It was from a distance that she watched it all, both physically and emotionally. Though her eyes were focused upon the effigy of the fallen Jedi Master, her mind was elsewhere.

Why was it that she had come here? The decision to travel to Ossus had been one of impulse. There was a sense of duty to it, an obligation to honor a life lost. Though she did not know Gash Jiren, she knew of his kind – the Jedi. It was to this sect that she felt an affinity. She mourned their loss, and the loss of the galaxy at large. Only recently had she become awakened to her own ties to the Force and in light of these revelations it seemed all the more bitter to loose such a keystone of the Jedi.

As she blinked away the haze of memory, she saw that she was not alone in her introspection. It was as though they had all at once seen the light. In loosing Jiren, they lost themselves – their hope, their direction. Ripples. What the girl felt was uncertainty. Though Gash Jiren’s journey had come to an end, hers had yet to begin.

Perhaps there was some small good to be taken from it all. Though one Jedi had passed, the gathering of so many together could surely only herald unity in the factions future. A lightsaber hilt hung unseen beneath her cloak, and although she could not yet wield it, she meant to rectify this. Her motivation to come had been two-fold, as a consequence of this. While she meant to pay her respects to Jiren, she also aimed to secure the attention of one of the more active Jedi Masters.

The time for such things, however, was not now. Solemn silence held. A nameless figure at the edge of vision, the girl went unnoticeable by all but one.

The nights breathe caressed Dehoir's taught tanned skin; the fragrance of night blossoms filled the air as her scarlet locks flowed past her slender neck. She slightly raised her right hand to rest upon her left arm as she gazed into the woody abyss.

She inhaled deeply, her chest rising to accept the refreshing clarity of the air; she smiled lightly as she felt the presence of her lover. Dehoir tilted her head to the right in order to receive Zarith's deep, passionate kiss. Her smile remained once he pulled away....for some reason whenever he was near she felt....whole.

"Good evening my dear. It is a lovely night, and I see your pet has had another successful hunt."

Dehoir reveled in Zarith's embrace; the man had come so far, in training and as a lover. She leaned her head back onto his chest as they both began to sway with the breeze.

"Yes. I thought you would have realized by now what an efficient hunter Gaarak is."

Her smile grew playful as she quickly turned to face Zarith, her arms snaking around his neck.

"But let's not talk about Gaarak."

She gazed deeply into his azure eyes as she bid her pet to leave their presence. Once he had disappeared back into the darkened forest, Dehoir returned Zarith's deep, passionate kiss.

"I suggest we focus on us for now."

The night and the darkened forest made for a beautiful backdrop for the two Sith Knights' nightly rendezvous.

The effects of the funeral were withering. It was not only the death of Gash Jiren but a destruction of everything could be, would be, should be. A testament to the failures of all in the galaxy who - in spite of their instincts - still insisted on trying to "do a good thing." It was harsher than any rape, any murder, any bomb could ever hope to be.

His death was not the nail in the coffin but another torch thrown onto the funeral pyre. The participants in the ceremony looked on, wishing - even praying - that there would be a way. A single beam of hope, a light from above, some sort of signal that even after everything, there was still a chance of victory. A chance that their efforts would mean something.

"So ends the Jedi."

Silus turned to the speaker, stared at the man. A thick grey moustache hid his lips; he was tall and broad-shouldered. Wrinkles around the eyes and forehead betrayed his age. His clothes were tight, showing muscles created from a vigorous lifestyle. As much a stranger this man had first looked, there was little trouble recognizing the same angular face, the same hawk-like look to the eyes.

"You come this time dressed as my grandfather," Silus said. The old man shook his head, "I am your grandfather, Silus."

"If you say so. Why are you here this time? I've come to his funeral. I've paid respects to the dead. What more do you want?"

The people around him turned, staring at this strange Jedi who seemed to be speaking to no-one. Silus glared and moved away from them, away from the onlookers.

His grandfather effortlessly fell in step with him, ignoring Silus's question.. "It is rather sad, isn't it? He was a great weapon of you Jedi, a great hero to many. And now he is dead. I tell you, I know for a fact he was in great pain when he died."

