Meko mulled over the files again, the archives was quiet this night, except for the quiet workings of its caretaker… She had played out the scenario in her head again and again. The day she captured the man who slew her Master all those years ago.
She hadn’t been alone, Meko had taken with her people she knew she could rely on, people she thought… atleast at the time, she could trust… and trusted her.
She had fully expected to kill the man, to find some. Megalomaniacal sith spy awaiting her in some sort of convoluted game of ‘how many traps do I having waiting’
But when the door opened and they found him, Meko was taken aback at the mess of a man who had regretted everything, wallowing in a mountain of empty bottles and unwashed cloths.
She remembered being angry… instantly, angry that she had lost her reason, no… her excuse to just kill him and have vengeance be done.
It had to be a trick, a ploy… some Sith lie to make her drop her guard. But every question he answered rang true, and those answers did not fill the hole that she was hoping to close. She still felt bitterly her loss, even after so long and the chance to make herself feel better about didn’t exist, she couldn’t cut him down now… …shed be no better then them, she wouldn’t even be herself if she did… Hraden was a sith no more, just a broken man.
He even offered his neck, sorely was she tempted. The memory of those few seconds where she contemplated brought a frown to her face as she paused and reached for her mug of hot cocoa…
…She took a long sip, savoring the sweet and heated treat… a habit she had picked up from Dax, one he had taught her after his experience at Volkus… he never did talk to her about how that affect him, which once again made her frown and sip the drink again. Perhaps she might have been able to help, she was no stranger to war after all.
Meko sighed, abit too loud which drew the attention of the caretaker, who was about to come assist when Meko smiled apologetically at them and shook her head quickly, how long had she sequestered herself in the Archives now anyway… she dared not look at the clock, she could stop what she was doing now… it had to be reviewed again, all of it… there could be no mistakes, but she was tired… and her mind wandered again from the task at hand… back to the chocolate…to Dax and Volkus… then the war… both of them… and then one, the thought was vivid and bright… she remembered the beskar shining in the sunlight and the report of blaster fire everywhere, the hum of her saber in hand as she stood by the side of all the other Revanchists she had known… she was so young back then, barely out of her teens the tattoos still fresh upon her nose and cheeks from when she had come of age to bare them ‘She who stood tall’ Her master was never one for clever humor, and Meko did not think it funny to write her absurd size as her ‘notable achievement’ But as the war raged around her, she had begun to understand… she was terrified… but never backed down. Always ready to volunteer or step up to protect a friend, and the last to back down even when she was being stubborn… which went in hand with her more worrying traits ‘Fierce defender of the tribe’ Meko knew now that her master had recognized her inability to not become attached, and guard those attachments closely… it was something Meko never recognized herself until only very recently… but this wasn’t now, this was the war and Meko stood beside her best friend… one she cherished more then the code itself.
…Her name was Rateel, and she was a padawan like Meko… and a Mirialan, one of the people who shared a strong belief in Unity like Meko herself, she was just as headstrong and as brave as Meko… somethings, even more then, Meko would often think… Never afraid to speak her mind on what her masters plans and tactics were. Her master was a human, Jedi Knight Hraden… and Meko felt alittle sorry for her… it was tradition of the people to take padawans of their own race… and she could see it on Rateels face, whenever Meko and her master would share in things only Mirilans could, she could see the jealousy stare… and feel the sadness… She would spend as much time with Rateel as she could spare, for several reasons… the most important, she did not want one of the people to feel alone… and the second, she really liked Rateel, a better companion for the duration of the war Meko would not have asked for, and they were paired a lot, their masters often working in tangent on the same missions and strike teams, when they survived their first large scale engagement… one where losses had been heavy on both sides, Meko insisted to her master that Rateel also be marked for the feat… after a brief disapproving stare, and a few pleading words… Meko had gotten what she wanted, and Rateel was ever thankful, or so Meko felt… to be brought back into tradition… secretly… Meko had pressed the issue in the face of declination because of childish reasons… she just wanted something the pair of them could share in, something no one could take away…
and no one would, by the end of the war, the two young Padawan each has no less then six identical geometric tattoos upon their left calf… each denoting the survival of a conflict that claimed more then survived… and surprising, the Mandalorians had failed to leave their mark upon the pair… so in-tune with each others style… movement and tactics the pair were ever more dangerous to their foe, nights were passed with comraded laughter and loss was felt in quiet moments, Meko had even gone so far as to dye her hair when she lost a bet… vague and faint in memory to what it was… to match Rateels, something she had never stopped doing. Then the war was over… Meko was on her way tot he shuttle, be her friends side… she was excited, there was talk of knighting once everyone was home for many and the pair has gossiped how they were surely to be among those advanced, then the world around Meko shattered… pieces falling as broken glass away as she heard her masters scream, the cry to run… and in seconds, the hot burning sensation of plasma through her chest… …Meko started awake gasping for air at the shockingly real feeling, and clutched at her chest… where a solitary scar sit just above her heart, she squeezed it as the phantom pain faded… then harder as the sorrow followed, eyes tight as a few times fell down her cheeks, then she sobbed silently, in the dim lighting of archives, shoulders rocking with each short breath…