Chapter Text
It wasn’t grief. Whatever Osha felt, she knew it couldn’t be simple enough to be explained with a single word.
Master Sol? Sixteen years of her life? Her failure to become a Jedi?
Grief wasn’t the right word to describe it.
And Mae would be fine; not every Jedi would betray her. Not every Jedi had killed their mother. Not every Jedi was like Sol.
This unknown feeling was rooted in every step she took. The unevenness of the forest floor, the moons peeking through the canopy of the trees, the cracking of twigs under their quiet steps, the call of birdsong, the hum of life, the silence that death desperately yearned for. It followed her like a shadow as they made their way back to the ship they’d left cradled in a small clearing surrounded by the peaked mountains and looming trees of Brendok’s forests.
Forests she’d grown up sneaking out to play with Mae, despite always having ended up playing alone. Trees that she’d whispered her secrets to, her fears of ascension, the hopes that one day she’d get to see the stars closer than what she saw through her bedroom window.
Whether or not she ever believed they’d truly listened, they seemed to whisper back now.
As she passed the trunks one by one, she wondered if she would ever find herself back there. Like wondering if she’d ever find her sister again, she simply did not know. But the trees felt like they knew the answer for her, their branches whispering weak goodbyes with every breath of wind.
Mae was only a speck of a silhouette against the yellow bunta leaves when she looked back now. She could see the figures of who she assumed were other Jedi approaching the tree, their robes flowing in the breeze.
There was no hesitation in her decision to be the one to continue training. In the face of capture, the urge for them to exist as two was outweighed not by jealousy but by love, something the Jedi had always said she was to keep to herself. But through this love was a sacrifice for closure, and they had both accepted the consequences.
No Jedi could have done what they had.
Only one of them could follow this path.
A few paces ahead, Qimir stopped to observe her, his head tilted in fascination as he watched on. He removed his helmet with his free hand; the other held his cape against his side, just above where the hilt of his saber hung from his waist. It was a risk, but strangely, he felt like he owed it to her to show his face after she’d proved her worth, and he’d honour it so long as it was safe to do so.
“We do not have time to gawk at the past, Osha.” He turned back to the path ahead and continued their walk back up to the ship. “This was her decision as much as it was yours. You’ll have plenty of time to understand why back on the island.” He put the helmet on again and led the way.
Osha turned to follow him through the densely packed foliage, noticing that they had most likely fallen victim to their hasty arrival earlier that day. Not once had she imagined the possibility she’d be returning; if anything, it would have been Mae in her place. As long as she had been alive and well.
It was not long before they reached the clearing; the telltale sign of landing patterns in the grass pointed to the direction of the vessel. Their footprints were still fresh in the mud, their rushed departure from the boarding ramp echoing through her memories as she tried to remember the person she’d been.
When she had departed the ship only hours before, she was still so hopeful and full of determination to do what was right. Now, standing in the same place yet again, she wasn’t able to tell what was right anymore.
There was no panicked takeoff, despite the Jedi being so close by. It was strange. Even when she’d been a padawan, their missions seemed to have always been rushed with never enough time to get prepared for their departure; the transport would shudder off the ground and shoot into the atmosphere with little to no warning.
The contrast was Qimir silently completing their pre-flight checks alone and unhurriedly as she stood on the ramp, looking out at the vast, lush landscape. Brendok was as alive as she was, and yet an anchor of tragedy sunk deep through its crust. Pain that existed before she had and hurt that would outlive her by centuries.
She crouched to the ground and ran her hands through the tall grass, letting the dew of an early evening tickle her palm. The gentle hum of the ship’s engine starting was met with the whistling of the wind, and she froze. Her heartbeat seemed to slow in her ears and sync with her breath as she looked down at her hands. Dirt-caked nails turned muddy and wet; the dirty water dripped down her fingers and stung the small cuts on her palm. She angrily tore at the blades to rid herself of the dirt, leaving her with a pile of dead grass and irritated skin.
Osha found herself heaving for oxygen as she broke out of the sudden outburst of anger. She looked down at her hands again; her smooth but calloused fingertips, worn, injured palms and scarred knuckles looked back as permanent accessories.
With a deep sigh, she settled them in the bed of torn grass and tried to connect to the life around her, but as she stared at her limp fingers on the grass, it only reminded her of the stillness of Master Sol’s body on the lawn of the fortress.
Brendok was as alive as he was. Like a pair of birds returning to a fallen nest and broken eggs, their grating voices screeching through the air, asking for forgiveness. Like her, they were also met with only the orangey-pink sky of a two-mooned sunset. Neither could be ignored.
