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Khaimov stood in front of the wall of plaques, staring at one name sadly. His quarry, the rogue padawan whom had murdered his master on Nar Shadaa and fled, was dead, slain by unknown assailants. His hunt was done, finished, completed. He could return to Anoth, to the Jedi. He could return home.
He should feel glad, or relieved. His hunt, which has lasted years, was finished. He was exonerated, the true murderer had been brought to justice. Yet it felt hollow. Unfinished. These unknown assailants had robbed him of his victory, and his chance to drag the padawan back before the Grand Master. Ebberla was not going to be pleased. Not in the slightest. Though that was no longer as terrifying as it might have been. Not after gaining years whilst trapped in the past. Years of experience and knowledge that would serve him well for his future dealings. He had truly opened himself up to the Force, and through that had learned the truth of who he was. He no longer feared judgement, for that would imply guilt. He had doen everything he could at this point in time.
So why did it still feel unfinished? Perhaps it was simply the feeling of being robbed. Perhaps it was the Force trying to tell him something. He wasn't quite sure. All he knew is that it felt hollow, and that he missed Elemia even more. She had not been the best of masters, as Vica would attest to. But she had been the one to train him, to show him what he could do if he put his mind to it. She had turned him from grieving young man into a jedi worthy of the name. And now, here he was, grieving all over again. He found a slight humor in this fact. A humor that was perhaps inappropriate to his location.
With a final sigh, the Bear turned from the wall of the fallen and strode off towards his ship. He carried a purpose with him, and an urgency. It was time to go home.
The ship blasted through hyperspace, running on autopilot as Khaimov meditated. The journey through hyperspace was going to take some time, and the master jedi wanted to be prepared for his arrival. It didn't help that there was a growing unpleasantness sifting through his soul, a sick, twisting feeling that seemed to cling to him more and more as they approached Anoth. It felt oily, slick and insidious, like someone was lurking in the shadows waiting to strike.
It disturbed his sleep, and his calm thoughts, bringing flashes of imagery into his mind. Ebberla Daw facing off against a dark shadow. Lightsabers clashing in the temple. Vica Vezk running her saber through his chest. Him collapsing to his knees, a look of betrayal on his face. Elemia pointing at him, accusingly. Nightmares and prophecy are always hard to separate.
And still it went on, images of doom and suffering flicking across his thoughts in the silence of his cabin. Nakoma. Sera. All the padawans he'd taught and protected. All of them dying horribly in fire and lightning and a flash of a saber.
It was enough to make the giant weep silently, tears sliding down his face. And then there was an alarm tone. The ship was about to return to realspace. Climbing to his feet, the giant jedi made his way into the cabin and sat himself down. A few minutes later, the blur of hyperspace faded into reality, and it felt like Khaimov had been hammered with a telekinetic blow to the stomach. He vomited over the side of the chair, gasping for breath as the sheer malevolence of the Dark Side permeated his entirety. There was no life here. No light. Only darkness and despair.
With trembling hands, the kiffar slowly brought the ship down into the atmosphere. Or at least what was left of it. The once beautiful planet of Anoth was now a wasteland, covered in purple glass, and deep burn scars. The temple was a ruin, flattened to nothingness. The winds battered at the ship, blasting it left and right, and it was only with sheer force of will that he managed to hold it on course. As the ship touched down, Khai wiped his mouth, and took a swig of water from a nearby canteen. Then he found a breathing mask and slowly stepped out into the wasteland.
The wind was like a hammer blow, causing him to fight with every step to reach his destination, and the Darkness seemed to taint the very ground he walked on. Flashes of images; of Ebberla standing proud and defiant, of padawans making their escape, wounded but triumphant, burst into his mind. The ghosts of momentous events touched him, and left him feeling ill. After a moment of sheer shock and appalled confusion, he turned on his heels and fought his way back to the ship, beginning his take-off sequence hurriedly in order to get away from this nightmarish hellhole as fast as possible.
He didn't know where he would go. He didn't know if any of the jedi had made it off planet. But he would find them if they had. Somehow.
It had been a long week. The distraught and exhausted master had tried every avenue he could think of, leaving coded messages for the Shadows, hunting for any sign of the Jedi. A fruitless and futile task. If they had been easy to find, the Imperium would have already hunted them down. He knew that. But he did not give up hope. He followed the tiniest of clues, hunting here and there until finally he found something. A possible lead on the Grand Master.
