Birth of the Demon

NOTE: Great thanks to Sepharih and Sebastian DeLaOsa for their helpful Beta Readings of this piece.

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'I was a historian once, gathering the relics of the Jedi, learning the ancient mysteries. Always, there were more questions. One quickly learns that the Jedi Code does not give all the answers."

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They call a comfortable silence a thing of love. It is said that when one finds someone special -- one's quintessential soulmate -- one can stitch oneself shut for endless amounts of time and share a moment of tranquility. No conversation is asked for nor required to fill a gap because there is no gap, because in this silence, one can feel everything that could or would be said.

But perhaps it is not always a thing of love.

The worn-down old woman felt sheathed in her robes, and had always enjoyed making herself such a presence. When one brushed up against a Jedi on the street, one would need only see the belted hilt of a Lightsaber to respect or fear it; perhaps both, for they are so often the same. She wondered if they felt this way, even as they presumed to judge her for her sins. Sins of petty flesh compared to their sins of grievous mortality, she would tell you.

Jedi Master Kreia, enveloped warmly in her brown robes and hood, stood at the center of the circular depression in the Dantooine Council Room. And for the first time in her entire life, she liked it. Could an entire Council be her quintessential soulmate? Highly doubtful. But in this moment, as they stood paralyzed under her gaze, she felt the power of silence weigh greatly upon their meeting. Although perhaps the rules of comfortable silence did not apply, since only the deadpan sage of a woman felt tranquil in it, whereas the Council in its entirety trembled somewhere inside. After all, one must share a moment of this tranquility, for it to be wholly comforting.

'Do you know why we have called you here?'

Kreia forced her eyes further open, trying to feign a greater measure of interest in the present situation.

Toothless cannoks, the old woman thought, apathetic to her predicament. She could feign arrogance as well, if she so chose, but an eye for an eye would make the whole Galaxy blind, and blind was the only thing she could not be. A life spent under-matched, all this cannok had to sharpen her teeth with was her profound ability to see.

A cannok had a fierce pride in its teeth.

Feeling forced into the question as her eyes wandered warily, Kreia made her choice.

'I am here,' the old Master replied, 'if I am not mistaken, for this Council to hand down a reproach.'

She chose interest.

'Are you prepared to accept this punishment?'

Not arrogance. Though it would be difficult in the presence of such fiercely self-righteous wills, she had vowed never to give Vrook Lamar a chance to see her writhe. Odd, their rivalry, for she had always thought them so similar in a ways. Affection for order, pride in themselves, and a dangerous fascination with the power in knowledge. But what separated them? The quality of their knowledge, and Kreia knew just who had tapped the wealth of the well. She shook off such thoughts, remembering that she had deliberately made the choice away from arrogance.

'I am prepared to accept this punishment... when I have thoroughly been informed of the nature of this... trespass, as it was, and the punishment as well.' The Dantooine Council Chambers had never looked so formal, having just undergone new renovations. Its orange-gray design meshed together in a surprisingly compatible fashion, done over just in time to see the wars come to their close in what would be a matter of days. Ironic to take a closer likeness to Republic colors in the wake of its victory over the conflict the Jedi had so boldly protested against. And as it was with the end of the War, its heroes would soon return home; Kreia's days had been increasingly brightened by the prospect of the return of her prize pupil, even though such a hope was foolish at best.

'Revan,' Dorak interjected, sidling up next to Vrook to suggest dominance (over whom, however, was in question), 'according to all indications, has no intention of returning to the Council, nor do any of the Jedi under the charge of the Republic's army.' The Jedi Master was clearly as displeased as Vrook, but differed in that he showed care in trying to restrain and be civil; a judge in a battle to be impartial. 'As you can imagine, the idea of a divided Jedi body, with separate, self-governing factions, is not sitting well with a great many people.'

Kreia furrowed her brows in dry question. 'You expected them to return? After so open a defiance?'

'We...' Dorak retreated into silence, curling his lips with a sigh. Only Vrook looked undefeated by the statement; truths came in many harsh doses as of late. 'Yes, I suppose we did.'

