The good thing about meditation is that it helps clear one's mind. It helps calm him down in ways he'd never felt at home, and in the presence of his former peers who shunned him for being who he is.
Meditation, however, also leaves much room for introspection. And Roanoke has always been a quiet, reflective boy.
Being a part of the Jedi Order is quite akin to a dream, a once constant what-if that played every now and again in the former acolyte's mind. He thought about it before, of course, back when he spent quiet afternoons ruminating about a life far removed from the darkness his parents set for him. Would it be too preposterous for anyone to assume that just because his parents served the Sith meant that the first thing young Roanoke felt in the Force was Darkness? Of course not. The life of serving the Dark Side was all he's ever known. It was all he's ever taught to drink in. Except... Except he didn't feel the cold, oppressive allure of the Dark Side when he first sensed his connection to the Force. It was Light–warm, comforting–that first touched his soul in an environment that promised nothing but a lifetime of servitude to the dark.
Light bloomed in an all-encompassing darkness, and Roanoke felt that he was someone that shouldn't be. A boy baptized in darkness who possessed a spark of light he dared not reveal until...
He opens his eyes, dark brown gaze fixated on the cool, metal floor. The Jedi Knight who brought him to her Order told him that the path his parents decided for him can still be refused; that he deserves redemption because his soul sings of Light and hope. He believes her, of course he does, with every fiber of his being. He doesn't want to be Sith. He doesn't want to live in the dark. He doesn't want to love and embrace something his mind, heart, and soul rejects.
And yet...
It's difficult to be here. To be surrounded by people who regards him with suspicion and wariness. He doesn't blame them, not when he's honest about the fact that he was an ex-Sith. Granted, he hasn't killed nor harmed anyone, nor has he tried to fully draw from the Dark Side of the Force. But the conditioning is hard to shake, a lifetime's worth of training drilled into him difficult to relinquish. The Jedi are enemies, his parents reminded him every night before he went to sleep, like a twisted lullaby he was expected to cling to until the day he dies. You are Sith, they whispered to him, and they expected him to only ever hold on to that belief.
Roanoke rises to his feet when a group of Padawans entered the training room. He tries to make himself inconspicuous, finding a spot in the corner of the vast room to slink onto. Suddenly he feels so insecure of the scars that adorn his exposed arms and face. He feels so out of place, so disconnected from it all as the group of teenagers throw wary glances towards him. The former Sith tries to smile politely, but his facial muscles just wouldn't cooperate. So he stands there, gaze fixed on the floor, while his new peers go on about their training routine.
Fuck it, I'd give anything to have someone to talk to right now... someone who won't look at me as if I'd go batshit insane and shoot lightning from my fingers at any given moment...