He clung to it like a life-line, as though it was his only way home. After over four years, he was finding his way back.
Now he just had to make it to her.
He should feel glad, or relieved. His hunt, which has lasted years, was finished. He was exonerated, the true murderer had been brought to justice. Yet it felt hollow. Unfinished. These unknown assailants had robbed him of his victory, and his chance to drag the padawan back before the Grand Master. Ebberla was not going to be pleased. Not in the slightest. Though that was no longer as terrifying as it might have been. Not after gaining years whilst trapped in the past. Years of experience and knowledge that would serve him well for his future dealings. He had truly opened himself up to the Force, and through that had learned the truth of who he was. He no longer feared judgement, for that would imply guilt. He had doen everything he could at this point in time.
So why did it still feel unfinished? Perhaps it was simply the feeling of being robbed. Perhaps it was the Force trying to tell him something. He wasn't quite sure. All he knew is that it felt hollow, and that he missed Elemia even more. She had not been the best of masters, as Vica would attest to. But she had been the one to train him, to show him what he could do if he put his mind to it. She had turned him from grieving young man into a jedi worthy of the name. And now, here he was, grieving all over again. He found a slight humor in this fact. A humor that was perhaps inappropriate to his location.
With a final sigh, the Bear turned from the wall of the fallen and strode off towards his ship. He carried a purpose with him, and an urgency. It was time to go home.
The ship blasted through hyperspace, running on autopilot as Khaimov meditated. The journey through hyperspace was going to take some time, and the master jedi wanted to be prepared for his arrival. It didn't help that there was a growing unpleasantness sifting through his soul, a sick, twisting feeling that seemed to cling to him more and more as they approached Anoth. It felt oily, slick and insidious, like someone was lurking in the shadows waiting to strike.
It disturbed his sleep, and his calm thoughts, bringing flashes of imagery into his mind. Ebberla Daw facing off against a dark shadow. Lightsabers clashing in the temple. Vica Vezk running her saber through his chest. Him collapsing to his knees, a look of betrayal on his face. Elemia pointing at him, accusingly. Nightmares and prophecy are always hard to separate.
And still it went on, images of doom and suffering flicking across his thoughts in the silence of his cabin. Nakoma. Sera. All the padawans he'd taught and protected. All of them dying horribly in fire and lightning and a flash of a saber.
It was enough to make the giant weep silently, tears sliding down his face. And then there was an alarm tone. The ship was about to return to realspace. Climbing to his feet, the giant jedi made his way into the cabin and sat himself down. A few minutes later, the blur of hyperspace faded into reality, and it felt like Khaimov had been hammered with a telekinetic blow to the stomach. He vomited over the side of the chair, gasping for breath as the sheer malevolence of the Dark Side permeated his entirety. There was no life here. No light. Only darkness and despair.
With trembling hands, the kiffar slowly brought the ship down into the atmosphere. Or at least what was left of it. The once beautiful planet of Anoth was now a wasteland, covered in purple glass, and deep burn scars. The temple was a ruin, flattened to nothingness. The winds battered at the ship, blasting it left and right, and it was only with sheer force of will that he managed to hold it on course. As the ship touched down, Khai wiped his mouth, and took a swig of water from a nearby canteen. Then he found a breathing mask and slowly stepped out into the wasteland.
The wind was like a hammer blow, causing him to fight with every step to reach his destination, and the Darkness seemed to taint the very ground he walked on. Flashes of images; of Ebberla standing proud and defiant, of padawans making their escape, wounded but triumphant, burst into his mind. The ghosts of momentous events touched him, and left him feeling ill. After a moment of sheer shock and appalled confusion, he turned on his heels and fought his way back to the ship, beginning his take-off sequence hurriedly in order to get away from this nightmarish hellhole as fast as possible.
He didn't know where he would go. He didn't know if any of the jedi had made it off planet. But he would find them if they had. Somehow.
It had been a long week. The distraught and exhausted master had tried every avenue he could think of, leaving coded messages for the Shadows, hunting for any sign of the Jedi. A fruitless and futile task. If they had been easy to find, the Imperium would have already hunted them down. He knew that. But he did not give up hope. He followed the tiniest of clues, hunting here and there until finally he found something. A possible lead on the Grand Master.
He clung to it like a life-line, as though it was his only way home. After over four years, he was finding his way back.
Now he just had to make it to her.