'Disagreed with our codes on war, Revan did,' Master Vandar speculated, sounding regretful, 'But harboring so great a distaste for all things Jedi, we did not know.'

'These speculations are hasty and presumptious,' Vrook objected, 'There is no clear indicator that all the Jedi in the Republic's charge are going to remain open defectors.'

'What of the talk of these secret meetings, then?' Kreia conjectured. 'I have heard, from a cantina dweller or two...' The woman smirked, sounding lightly pleased. '..of something in the likeness of 'the Independent Force Coalition.'' The Jedi Master across from her made no attempt to hide the distaste for her retorts, at her own hearing, no less. Kreia took a more serious tone to face the man. 'But I would suppose that these are likely offshoot groups, numbering in the miniscule...small groups of only a thousand Jedi, yes...likely have fallen to the Dark Side. Sith, and what not you know. Defiance surely constitutes little else.'

Vrook didn't bother hiding a scowl either.

'Even talk of War's end is presumptuous. Dxun may be days behind the Republic, but the Mandalore is still alive, and the fleet has not broken formation anywhere in the Galaxy.' He turned his gaze more purposefully upon Kreia. 'Revan, as it has appeared throughout the War, has a fondness for a symbolic...and wholly consuming finish.' Kreia could not withhold the pang of smugness within her thoughts, and the Council took strong note of this of feeling.

"If an injury must be done,' she explained indignantly, noticing their reactions, 'it should be so severe that vengeance need not be feared. Leaving the Mandalore alive would only show weakness, and rally enemy numbers during the retreat, thus keeping our precious Jedi at war much longer. Leaving them free to form...' the woman scowled back at Vrook, '...coalitions...'

'So then, I believe it is clear you do know why you are here.'

'These...teachings, things you've been saying,' Dorak continued, 'We believe that your influence on the defecting crop of Jedi, most particularly Revan, was not as much of a coincidence as we'd like to think.

'Oh?'

'Your attitudes, opinions, philosophies and tactics, mirrored are they by Revan's warriors.' Vandar sounded particularly grim. 'Reflecting upon the impressionable youth here and now, these teachings are as well.'

'Open protests against council decrees, edited interpretations of the age-old Code...such things have never before been thought of, let alone been allowed to become template.'

'Is that so?' Kreia inquired defensively, 'Then perhaps you should not have allowed such things to transpire. Or, Vrook, could it be that your passing wit, so garbed as infinite wisdom, and viewed by students as ranting, is finally crumbling under question? You never did find an effective procedure to quell defiance, did you?' The Master fumed, as she knew he would, just as he had the day he had confronted Revan and Malak on a leave day, as they recruited for the Wars in the circular courtyard.

'Temper, Vrook,' an ally of Revan's had teased, 'such anger leads to the Dark Side. Being human, or...breathing, for that matter, is a path to greed, hatred and evil, so I've heard.' Several of the braver members of the crowd of Knights had laughed openly, while others fought back the urge or looked on with impressed intrigue.

'That is Master Vrook, young Knight, and I will not repeat myself again: You will all disperse now!'

'May I repeat,' Revan had cut in forcefully, pushing through the flocks to stand boldly next to the other, 'some choice words: Or what? Will you force us, threaten us? Those are some fairly dark options. It'd be a shame for you to contradict decades of your own arrogant musings in the space of several minutes, wouldn't you say?'

And with that the old dog had simply retreated, an ego forever set aflame, left in desolation to spit at all who still stood around it as it withered in bitterness over years.

'Does this statement suggest, then,' Vrook retorted, 'that you would see it acceptable for our order to have an internal ideological war?' Kreia fluttered her eyes innocently.

'Lest one prevail?' the woman asked dryly. 'Force, no. I would never wish for that.' This, though the fact was it was clear the council did not seem to agree. 'We simply are, as we believe. Our young Knights are free to this end as well.'

'But what is too much, Kreia?' Dorak questioned back, 'consider Macen Netor's beliefs...'