With a handful of the grass, she swiftly stood, walked onto the ship and shut the ramp behind her. She didn’t have much she called her own, let alone anything that belonged to her on Qimir’s ship, but she unclipped Sol’s her lightsaber and placed it along with the tufts in a storage locker.
Qimir, already strapped into his seat but now helmetless, watched her climb into the second cockpit and prepare for their departure. The comms link between them was alive and buzzing, but only his nav system was enabled to ensure their destination would stay a secret.
“We really should get going,” she noted aloud with a glance to his side as she looked out at the forest again. The Jedi were still out there. A smirk hung from Qimir’s face like a reminder as she talked, and when she turned to look at him in question, he was already staring back at her. “What?”
“We haven’t been hanging around here just so you could grab a souvenir and reminisce old memories.” Qimir rolled his eyes with a small chuckle. “Easier to lead them away from their ship if they’re even following us, hm?” he quipped. “Besides, the Jedi got what they were after.”
“Mae…”
“Yes, exactly. Her, but not us.” Qimir sighed and thrust the engines, bursting through the trees and escaping the atmosphere before the Jedi could identify the ship.
~
For a meknek, long hauls in space were a given, so a measly seven hours would pass by like nothing. The longer trips weren’t a problem for her either – what really got to her was the isolation.
The trip back to whatever island planet Qimir was mining cortosis from wasn’t too long from what she remembered – although, she had only found her way back to Brendok, not having thought to remember any coordinates. It didn’t help that the anticipation of finding Mae had made time feel slower on the journey there, so she also couldn’t pin the exact flight time. She would be fine, though. If only the damn nav system worked in her cockpit; if only Qimir trusted her enough to not have disabled it.
What she wasn’t used to was the silence.
Between the crew or the radio or Pip whirring away in the corner of the room, Osha wasn’t too familiar with the type of quietness that came with personal travel across the galaxy. Sharing a ship was familiar, sure, but never as a copilot and definitely not as the sole passenger. She was used to keeping herself company, but this was different.
This was new, and the silence was heavy under the banner of space. Looking out the window, the furthest point was nothing but the blackest void.
“At least we have our own spaces,” she mumbled and glanced out to the second cockpit. Although Qimir had re-patched the comms system, they hadn’t spoken since they’d taken off, and, three hours in, she was comfortable with it staying that way. However, his voice crackled over the comms as he caught her eye.
“Bored already?” He cocked an eyebrow as he continued to watch her stare. Like he had on Brendok, his head tilted like he already knew the answer.
She rolled her eyes and raised her hand, threatening to cut off the comms once again. “No– no need for that again. Just–” His voice cracked from hours of not talking, stopping himself from sounding too harsh. “Just a few more hours.” She didn’t reply.
They slipped back into that heavy silence again.
When it was clear that he wasn’t going to push for a reply, Osha turned her cabin’s lights off and pulled her hood up to hide her face. The red-and-white blinking buttons and switches on the walls flashed incrementally as she slumped down in her chair and brought her knees up to her chest.
The vastness of the galaxy was only separated by the thinnest veil of glass, and somewhere beyond it, Mae was most likely a prisoner on a transport ship headed to Coruscant like Osha had been placed on. That, or the Jedi hadn’t wanted to risk another mistake and had brought her along with them. She didn’t know which one was worse.
In the dark, cocooned into herself, the layers of the day began to fall. How had she not recognized herself in her vision? And why had she been so insistent it was Mae, not herself? How had she not known she was capable of what she’d seen herself do until the moment it mattered? Or, deep down, had she known she was capable all along? In denial of it all until the very end, just like Master Sol had been. Believing her own lie.
Every contradiction to who she thought she was lit up like a datapad in her head. The years of Master Sol’s training, treating her differently than the other younglings and accrediting it to just that – being different: an older student and nothing more. The attention from the council had certainly made her feel special, but that wasn’t always a good thing.
Then the years after, blaming herself for not being able to follow his teachings. Blaming herself for being too weak, not being able to get past the truth and carrying her resentment around like a faulty med-pack. Blaming Mae for being the sole purpose of her hurt. Resentment founded on a lie that her Master had made sure would never be uncovered. Having to settle as a mechnek and thinking, sure, she was among the stars, but what did it matter when loneliness was its byproduct?
Now, looking into the eyes of the memory of the man she thought she knew, Osha could only see the emptiness of guilt and the sorrow of failure. The guilt of a man who would never admit he was wrong, even when the truth was served in front of him. Who else had Sol lied to? What else had he been capable of? How much hadn’t he admitted?
