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Aure sits under the stars, watching the skies, his arms resting on his knees. A shadow slips out to take a seat beside him, and he sighs. “They forgot about us, you know? Everything we did in that war, everything the Jedi and our vode did, they wrote us out of the history, like we didn’t even exist, like the Jedi were just some hutuun’la gang and we put them down willingly instead of because that fucking chakaar Sidious was in our heads.”
“I know,” Rán says, her voice soft as she looks up into the black expanse overhead as well, “I know. The Dark Side relies on untruths, as it always has.”
Aure huffs. “You sound like him when you say that, you know?”
Her lips twitch in a smile tinged by grief. “I know.”
“Does that Force of yours tell you if what we’re doing now matters?” he asks, his voice suddenly tired. He feels so tired sometimes, carrying the weight of two wars and countless ghosts on his shoulders. He wishes he could put it down, but who would carry that burden then? This is his duty, the way it always has been.
“It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately.” Rán turns to sit up on her knees, his hands clasped in hers. “Your name will never be forgotten, Aure, I promise. Kar’taylir darasuum , remember? And when I march away, I will carry your name into the Force. Whether we win or lose, you will always be remembered.”
Aure shifts their grips so he can pull her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “You don’t know what that means to somebody like me.” Someone created to be disposable, to be just a number, to be thrown away and forgotten before his body even cooled on the battlefield.
Rán makes a soft, distressed sound, and her arms tighten around him. “It’s the least you deserve,” she says, and he presses a kiss to her hair.
“Come on, alverd’ika, let’s go to bed.” They stand together - and if it takes him a few seconds longer than it used to, she doesn’t say anything, just wraps an arm around his waist and walks inside with him.