A whip seemed to snap somewhere in the distance; she had been fearing this.

'There is no proof,' she calmly retorted. She had feared this most greatly. Fear, not of their heedless persecution, for that would be in plenty regardless, nor of a proclamation of guilt, for it had already been written, the slithering scales of law tipping and the blinding cloth removed. But a fear for his name, the small etch of personal legacy that remained for him; and they had not forgotten.

'Unfortunate for he, though, that circumstance was so heavily against him.' Vandar, like Dorak, struggled to paradoxically judge without being judgmental. Yet still the scales slithered. 'Anger, with a fellow Padawan he possessed, over such teachings. A group student of Vrook's was this Celene that disappeared.' The whill Jedi shook his head. 'A favorite of yours, was Macen Netor.'

'And that links him to murder?' Kreia questioned indignantly.

'We mentioned a disappearance,' Vrook fired back darkly, 'not a murder.'

'Compelling,' she patronized, tongue aflame, 'for I have never before seen such harsh reproach for presumed 'disappearances.' Are you absolutely certain the looking glass was not fogged, or perhaps...tuned?' Dorak intended to mediate again, stepping forward slightly.

'That turn events rattled all of us,' he paused to glance over at Vrook, who wore a simmering grimace, screaming eyes fixed upon the judged. 'But in the end, the threat of the ideological conflict spreading throughout the breadth of the entire student body was too great. Netor's expulsion allowed us to calm those crying for justice, and assure that a precedent was set.' Kreia shook her head, brushing loose trails of aged-silver hair back behind her hood.

Demonized for an example.

'And now it is time to uphold that precedent.' The old woman stared up at the judges of Council; as if they were actually judges -- even the floor would not elevate them much above her.

'We must place our future, and the welfare of all our students at the highest place. In you, we see a wound in the Order.' A cold shear coursed down Kreia's face as she looked over at Dorak who had spoken.

'At ends with ourselves are we already, with Revan's Jedi. Your beliefs, mirrored are they by agitators - this we cannot have. In you, we see a threat to the Order.' Panic glazed over the cold, her heart picking up pace, lips hanging loosely. Surely not me.

Surely not this. Time and again, over their ideologues they had squabbled, but never before had a reprimand threatened to damn. Doubt and surrender cocktailing inside her, Kreia slowly looked over and up at Vrook Lamar.

'In the greater priority of the Galactic Republic,' he proclaimed with authority, 'under our own Code and legal jurisdiction...' for him, trumpets would sound... 'you are hereby banished from the Jedi Order.' A sharp breath, and Kreia glanced around at all of them; when had the floor brought them so high? 'In accordance with our guides, you are to be given two hours of meditation and reflection, under guard, before a ritual will be performed. When you leave this Enclave tonight, it will be without the Force.' Vandar hung his head respectfully, and Vrook kept a posture of superiority and strength, the whisperings of pride, as the silence seeping into the room threatened to drown them all.

The sounds of foot steps way away were much too loud.

'There is one last thing,' he finished slowly, 'Your Lightsaber. Surrender it to us.' Kreia felt the lump in her throat, and without a cry or gasp, swallowed it in a feign of fearlessness. The panic had burst painfully, and in its place was again the cold. A combined shear of unease and fear, harsh reality and unwillingness to proceed. One could not proceed after something like that, not until something is said or done to make it better. This was all a dream. All a fantasy.

And how these words could melt away the cold, if only the judges would speak them.

'Surrender your weapon now,' Vrook repeated.

They will not speak them. Kreia's breathing was heavy, and eyes drooped. She moved to step forward, but bobbed and staggered slightly. Nothing had warned her of this. For all their differences, not a one had told her that they would go to such an extreme, save for the expulsion of Netor itself, though that was believed to be only because of the nature of the assumed offence.

Precedent.

She pulled herself together halfheartedly and moved forwards more, chest feeling punctured and feet shuffling muddily. As she stood uneasily under their gaze, she felt the power of silence weigh greatly in upon their meeting; though now more than ever the rules of comfortable silence could not apply, since only the Council brimmed in its regretted power, whereas she now rattled. After all, one must share a moment of tranquility for it to be wholly comforting, and no one in the Chamber could share what was not there.

