Miranda
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In years gone, women and men - the Jedi, forged lines across the cityscape of Coruscant, and dragged history with them. They were still, with tranquil discourse setting their ways. They were in rough and trenches of metal, in manufactured jungles, in sprawling city, in urban shadows. They were always coming.
And in years long gone they stood at a knuckle of metropolis, and founded the Temple of the Jedi. Domes covered the peak as if a spume of lights had settled. They were above a grey world, while starships and districts and docklands specked the world below them and paid no heed. And they smiled, not cunning nor sated nor secure, but in peace, because they knew their plans were holy. That they had assembled a legacy.
'Others too, in far-flung worlds, will no doubt be gazing at these stars, that never ask which watcher claims the night....loud on the unseen mountain wind, a geejaw's cry quivers in the heart, and somewhere a branch lets one leaf fall'. - Master Yoolam Twei
Hamara inspected the ancient proverb again. She set it to memory and glanced up from her studies to the vista of Coruscant beyond the archive windows. Afternoon had, in its descending transit, saluted the crepuscule which had evanesced swiftly into night. The young Padawan had been in the Order's athenaeum for countless hours and her eyes had drawn hazy from her intensive reading. The morning's lectures on Jedi history and philosophy had resonated with her profoundly, so much so that she had spent the remainder of the day inundated in research.
She rested the most recent datapad on the table and murmured softly to herself in repetition "others too will no doubt be gazing at these stars". Hamara understood the words; that through the Force, everything was connected. Her soft chesnut eyes became transfixed with the evening sky as she uttered the old Master's sagacious words. Even through the blanket of light pollution radiating from the planet, the stars were ever constant.
The night beyond those windows, captured in nocturnal panorama, seemed to Hamara an abyssal sea; the Coruscant moons like obese and luminescent Opee Sea Killers sinking to the pelagic depths in a play of celestial surf. Stars breached beckoning waves and bled their coagulating light across the watery membrane of its surface. The sky seemed an ocean.
She wondered then where her contemporary Padawan learners were; with their Masters perhaps, at training or lectures or meditation, beyond the pane of glass on assignment in the city below.
Hamara decided she should eat, having brushed past lunch in favour of research, her stomach moaned in disapproval. Rising from her archive table she gathered the various datapads and progressively returned them to their respected abodes amidst the shelves.
Departing from her most favoured sanctuary within the Temple, the intellectually satisfied Padawan embarked down the monumental hallways and atriums, aligned with the copious relics of Jedi history, pacing toward the refectory for the evening meal...
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