The hint of an evil smile, the way he didn't so much say "Jedi" as spit it... Silus narrowed his eyes.

"You're Sith!"

"Hardly. Dark Jedi, perhaps, but nothing so dramatic as a Sith."

"That's why you're here, then? To tell me how great I could have been."

"That is the fate that awaits all you Jedi; a painful and slow death. A bodiless funeral..."

"Answer me."

"... You and your silly religion, your own blindness to the Dark Side and power it would bring if you just reached out and-"

"I said answer me, old man!" Silus growled in anger. It took a strong effort of control to force it back down.

"Very well. Yes, you might have been great. But you proved too weak in the end. You fell to the Light. You're not even a Jedi; just a pitiful man with a pitiful sense of morality. You are undeserving of the greatness you used to be."

"I would hardly call that thing I was 'greatness'," Silus said.

"A thing, he says!" his grandfather scoffed. "You are too weak for your past, Jedi." The word was laced with hate, almost burning in the air when his grandfather said it. "You couldn't even become a Sith the true way; instead, you acted on a decision while under the intoxication of the power of the Dark Side, the true side, swirling around you."

"Nothing is an excuse for that decision. Nothing can excuse what I had become. I was a merciless weapon; nothing more than a tool of death and destruction. There is no 'power' in that."

"Pfah, you weak-minded fool! I gave you your chance, I gave you everything you've become. I gave you your Force sensitivity - you are my grandson! And you threw it all away! You are nothing more than a disgusting little-" His grandfather's sentance was stopped when Silus's fist contacted with his jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

"I tire of this," Silus said as he grabbed his grandfather and lifted him in the air, too blinded in his anger to notice the ability to touch the illusion, the weight of it.

"I tire of your games, old man! I will never be that monster again. Never! I may not be a Jedi and may not be a Sith, but by the Force I will never be you! From now on I am my own man, my own path; even if it fucking kills me," Silus tossed the man roughly to the ground. "Leave. Now."

His grandfather grinned. "You cannot kill a ghost."

"I can try." His hands curled into fists and their eyes met, Silus staring coldly at the man in front of him. His grandfather faded away, his grin fading last with an effect a cheshire cat could only dream of. Silus's eyes searched the ground for any signs of his grandfather and when he was sure the old man was not there, hiding, the Jedi sagged to his knees.

Hot tears of anger and frustration fell down his cheek, falling to his palms facing upward.

"Damn you," Silus said to them, "damn you."

He stared at his hands, realizations clouding his mind. He had always known he wasn't really a Jedi, wasn't really a Sith. He unclipped his lightsaber and watched how the light reflected from it. This is what he was; a weapon, a tool. His entire life, from birth to this moment, all of it represented in so simple yet deadly an item. Nothing more, nothing less. It was all less shocking than he imagined it should be.

But maybe it was right; maybe, when confronted with the real truth, the body could only accept it. A weapon, a tool. An insignificant nothing to be used until it was useless and tossed away.

If that was what he was, then it would be him who would wield it from now on. Not the Empire, not the Sith, not the Jedi. The dirt, the lies, the pain was all stripped away and at the core was Silus.

Even when he knew it would kill him, he would "do the right thing." It was all he had, now.

The upper echelons of power within this region of the Cree Ar Dominion were no less treacherous than those on homeworld or in his home galaxy. Varro Kai knew that to navigate this shadowy group keeping true to his purpose as well as keeping himself within this temporal realm, he would require all the cunning he could master.


He was but one Task Master in a pool of task masters though he had the distinction of bringing the sword of truth to the Steps. In turn, he also had the distinct impression of being envied, loathed or even feared.


Still, he paid them no mind for there was Purpose. That is where all would be decided. The carrying out of Purpose tested and showed the true quality of a Cree Ar.


That being the case, the most disturbing thing about paradise was that many had different perceptions of it and therefore differing ideas to carrying out Purpose.


Some acted as if they were on the outside looking into a paradise infested with contemptable beings and gripped their flaming swords of retribution edging for a 'cleansing'.

There was the religious aspect that paradise was the breeding ground for future converts for the glory of Borleas and the Cree Ar Dominion.