'I will not ask you again, surrender your weapon.' There was no comfortable silence. The Council exchanged looks of unease; Kreia coming to life once more, unaware that her own silence had taken so much time. Following her trail of heavy breathing, her shaky right hand brushed gently past the brown robes, and pulled the hilt from the smooth beige belt. Vrook extended a hand outwards, but the tired sage held it up to examine it. It was a simple, single bladed weapon, the hilt about ten inches long, and at its center glowed a lush blue Upari crystal, fetched from Dantooine's caves themselves. She had made it the day she learned to see, and fully realized the gift of the Force. Up until those days the young girl had been a terrified, amoral shell, and this weapon had come with her sight; her teeth. All save the bravest young Jedi in the Galaxy, Jedi Master Kreia was proud of nothing more than how she could see, the only way she had stayed alive.

It was not a thing to be surrendered.

'If you want this...' she croaked bitterly from under her hood, 'then take it yourself.' With a whipping wind of speed, the hilt latched to Kreia's right hand and the oceanic blade thundered out terribly across the vicinity of her chest. In a swift motion synchronous with the entire Council jumping backwards, the old Master gripped the blade tightly and pitched it brutally towards the ground with the blade still ignited, hissing sharply. The tension melded with the cold and faded away after a moment with everyone coming back to their senses, peering down at the bevel in the circular depression where the saber had buried itself - smoking, spitting and crackling.

'Something as great as this...' Kreia hissed, 'it is not...surrendered.' She surveyed them again, every churning feeling swirling together. 'You can't stop the changes of life, any more than you can stop the suns from setting. The only wound in the Order - is yours - and Revan has made it bleed.'

And they fear this.

Vrook sighed and shook his head pitifully, much to the woman's chagrin. 'I sense great fear in you, Kreia.'

'Your senses betray you, as you have betrayed me.'

'A betrayal? Is that how you see this? It's no wonder that your students hasted to war as quickly as you did years ago. And what wars they can't fight, they keep here to bring upon others.' Kreia scoffed arrogantly, more than tired of burying it.

'Macen Netor never killed any one, nor wanted to. As I recall, he refused Revan's call to war. A shame...this precedent of yours, Vrook. He adored you so.' The statement seemed to catch the man off balance, but he quickly refused the ponderings it sparked. Kreia smirked perversely at this small victory. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a Padawan from the entranceway to the Chamber who strolled over proudly. A young, brown-haired woman addressed the Council.

'Yes, Master?'

'Take her to the room,' Vrook instructed the much younger woman. 'Guard it. Make sure she is comfortable, but no is to speak to her. Is that clear?' The Padawan caught a glimpse of the subject before the Council, mouth hanging open with mild surprise.

'Padawan,' Vrook repeated, snapping the girl out of her inattention.

'My apologies Master. Are more guards required?'

'This is not a prison,' Dorak interjected, 'and your presence will be suitable.' A pull of the Force, and the Jedi Master summoned the smoking hilt from where it had embedded itself, switching the blade off.

Kreia took a last, dog-eyed look at the Council. 'Perhaps...we shall see.' With a final bitter heave of her chest, Kreia turned and walked away from the Chambers, the Padawan trailing after her.

---

Banished.

Kreia's body chilled at the thought, sliding weakly down onto the narrow room's floor in exasperation. A sharp breath, she crossed her legs and adjusted her hood in preparation to meditate. The Padawan towered rigidly above the defeated Master outside the transparent-blue energy field that sealed her off. Kreia sighed coldly.

Before the war such a thing never would have happened, came her thoughts, creeping again. Now...now they fear. A million repetitions buzzed and hissed around inside her mind, clutching and grabbing for a justification, a means of reversal or a sense of reprise; this couldn't be it.

