The cold was biting. It didn’t stop. Treading for miles, a group of Padawan made their way from a secluded, mountainous spaceport elsewhere - The trek felt like it went on for miles, the complaining in the pack was audible over the howling winds. An instructor, leading this gaggle of youthful padawan - Save one, who stood perhaps a head above the recently advanced younglings.
The group trudged through snow, knee-high in some places, waist high in others, until over the horizon a structure could vaguely be made out- Its age was indeterminable, but none along the path could deny the resonance they felt with their surroundings, most of all the Mirialan who followed the rest, perhaps a head higher than the others walking behind the instructors. At the doors, a handful of cloaked and masked Jedi stood guard over the temple ancient, and serene, and set in a line the group was admitted one, by one, out of the harsh snowstorm of the planet itself and into slightly more favorable weather huddled within.
“Padawan Roselyn Kervran.” A voice commanded, as she approached. Bundled in warm clothing, but feeling right at home, she drew close to the entrance and tugged her facemask down enough to expose her nose and mouth, coughing a few times. “Here- Sir-” She stammered, uncertainly, producing a dataslate with a layer of frost coating it. An invitation, official, stamped with approval. It went under intense scrutiny from the temple guard, and she was allowed to pass within the stone structure out of the winds.
The footfalls of a dozen or more Jedi echoed through the hallowed halls of the Jedi temple. The group followed one of those trained to lead them through the ancient temple, although for Rose it was… Overwhelming, to say the least. The harsh cold was a comfort, in its own way. A memory of Mirial. Strands that reminded her of her home far from where she was now. A few moments lost in thought, how something as simple as a sensation had such a power over her.
The dozen or so, led finally to the entrance within the bowels of the ancient temple, to a glittering crystal cave. She anticipated this for some time, ever since she was told she’d be taking her ‘secret trip’ away from Viscara. It was an exciting thought, all leading up to this moment. This… Moment. Set to seek through the network of caves beneath the temple itself. As the grouping of padawans scattered, Roselyn found herself paralyzed. This was it, right? This should be one of the best moments for her, but something felt so… Strange. A tug, somewhere. She couldn’t quite narrow down its direction. Or how even to follow it. A thought of home - Not of this world, or of Viscara, even. But somewhere far away.
A voice, echoed from one of the nearby passageways. Almost recognizable, causing some… Itch in the back of her mind. Compelled, the Mirialan began one foot after the other. A slow pace, clearing her throat. “He-… Hello? Is… S-Somebody there?” Her voice echoed for an eternity, far down the icy, crystalline caverns of Ilum. There it was again- It was… Something. Her steps picked up, faster and faster, moving into a full sprint down the way. For some reason her heart was tugged- A fear built up within her chest. “Hello?! C-Can you hear me?!” She cried out down the way again- And only her rapid steps followed, echoing as she descended deeper into the pits of the caverns themselves.
A wrong step, a careless, panicked move sent the Mirialan toppling suddenly forward. She shrieked, head over heels tumbling down, missing one passageway and simply sliding down, down, down. She skidded into a glittering cavern, slamming into an ice wall opposite of the passage she’d fallen through- Her vision hazy, jolts of pain bolting through her upper body. She looked around hazily, scraping fingernails against the icy floor, trying to scrape and pick herself up.
In her blurry view, a figure. Two figures? Three? Rose dragged herself across the ground, until she could manage a knelt position, rubbing her eyes. Through the blur, each figure seemed to be… Moving. Shadows flowing, a constant flicker and dance back and forth. And finally she realized- There was… A fire. And amongst those flowing and flickering shapes, there was a man, who wore a kind smile. Green skin, decorated with an abundance of geometric patterns and shapes that framed his cheeks, his nose, and his jaw.
“Hello, Rosie.” A gentle voice spoke. The robed man clutched a device in his hands. A metal cylinder- A lightsaber. “Look at you now, you made it. Well, almost.” He mused, with a sigh. One of his hands motioned to an outcropping of ice nearby, just across from the fire, motioning to it. “Well. Don’t just lay there and stare at me. We’re both guests. We aught respect this home of the Force, while it remains gracious enough to give us this time.”
Confused, the violet-eyed Mirialan rose to her feet and stumbled to sit across from the fire, staring at the man. Disbelief was written across her face, and she swallowed audibly. “Y-… You’re…?” She spoke with a crack in her voice. Fear, perhaps. Wonderment. A flash of dual emotions, struck down in their prime as his voice echoed through the chamber again. “You… Don’t need to say anything, Rose. It’s been a long time, now. The course threads of fate move in many a strange way - I regret that mine was severed before it’s time. I had feared, perhaps, that my foolishness had cut yours as well.”
Roselyn stared incredulously into the face of a man, long dead. “M-… Master… I…” A barely audible gasp. “It’s… B-Been so… Long… I c-couldnt…” She was cut off once again by a subtle motion, a gesture of peace by the other Mirialan. “It was not your duty to save me, Roselyn, but I, you. And in this sacred duty, between a Master and Padawan, I failed. But you, strong as you are. Just as resourceful now, as you were when you were little…” A fond sigh.
“I… I s-spent so long. I… I c-couldnt even… K-Keep your sh-ship, or your… Anything.” Roselyn muttered, still in shock. “I spent so l-long, angry… And… A-Alone. There was… Nobody e-else. I stitched my w-wounds… I made my f-fires, my shelter…”
“And you survived.” Came his voice, again. “You learned from my mistakes. You were guided toward your destiny, by your own actions. Through the Force you became free. And now your destiny has brought you to hallowed ground, to recover something you needed.” A knowing smile. A hand was raised, clutching the cylindrical object. “This belongs to you, my Padawan. It serves no function in my life, nor afterlife. Yet it is drawn here, and it shall live through your actions and choices alone.”
Extended, over the blaze, a darkened lightsaber hilt. Not damaged, but chiseled from dark stone. Obsidian, with crystalline formations etched through the handle. An elegant weapon, belonging to a wise man.
“M-… Master…” The words came out, as she reached for the object. Both hands clutched at it, and slowly, but surely its image began to melt away. The older Mirialan, the ghost of Soran Tak, began to fade from Roselyns sight. Clasped between her hands, a crystal of an odd green hue. With his departure, a word, whispered throughout the caverns: “Jekish’linol.” Now faded, the stretch of caverns returned to darkness. For a campfire never truly could’ve thrived here, buried deep within the ice. Clutched in the Padawans hand was a crystal. A promise. A redemption. A memory. The seed to a tool that would save the lives of many, she hoped. With this piece of herself in hand, she began the arduous journey back to the temple proper, to report her findings…