There were those that felt paradise not worth their effort but would carry out Purpose (as if such action would eventually prove their thoughts correct).


What Varro Kai, Task Master of the Steps, could see from the information gathered was that paradise was slowly dying.


Lost initiative and stagnation was gripping the people's and heretical factions squabble over mere scraps of space as if they were living amid a Golden Age of existence.

However, upon further contemplation, perhaps they were. For the Cree Ar had arrived.

Perhaps Borleas had indeed given paradise into their hand.


He walked throught the dissolving door and into the Seeking Hall. It was time for him to solidify his Purpose in paradise.


In the middle of the room floated a giant crystal and as he moved closer he could hear a slight vibration emitting from its smooth surface.

His hands went up and he placed them against the cold surface and the vibration stopped.



He was not shown Purpose.


He was not shown his Purpose.


But he was shown a Purpose.

It was worse than the others he was forced to be around. It was worse than the screams that flooded the halls every day and every night. It was worse than patronization and emotionless faces the doctors handed out instead of help or cure. It was worse than the food they gave him.

The worst part about his time in the Orilcia Mental Institute was the simple fact that he was supposed to be there.

Most days he tried not to think about it. Most days it was all he could think about. Every once in a while, he managed to get by without dwelling on it for two long, but those days were few and far in between. None of the doctors believed he should be there, because none of the doctors could figure out what was wrong with him. They didn’t understand. He didn’t even understand.

Zark Ekan had not cheated death.

Zark Ekan had been brought back to life.

And the effects it was wreaking on his psyche were unbearable.

Part of his mind still refused to accept it. It thought he was still dead, that this was all not real. Just a false reality he had willingly submitted himself to entering. It begged him to end it, to ‘kill himself’ and come to terms with the fact that he was already dead. Part of him refused to accept that he had died at all, that it had all been some dream or hallucination. It suspected it to be the work of Xoverus, but it didn’t know for sure.

Part of him knew what had happened was real, but not anything else.

The time spent with Silus, the time he had spent as a ghost. It was all slipping away. His memories of his time as a dead man were fading from him. He tried to remember. Tried to find solace in the everlasting knowledge he had found during his time in the nether, but he could not.

He had started seeing Roland again, the ‘dead’ alternate personality he had left behind on JED-1. The gunslinger only appeared for brief periods of time, and Zark had not been able to communicate with him…mostly because an overwhelming sensation of hysterical fear overcame him whenever his old ‘friend’ appeared.

The times he had seen Roland in public had prevented him from being allowed to leave, but the doctors were beginning to suspect he was faking it. Many of them already thought he was just homeless, freeloading off of the asylum for food and a place to sleep. He had not told them his name. He had not spoken more than a sentence at a time to anyone since he had arrived. It frustrated the doctors, who had at first tried to help him.

Now they just kept him around.

Locked up in a room far away even from the other prisoners. No, not prisoners. The others, they were here by choice, while Zark was here unwillingly. He was one of the dangerous ones, according to the medical staff. He regretted heavily resorting to violence the second time he had seen the apparition of Roland.

Apparitions…

Is that all they were? Manifestations of his broken mind?

Once more he desperately searched, stumbled, crawled through the locked corners of his mind. Looking for an answer in the infinite understanding he had gained and lost. It was there he found something that he had not made contact with for a long, long time. Something he had buried deep within himself.

The Force.

It cried out to him, desperately. It pleaded to be used, as a tool or as an ally. It cared not. The Force had only one true purpose, and that was to influence those who had the ability to wield it. Lightside or Darkside, most carried the false impression that it truly cared which path one took; that there was a right side and a wrong side to be on.

But light and dark and right and wrong were two very different things.

Almost unconsciously, Zark went to work once more attempting to bury the thing that had over the years become a curse, not a gift. The Force was not responsible for the miserable existence his life had become, but it had sure helped things along quite a bit. Zark had managed to sever his ties with it, preventing it from hurting anyone else, but it would never truly leave him.

