Hannibal found himself once again on Ajan Kloss. He did seem to always wind up back here one way or another. This time however he had wandered away from the temple, to a spot he had found while he was still just a Padawan. He was sat down before a large lake opposite a distant waterfall, the sound and the water-cooled breeze washing over him. He watched the afternoon sun glimmer and dance across the surface of the lake, lost in thought. Birds sang in the trees nearby, calling for mates at the height of the planet's spring. Idly, Hannibal threw fish food into the water and observed as they were picked off by a sudden flurry of shadowy motion beneath the surface.
After a few moments he shifted his view downwards. Directly before him sat an old, cat-eared helmet, worn from use. The blue outer shell was scratched in some places, but otherwise it was in remarkably good condition. It never got worn anymore, after all. The original owner had long passed away into the Force, killed by a Sith on Coruscant while she defended the prison. Hannibal was here to remember her.
To it's left and right sat small bundles of incense sticks, four groupings of ten each, to represent ten thousand. In his father's native language, ten thousand often represented an infinite number of things. The incense represented the untold many others who had been killed, from the attacks on Coruscant to the plagues of Nar Shaddaa, to every little village on a backwater planet. Uncountable and untold numbers of dead. Small compared to the galaxy at large, of course, but that made little difference to the young man. Hannibal was here to remember them, too.
After a few moments he shifted his view downwards. Directly before him sat an old, cat-eared helmet, worn from use. The blue outer shell was scratched in some places, but otherwise it was in remarkably good condition. It never got worn anymore, after all. The original owner had long passed away into the Force, killed by a Sith on Coruscant while she defended the prison. Hannibal was here to remember her.
To it's left and right sat small bundles of incense sticks, four groupings of ten each, to represent ten thousand. In his father's native language, ten thousand often represented an infinite number of things. The incense represented the untold many others who had been killed, from the attacks on Coruscant to the plagues of Nar Shaddaa, to every little village on a backwater planet. Uncountable and untold numbers of dead. Small compared to the galaxy at large, of course, but that made little difference to the young man. Hannibal was here to remember them, too.
He reached out his left hand, bare skin touching the shadowed surface. Distant echoes rose up through him, faded memories and voices. He did not focus on them much, really. He just liked hearing the voices. The brave young woman who had worn the helmet had been a vibrant soul, a person Hannibal had taken a quick liking to. Few people knew the young man particularly well, and he held each of them close to his heart. Hannibal's was a long lived species, experiencing much over the course of their lives assuming it wasn't violently cut short. He had a feeling he would remember her for the rest of his life, however long that may be.
"I still think of you every day, you know," he spoke quietly into the empty air, though there wasn't really anyone around to hear as far as he could tell. It was mostly for himself. "The Council made me a Master, after everything that happened. It was a strange feeling, honestly. I didn't really think I'd ever really get there. They must really be desperate, eh?" He paused for several seconds, lifting his hand from the helmet and placing it gently on his folded leg. "Things are chaotic out in the galaxy. People are dying. I don't want to fight, really, but I don't want people to die, either. I have more friends now, though. People I trust, n' whatever. We'll keep fighting as long as we need to, I think."
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a long, soft sigh. The Force flowed gently into him, a river that brought him peace from the many things that troubled him. The quiet chaos of life he was so attuned to filled him in this out of the way little grotto, helping to wash away his fears. The flames of war licked ever higher, burning away lives in path of the Sith. He felt he would need to steel himself for what was to come.
"I hope you found peace in death, Nashyr. You won't be forgotten." He bent slightly forward in a seated bow, the scents of burning incense and crushed grass intermingling. The sound of wind through the trees and over water filled his ears. Drops of water dripped down the old helmet, some settling in the grass it sat in. Hannibal wished it was raining, like last time. He wished he could find peace.
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