'Fool thoughts,' she chastised under her breath. The room was much like a holding cell, though an interior designer would certainly appreciate the effort put into the aesthetic differences. Normally used for rations storage, and designed in the new faded orange that many of the Dantooine Enclave's rooms had taken on, it was certainly more pleasant than an actual cell. Though perhaps that could be considered a cruelty in itself, much akin to a guard serving a well-to-do meal prior to an execution. Another deep breath, and Kreia shut out her physical awareness to open her true eyes.

Pouring forth in a thunder-blast of air, the Force coursed through the sage in yellow-white wisps of brilliant light. The tendrils of white whipping relentlessly, the Dantooine sun transcended physicality along with her, taking the mantle of the seemingly endless void of white that had enveloped Kreia's meditation; a blinding yellow orb to bring warmth without heat. All the materialisms around her melted away, and the plane of white shattered into shards of tinted green with a deafening snap. Over a void of black left in the splintering's wake, the shards drizzled away into specks of dust, and took the forms of people around her in their teal, faceless tints. The physicality no longer mattered; through the walls, now unimportant, shapes and sizes of all the different people throughout the academy trailed in and out of her sight; what a gift to see. How proud she was of this.

Kreia was at peace. For now, reality could be drowned away. For a time, happy would take precedence over right. Confidence returning, she looked up and to her left to see the gargoyle of a student still faithfully watching over -- but not in faith to her. Quite against the girl's clear wishes, Kreia caught the student glancing back at her, but with a stone face of no regret she turned away, chin upwards of the 'banished.'

Clearly a student of Vrook's...

"I won't bite you child, regardless of what you might think."

The girl remained silent for a moment, still leaning against the wall to the left of the holding shield. "They...' she blurted, pausing for a moment after. 'They say I should not speak to you."

"And why do you think they would say that?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because you are dangerous."

"I would only speak words, child. They are but words. How could words be dangerous?"

'Perhaps we should ask Revan,' the Padawan mused, traces of venom licking her tone. 'They say the defector studied with you.'

'Is that that what they say?' The old Master looked further up, eyeing the young woman curiously. 'I know of you,' Kreia observed. ' Yes...they say you have some rather unique abilities...hm. If you wish to speak, then do so.' Warily, the young woman tugged her belt tighter around her Padawan's robes and slumped off of the wall she had been leaning upon, turning to face the banished. Her brown eyes studied the exiled woman curiously, despite her sharp tune.

'They say I am not to speak to you, Master,' the girl repeated.

'They?' Kreia prodded. 'Or did Vrook -- say you are not to speak?'

'Master Lamar,' the girl lectured bitingly, 'is a member of the Jedi High Council where you are not. You would do well to address him appropriately.'

Kreia scoffed; no superiority would need to be feigned now. 'He is, isn't he? A member of the Jedi High Council,' she mused mockingly, much to the student's chagrin. 'A Council so proper and so wise, that they defer a hearing of Exile to a secondary Council, with only one of their members present. A Council so open and so united, that they sweep all my affairs under a rug and out of notice; Secondary Council hearings are not often on High Council record. They are hardly even heard of outside their vicinity. I would wager that my old friend Kavar will believe me dead within months, just as the rest of those who will not hear of this. A procedure of Exile here...my, they are afraid.'

'You would speak of the Council so judiciously?' the Padawan scolded. 'And call them fearful, no less! What could they possibly have to fear from you?' The sage clearly took pleasure in speaking and imparting wisdom, for what other purpose did it serve at such an age than to be passed on? But the reluctance of the student and the lingering sting threatening to overtake her peace hung overhead.

'Fear of many things, little one.' Like a tired librarian, she explained. 'They fear the will of the Living Force, and prefer to rule by Code, the Unified Force, as opposed to instinct. How arrogant, when the Force itself is instinct. And, I believe they took a selection of choice comments too seriously, though it is not difficult to see why: they are concerned that Revan's Jedi will become the only Jedi.'

'Hmph,' the girl snorted. 'Revan was your Padawan, then? Your voice hides no fondness.'