I can help you…

Zark knew it didn’t exist. He knew he hadn’t really heard anything. During his time at the asylum, he had heard voices countless times. Voices of those he know, and those he did not; allies and enemies; living and dead. But this was the first time one of them had offered help, the first time one had offered hope of any kind.

But who was it?

The voice, it sounded so familiar…but he could not remember ever really hearing it before. Or at least, he could not match it with a face. Was it one of his victims from JED-1? One of the Rogues from the now defunct (and, had he been up to date on current events, now non-existent) Order? Or was it…

No, it couldn’t be. It had no voice. It had no mind. It did not speak with you.

Did it?

Once more Zark peaked into the dark, deep corners of his mind, looking upon the curse once more. It pleaded still, calling for him, begging to be used, if only for just a little while. Could it have really been the Force that had just spoken to him, and not just another voice that wasn’t really there? A better question, could the Force really have a solution for the seemingly unanswerable question that had become his life?

“No,” he thought, or said. It had been some time since he had been able to discern the difference between the two, “Never again…never again…”

Fuck it.

He lashed out inside his mind, grabbing a hold of the Force he had buried deep within himself, and hurled it back up through his mind into his consciousness. The sudden reaction it caused was unlike anything Zark had ever experienced before. After such a long time without having ever even thought about touching the Force, he had brought it back completely.

His cell exploded.

There was no fireball. No catalyst. No visible catalyst, anyway. There was a deafening boom, but it sounded nothing like the usual explosions that Zark had so often, too often, witnessed during his lifetime. Lifetimes. His cell just exploded, it was as simple as that. The walls were gone, debris spewing through where they once stood and into the cells next to his. Luckily, they were unoccupied. The barred door rocketed off its hinges, careening into the door on the opposite side of the hall and knocking that once off its hinges as well, sending them both into the cell across from Zark’s.

DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.

Gash Jiren was dead.

Dead, gone, no more, caput, deceased, defunct, departed, done for, erased, expired, extinct, inanimate, inert, late, lifeless, mortified, not existing, offed, passed away, perished, rubbed out, snuffed out, stiff, unanimated, washed up, wasted, killed.

Murdered.

Zark stumbled blindly from the smoking remnants of his prison. He had been completely unaffected by the sudden explosion of the cell, but the explosion of emotions and feelings, all nearby, almost knocked him unconscious. A headache unlike one he had ever experienced before racked his brain, rendering him unable to think for a good long while.

Finally, it began to subside, as he once more became accustomed to the presence of other’s emotions in his mind to accompany his own. Luckily, considering his rather…extended…experience in this field, it did not take very long. And he was once more able to think.

His thoughts drifted immediately to one inescapable fact.

Gash Jiren was dead.

The penitentiary facilities on the planet Ossus, especially Orilcia, the capital city, had always prided themselves, and still do to this day, on rehabilitation rather than punishment. The Orilcia Mental Institute was no exception, and if anything a prime example of the Ossan government’s rather liberal approach to dealing with convicts and the mentally deficient. Zark Ekan was an exception, and a rather embarrassing one. Despite this, he had not caught any publicity. The Orilcia Mental Institute didn’t allow it.

Most of the residents of the Orilcia Mental Institute were those who had been willingly committed. Those who had realized that there was something wrong with them and had turned themselves in to the authorities or the institution itself. There were also those, like Zark, who had either had a damn good lawyer, or had committed themselves and later been reevaluated as too dangerous to reenter society until properly rehabilitated. In short, Zark was a prisoner until he got better, which was not something the doctor’s perceived to happen anytime soon.

The mental institute was not a prison, and did not have the security of one. If the explosion hadn’t been so loud, it likely would not have been noticed for quite a while, especially given it had happened today of all days. The institute was running on skeleton staff already, many of the workers having taken the day off to attend the funeral of Rogue Jedi Master Gash Jiren, either because they supported the Order or because they just wanted to get a guilt free day off.

One ‘guard’ was sent to check out what had happened. His name was Andrew Loryn. He had been a police officer until he had accidentally shot an innocent man. He had resigned, and taken up a job at the mental institute in order to ‘further his contribution to society’. In reality, he enjoyed working there simply because the residents made his problems seem miniscule in comparison. Andrew was a drinker, and to a lesser extent a drug addict; a rare thing both on Ossus, utopian paradise of the galaxy.