Nobody would know, but what would be done about it anyway? Her mother wasn’t going to come back, even if he was sorry, and he hadn’t explicitly said he was. Besides, the Jedi were always so easy to turn on their own, seeing how quickly they’d arrested her at the beginning of it all.
Her mind was pulled taut like a string, and she felt one tug away from completely falling apart again.
Unsurprisingly, the one moment that kept replaying over and over was the look of acceptance on his face in his last moments. Why had he said it was okay? Like she needed permission from him to take that final step.
He still had the nerve to look into her eyes, like he was forgiving her for what she was capable of, what he knew she was about to do. An acknowledgement of his failure. And she broke.
But it wasn’t the suffocating, crushing dread like she’d felt under Qimir’s mask. It was an overwhelming release. Like the first breath of air a newborn takes or the unexpected dip a speeder makes when jumping off a ledge, and your stomach falls for that split second.
The way out was right there, close enough to grab and wrap her hands around. It bubbled like a giggle threatening to climb out of her throat, like a noiseless scream begging to be heard. And as she reached out, it was solid like the saber in her hand. As real as the man that stood before her, and then, with a rattle and a shake, he crumpled to the ground.
Osha had unclenched her hand and felt the tension bleed out of her arm with a jolt. The world was too bright for her, her surroundings too loud, and they didn’t cease even when she’d fallen to her knees.
Breathe. Focus on the ground beneath you. Feel the dirt and the bugs that call it home—the dusty rocks digging into your knees. Breathe. Breathe. Brea– She gasped.
The voice in her head telling her to be calm was Sol’s – a direct memory, word for word. As Qimir stood at her side, offering a comforting hand, she slashed out and lit the saber, its light transforming from blue to red in front of them. The plasma blade shook with intensity at the shift as if it were mirroring her feelings for all to see.
Osha opened her eyes and found herself back on Qimir’s ship.
How vivid had that memory been to, even for a moment, have placed her so clearly back in that mindset? She curled further into herself and looked out at the swirling trails of hyperspace, catching the reflections of light refracting from Qimir’s cockpit.
And for a second, Osha thought he’d been looking right back at her. It was too dark to tell.
She wrapped her cloak around herself and leaned the seat back as far as she could, imagining a white void in her head until she drifted off into a restless sleep with a frown.
In the other cockpit, Qimir shut off his cabin lights and kicked his feet up onto the console. Since entering the safety of hyperspace and setting the ship to auto-pilot, he’d been stuck between trying not to look over at Osha every other minute and clearing his mind, the latter being something he hadn’t thought would be as hard as it was proving to be.
His helmet sat on the floor behind him. Osha deserved to see him when she eventually decided to look his way. There was no intimidation, no threat left to impose anymore. Only the both of them, the power of two.
He could sense her mind’s unease like an unravelling ball of yarn. Even when they’d first met on Olega, he saw how much she trusted the people she cared about. She would throw herself headfirst into the fire for love and loyalty, knowing the consequences but doing it anyway.
He wondered if a Jedi would have had the strength to do the same thing. Would they have the guts to sacrifice themselves for something they forbid themselves from feeling?
Qimir didn’t think so, but then again, he was always open to being proven wrong.
Their escape from Brendok was easy, not that he’d had to escape many times before – only once. The best way to not be found out was to not exist at all, and after years of hiding, he had perfected the art of living under the radar.
But he had felt her there on Brendok.
Vernestra, his old master. She was there.
She’d been on that recovery squad, and if he had felt it so strongly, so had she.
How quickly he’d adorned his helmet was only the first indication of his worry. His immediate desertion of the courtyard was a better testament to his fear.
This feeling wasn’t new, but it had been so distant from him for so long. This kind of fear was guttural and pulling, like a blow to the abdomen, the hollow pain spreading topically and right to the point.
How long had it been since he’d felt that kind of unease? Sure, he was stronger now, more capable of defending himself and confident in his abilities, but something inside of him felt like the child that had once looked at the Jedi temple with awe. The naive kid who had been elated to be chosen as her padawan, the pupil that had terrified her enough to warrant an attack that had injured him so severely.
Hiding in the shadows of the fortress ruins, he had looked down on his old teacher as she silently bid farewell to her friend and fellow master. It was a risk to stay, but he had to make sure it was her.
He also knew it was only a matter of time before she shifted past her momentary mourning and latched on to more pressing matters: finding the culprit. And now that she knew he was still alive, Qimir had to stop being as reckless.
He had an acolyte now.