardships and devastation.

Click.

Click.

Twist.

Hum.

He looks back towards the gathering bits, the brass chain coiling into what will be the pommel of his Lightsabers, resting neatly along with the mechanism that will pull and release as needed. This will be his reminder of that. The struggles of life, and how as a Jedi, he must help alleviate all that he can. To save and protect, to guide and listen. To live, and to die.

His mind returns to Markus, in the cave, just like his mother, a visage, a portents? An alternative promise. An Alternative life, and path if he so desired it. He knows it was there, but, he made a promise long ago, one that meant something to him then, and means much more to him now.

Love, like the one his mother lost. The one he could have, the one he deserved, but, he promised. The path that lay before him leads only to the Force. Not to the arms of another. He knows he would’ve found happiness. Satisfaction. Eventually family, and all that contains. Though grief, and sorrow would too find place there in its loss, but, such is all things in life. He will not be selfish. He will not turn on the future he has chosen. The one he yet walks towards. He will secure these things for the future of others. He will safeguard their lives, their happiness, and their joy. He will ease their grief, and sorrow. He will guide them, and shield them as he must.

The young Mirialan smiles as the pieces continue to glide into their places, trusting in the Force to guide him, as he vows his intent, as he lets the Force flow within, and without of him. He knows that in life there are no promises, except for death and taxes. However, in the Force, there is the promise of more. If only others would listen to it, be resolute in the future they have chosen, yet have not realized yet as they walk. The Force is without time, without sentient conventions of perceptions. It simply is, and it waits. It waits for us to catch up to it. It waits to welcome us home, along the path that it has laid out and all its iterations, webbing outward to its source.

He opens his eyes once more, and they wait, the hilts of his sabers float above the desk, waiting the final piece. The manifestation of his vow. The compact signed, and awaiting delivery. He gazes upon the hilts, identical, brass emitter dipping into a long sleek durasteel, and brass inlay that bleeds into a brass sheath with silver filigree of Mirialan cursive lettering. The handle with silver on its back that is bound with Ronto leather for better grip. The mechanical bits of the Sabers shrouded in brass, with silver accoutrements and at the pommel a silver cap, with a mechanical slot that feeds and reels in the long brass chain coiled inside that pours out of the hole to tether the other saber together with the focal piece. The Pocket Watch of his father. The reminder of where he came, of home and safety. Comfort.

He had tested them before, made sure each piece worked. He had been at this for hours. Or was it days? He has lots track of time, but the crystal floats up from his joined hands, and he guides it to where the Force wills it to be, following lines of the Kyber, the Force parts the Kyber to each Saber, halves but still whole. Two parts for one Heart, where they find a new home in the Lightsabers that will rest within them. As he harbors the Force within him. As the Force encapsulates him. Three are made one.

As he sets the pocketwatch on his hip, arranging the chains that bind them all together, the pocketwatch that anchors it. He ignites both Lightsabers, and remembers when the Crystal within them called out to him. Gentler, softer, almost like his mother’s hymnals in the early mornings as she got ready for the day. It gives him some solace, to be ready to stand against the echoes. The screams in the deepest pits of the galaxy that threaten to smother out the Life of the universe. Should there ever be another Malachor, he will be ready. Should there ever be another War. He will be ready. Till the Force calls him home.