When he saw Zark Ekan stumble out of the smoldering ruins of his cell and screaming ‘murder, murder’ over and over again, it took him a little while to realize this was not a drug induced hallucination and that he was, in fact, sober. The screams in his head had become so great that Zark had unconsciously begun to repeat them out loud, at the same volume as they boomed in his head. The Force, still chaotic and not fully under his control, amplified his voice quite a bit, making Andrew’s ears hurt. He winced.

“C-calm down…” Loryn offered meekly, not quite sure what to say.

Zark had never been a talkative prisoner, and apart from the occasional outbursts of seeing someone or something named ‘Roland’, he had never caused much of a fuss. He had certainly never done anything like blown up his cell before, as Andrew assumed he had, and the expression on Zark’s face was not one of his usual hysterical fear but intense pain. Loryn would have attributed that to the explosion, if he had not noticed that Zark had not a scratch on him, or a torn piece of clothing. He was covered in dust, giving him an even creepier look, but other than that he was completely unharmed.

As Loryn viewed more closely the extent of the damage the explosion had caused, he marveled. The walls…well, there weren’t any walls anymore. None except the back wall, which had only escaped destruction because of its thickness and had still been torn up quite a bit. The cell door was lying along with the cell door the opposing room against the opposing room’s back wall, having dented that quite a bit. All of the walls were durasteel.

“Sir…” Loryn tried again, unaware, along with the rest of the staff, of Zark’s name, “Sir, are you alright?”

During Andrew’s inspection of the damage, Zark had collapsed onto the floor in the middle of the hall, holding himself and muttering ‘murder’ over and over. He wasn’t yelling anymore, the pain was too intense. He barely seemed to register Loryn’s presence, let alone acknowledge his question.

“Are you alright?” Loryn repeated, unsure of whether or not to help the man. He was dangerous, Andrew remembered.

“NO!” Zark screamed suddenly. Loudly. Impossibly loudly.

Whether or not the scream had caused the shockwave or it had followed of its own accord, Loryn was unsure. He was too busy at the time flying through the air and landing roughly on his back five feet away at the time to really think about it. Andrew was terrified. His ears were ringing, he suspected that he had soiled himself, but wasn’t sure, and wasn’t in a hurry to find out.

By the time he had managed to compose himself and muster up enough courage to look upon Zark once more, the dangerous resident was no longer on the ground. He had stopped squirming and holding his head. The look of pain was gone, the muttering had stopped. He was standing in the middle of the hallway quietly. Standing there, and staring at Andrew, a completely blank expression on his face. His hair rustled slightly in the breeze, only there was no breeze.

“I need to leave,” he said quietly. Calmly.

Loryn was paralyzed with fear, unable to move and certainly unable to respond. A few minutes passed.

“Mr. Loryn,” the resident spoke again.

The utterance of his name seemed to jog him from his shock. Waves of soothing seemed to flow over him. He suddenly no longer felt scared, but calm and relaxed. He had no way of knowing that Zark was the man responsible, and it probably wouldn’t have mattered to him even if he had.

“Yes?” Andrew asked, as if he was speaking to a polite stranger who had stopped him on the street.

“I need to leave the Orilcia Mental Institute,” Zark said once more. The slight waving motion his hand made went unnoticed by Loryn, “I must attend the funeral of Gash Jiren.”

“You need to leave the Orilcia Mental Institute,” Andrew repeated, “You must attend the funeral of Gash Jiren.”

It made so much sense. Of course he needed to leave! Andrew felt like an idiot for not realizing it before. Shaking his head, he grinned at his stupidity. The only possible solution to the problem was for the resident to leave. It was so obvious, and he hadn’t picked up on it.

Andrew motioned for Zark to follow. The resident did.


They were almost to the lobby. Every step was a struggle for Zark Ekan. All of his concentration was bent on preventing himself from doubling over in pain. The Darkside was strong in this place. Even if the staff liked to think otherwise, this always would be a place of suffering. Suffering of the mind. There was no greater suffering than insanity. Zark knew that all too well.