Kreia could not help but smile briefly at the creeping change; even the sponge stiffest by choice could hunger to be wet.

'A cat's curiosity finds few companions in students of Master Lamar, young Bastila,' the old woman taunted dryly. 'What urges your tongue so suddenly?'

'Padawan Shan will do fine, Master,' Bastila instructed in restrained offense. 'I am to be professional with my Masters.'

Kreia grunted lightly. 'Titles are fleeting. Given to bind one to action regardless of heart.' The younger woman huffed again, and to the heretic's face itself. Her body constricted in a sort of muffled fit, and she turned back to take her post. The blazing sun of Dantooine's eternal summer paled her face still. Bastila paused there, and turned her head back to the old Master in this light, looking upon the peaceful old woman with rigid cold, as though she were testing new eyes. Kreia's glittered; well at home, and far more penetrating for it. And through the Padawan they saw: the cold eyes hungered.

'Very well...Padawan Shan,' she began, 'I will respond, if you are to speak.' The Master extended a slender to finger and drew her hood further over her brow, memories flowing forth. 'Revan was not my personal student, but I did see that one come in here as a brat, and grow. When I managed the Archives, I would be bombarded by endless questions that would lead to private sessions. After I moved on from that, I was offered a place on the Council, but my time with this particular student was rewarding...rewarding enough to also be demanding. So I declined, and the position instead went to a man just slight of middle age whom I fought alongside in the Sith War.'

'Master Lamar,' Bastila finished perceptively, eyes fixed with interest.

'Yes. Vrook,' Kreia grumbled. 'Revan and I spoke as much as friends, and became as such over time. As I watched this student grow, I saw the brilliance passed on to different Masters, for Revan never bothered to leave the Academy, and never took on one Master though given the choice. Trained by all manner of Jedi: Dorak, Kae...that fool Zhar...I had set Revan on the path early in what would be an eventful life to be led, and after that I let my student be free to pursue it until war called...and then Revan required only one last teaching.'

'And what was that?'

'How to leave the Jedi...forever.' Bastila raised her chin, nodding, and registering all the flowing information like a computer in spite of the source. Kreia noted the receptiveness of the girl peeking through.

'So,' she said accusingly, 'you did encourage Revan to war.'

'Yes, and no,' Kreia sighed. 'I imparted to Revan what I learned from War, and then my student, like any firebrand of a youth, took the teachings however they were best to be used. But can I say what my pupil did was wrong, or that I am disappointed? No. In fact, I am most proud.'

'What was it like training Revan?'

'Revan...Revan was power,' Kreia told the Padawan with a stronger fire in her voice, 'It was like staring into the heart of the Force.' She nodded, eyes partially glazed in thought. 'But, now I am tired.' Kreia nodded, accepting her body's warnings. 'Is there anything else you wish to ask before I retire?' Bastila's eyes wandered in careful consideration, as if trying to crack a vault; the proper method would yield the greatest prize.

'Yes. Why do you...and Master Lamar...disagree so greatly?' The older woman curled her lips, as if soured by the very thought.

Betrayal.

'To be perfectly honest with you,' Kreia answered with curt resignation, 'I had never thought myself that different from him, nor the Council. We all learned the lessons of Exar Kun's war, watching our brothers die on each other's blades. I see now, however, the great difference of what we learned.'

'And what was that difference?'

'Some learned of the terror Dark Side, others learned its workings, how better to fight it. Some were taught to fear power because of how evil used it, and the wiser of us...we learned how to turn it against them. Was it not Nomi Sunrider who stripped Ulic Qel-Droma of the Force through what they would call the Dark Side?'

'But! It was...'

'Was it?' the Master fired back with sharp question. 'Or was it what was necessary? I do not advocate thuggery or hatred, nor brooding contempt. And under no circumstance will I promote aggression or offense for any goal. But I will not disarm, and I will not fear what can be done for those around me, for is our life not sacrifice? It was our fear of this that nearly killed us all, and killed far too many on the way.'