They were almost there, almost free, almost out! Zark saw the glass doorways, so inviting. So demanding. One of the few other staff members, the one at the front desk, called out to Loryn. The man began to turn. Straining his mind, he increased his influence on Andrew’s alcohol weakened mind. He stumbled, the energy required to stave off the Darkside and control Loryn proving to be almost too great a task.

Luckily, Andrew caught him, and steadied him, smiling all the while. It sickened Zark every time he saw the Jedi mind trick preformed. It sickened him even more to know that he was the one responsible. A human mind was sacred, that fact doubly important to Zark ever since he had gone mad, and to influence it was not something the Jedi should take so lightly.

No matter, it was almost over. Loryn swiped his card through the slit, and the light flashed green.


“Andrew!” Jameth Neil called out for the tenth time, this time finally jogging him from his intoxicated state.

“Yes?” he turned, speaking in much the same way he had spoken to Zark.

“What…why…what the frell is wrong with you?!” Jameth screamed.

“What?” Loryn turned, and Zark Ekan was gone.

And then it hit him.

“Shit,” he whispered.

"It all seems so sad." Leia whispered as the speaker Rakili continued to speak. "I remember the Judiciary Jedi Council Meeting where we considered what to do with him when he left the Sith. It was a very lively debate that had far reaching consequences.

Can a Jedi be redeamed?"


Tyscio turned to her. "Wasn't your father?" he asked softly, putting his arms around her.

"I was not as forgiving as my brother," Leia commented with a hint of sorrow. "In fact, it was my father that helped me to come to grips with forgiving Gash and allowing him to live."

"He would have allowed you to execute him? From what I can gather about the man, he was very powerful."

Leia nodded, "If he chose to resist our decision one way or the other, yes, to execute him would have been costly. But I felt, at that time, he would have allowed us to execute him should that have been our decision."

She turned a knowing look to Tyscio, "If others could not forgive him, how could he forgive himself?"

She turned back to the speaker. "And now he's gone."


Tears started to stream down her face and Tyscio hugged her tighter. "Tell me, Tyscio. What good has come of all this? Alot of us are dead or in hiding. Our exploits of old nearly forgotten. The evil has come back around and threatens the freedoms of even those no associated with it."


Tyscio felt Leia give a large sigh that seemed to signal surrender.


"Leia, your exploits are not forgotten. More than half the galaxy is free of the evil you fought so hard to eliminate. If not for your Rebellion, this entire galaxy would have been enslaved!"

Tyscio turned her to face him, "But, Princess, you cannot give freedom to people. Freedom is not a commodity to handed out. It is a right taken and defended by each and every individual. This is something that people in this galaxy are learning. What do we hear of now? The exploits of Han Solo? Chewbacca? Your brother Luke? or even of yourself?"

A smile crossed his face warmly, "You've passed the torch to others. Let them understand the value of what you all fought for. Let them come to appreciate it as much as you have and stand to defend it.

What do we hear?

The defending of freedom by people like Joren Logan, by Prime Minister Regrad, the rising Jedi Order under Vodo Bass. New Masters! The freedoms from the Commonwealth.

These are the people responding to the example of the New Republic! These are people who value their freedoms in this galaxy and I tell you, this is not an end!

I can feel it, Leia!"


Leia smiled and squeezed Tyscio's shoulder in assurance. "I can feel the force growing stronger in you." A grin spread across her features. "I guess there's hope for you yet."


Tyscio laughed which startled some people nearby.


Drawing her close, "We are not here to mourn a loss but to celebrate a life! For after this, nothing will be the same!"


His eyes shined brightly in defiance of the melancholy of the event and surrounding ruins.

"Kamon!"

"Victoria, listen to me!" They were in Kamon's suite standing on the balcony. His hands were around her arms just below her shoulders and he was looking her straight in the eye. "I can't take you with me. I'm a felon in most of this galaxy. If I were to get caught on some planet and be unable to get away they would take oyu in for being with me. I can't risk your life by taking you with me."