'I...yes, I've heard many of the stories. I'm terribly sorry, I am.' Bastila shifted uncomfortably on the ground, the genuine impact of the apology surprising them both. Kreia raised her head, studying the girl's expressions closer, nodding as she read the tension in the room.

'The time will come, young one, when you too will have to make the choice between what is easy...and what is right. I know your faith in the Council is strong no matter the disputes, but all people fail. If you make them more than they are, if you keep them on their pedestal, you will walk blindly into grave consequences -- I promise you this.'

'Well,' Bastila retorted, the fire returned to her, 'if that's true, then what makes you right, now?'

'Among my years of experience, there are also the laws of probability and the undeniable nature of humans and their counterparts. Be careful of these Jedi, young Padawan. Only through a greater view can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi.'

'And what if I don't want power?'

'Then be prepared to accept the world's end with a tear, for you could've done your part had you the power.'

'World's end?!'

'Yes...all worlds end one day or another. If you don't care for power, I pray your day does not come soon. Take that to heart, young one. The chance is still there for you and your peers.'

Bastila stepped away and further into the sun, as if leaving the lair of a beast sooted. 'They...' she scoffed in pity, a break in speech to shake her head. 'They were...right about you. You're no Jedi.' Kreia's head sunk; there was no more peace. Confident in herself, the Padawan allowed the Banished her miniscule peace of physicality, for there would be little more of mind.

A dark cloud formed over her, but Kreia could not afford weakness now; everything she held dear was at stake. Quite sure of the Padawan's absence, if only slight of proximity, she stood wearily and cast a frail hand forward. Fingers protruded, Jedi Master Kreia felt sheathed in her robes, and only could hope that the fear of what may lay inside would keep any from brushing past. She jabbed a finger out further into the air, and watched the blue field before her start to flicker.

---

The Council dissolved itself, adding post-meeting minutes which were to be carried on in the next session; they had a full Enclave to run after all. Vandar returned to his duty of tending to the newly accepted apprentices; soon a new crop would be accepted into full training. Dorak sent off a datapad with Zhar, and proceeded onwards away from the Council Chambers, the other at his side.

'A shame that some things must happen,' Vrook shook his head solemnly. 'So much wisdom wasted.'

'That's what our duties entail, unfortunately,' Master Dorak reassured, strolling along next to him. 'No one says these decisions are easy.' The two walked quietly for a moment, unified in their reverent contemplation; this had not been a pleasant task. Past the bustle of Archivists and Padawans, they made their way through the outer halls of the Council Chambers. Sounds of the older man's nostrils, apparently clogged, glared intrusively in tail with his heavy breathing.

'Do you ever ponder...'

'No I don't,' Vrook cut off his companion bluntly.

'But it must bother you some time or another. Are our rules always worth the risk? Suffice it to say her bitterness about this brings me great unease.'

'She will be closely watched, and will not likely try any stunts,' the Master summed up. 'Not without our knowledge in any case. Her pride is her downfall, and if she does make any attempts at any grand gesture, it will be grand enough for us to notice.'

'For calling it a 'shame,'' Dorak conjectured, 'you certainly sound glad to be rid of her.'

'It is a shame,' Vrook retorted sternly. 'It's a shame that someone would throw away their life's work for something as trivial as...'

'Morals? Beliefs?'

'Don't argue with me,' he grumbled back. 'This has been enough of a day already.'

'Very well, I'll resist,' Dorak conceded apologetically. The pair made their way into the circular courtyard adjacent the Chambers, emerging fully into the blaring sun. Rounding the central fountain, rushing and churning with cool, liquid life, the pair paused to nod and wave back at the succession of Padawans that addressed them as they passed by. Vrook smiled admiringly at a young student who waved at the old Masters. The boy blushed, and bowed in reverence before continuing on. Dorak waved at another Padawan, and motioned for the two to keep going.

'Not yet,' Vrook requested politely. 'It's...a nice day.' Dorak looked up at the sky, and back down at the activity in the area around them.

'I suppose it is,' he commented, smiling as well.

'Nice days...nice days make the hard decisions a little easier.'