A tear trickled down her face. This was exactly like what he had done to her before. Last time she had wanted to go with him she was still a padawan learning how to use her abilities. Kamon hadn't been able to take a padawan with him. He was only a knight and he had obligations elsewhere. Teaching her wasn't much of an option. Not only had he not felt up to the challenge of teaching her, but he couldn't teach her what she was good at. Kamon was not a healer and never would be a healer. It had always been his weakness. It was the only reason he ever got beat.

"But I want to go..."

Kamon wiped away a tear from her face and pulled her gently into him. She sobbed against his chest and Kamon stared out towards where the ceremony was still going on. Why, Master Jiren? Why did you have to die and leave us here? What are we supposed to do? Your son has disbanded us. I cannot, will not, let the order die out. But what can I do? I am not a Master. And Master Ahnk surely wont help me. Please, Master Jiren, if you can hear me I need your guidance. He buried his face in Victoria's hair. What should he do? Victoria would be in danger if she went with him, but then again she didn't have much here anymore.

"I don't know, Victoria. I wish Master Jiren could give me some guidance on this. He always knows what to do. He saved me in the past. I owe it to him to keep the Order alive. But I can't risk lives."

He sighed.

"I don't know what to do."

"Yes you do, Kamon. You know what to do. Take me with you. We can keep the order alive. We just need to find some secluded planet and get some of the padawans to come with us. I can heal them, you can train them."

"But I'm only a Knight, Victoria. What can I do? I know some of the Master's abilities, but I am not yet near becoming a Master. These padawans deserve to be taught by someone better than me."

"Whatever, Kamon. I know you. You can teach them whether you believe it or not. Just do it."

Kamon kissed the top of her head.

"Fine. We can do it. I'll take you with me. But know this, we may never see much of the galaxy ever again."

"I don't care. Let's get started."

The hawk was perched on his nest in the cliffside, sharp talon eyes gazing over the landscape in the base of the canyon, searching for any small prey that she could snatch up with her beak and feed to her younglings. A distant booming sound signaled the likeliness of an approaching thunderstorm, despite the fact that the skies were still clear. The ground began to tremble slightly, and the hawk shifted on her nest slightly. So it was not in fact a thunderstorm that she was sensing. Lightning and thunder would not cause the ground to quake and quiver ever so slightly. Loose sand in the face of the canyon began to slide. She spotted her prey, a small mammal, fist sized, a baby banny, hopping torwards the hole, having been feeding in the bushes by the small creek on other side of the canyon floor. The hawk spread her wings, then took flight. She flew upwards and forwards until she was above the canyon, and glanced to her right, seeing the rapdily approaching storm of sand. A stampede then, she decided. Focusing her attention back on her prey, she tucked her wings in and dived, gaining incredible speed. She got to the banny before the banny made it to the hole, sinking her claws into it's neck, killing it instantly. She then lifted off and was back at her nest when the stampeding beasts finally came into view.

The army battalion marching along the canyon road came over the small rise, a total of ten rows across, marching with almost perfect form, their banners in the front raised high, swords sheated in their belts, blaster rifles with their bayonets resting on their shoulders, carrying on their backs their survival gear. Each company consisted of a solid one hundred men, arranged in a solid cube. There was a space of ten feet in between each row, and between every fifth row there was a space of one hundred feet, signaling the end of one battalion and the beginning of another. The hawk in total observed some one thousand cubes move through the canyon before the trembling ceased. The army had come from the training provence of Reshant, and was heading for the space port city of Helore, where they would be embarked upon troopships and deployed to forward Dameun bases. The hawk considered a change of nesting after this event, not knowing that that was the last army that would come through here in a long time.

At the site of the training facility, standing in front of the main headquarters, Commodore Harker watched the dust settle from the armies's departure, and with that, it was over. The training facility was being shut down, the city having done it's job to supply the Dameun Empire with enough troops to secure her borders and maintain peace throughout the Empire. After overseeing the closure of this base, he would be re-assigned to oversee shipyard work, which was falling behind the pace needed to keep the fleet in being in order. Mantinence facilities themselves needed mantinence, and the supply of raw materiels was starting to fall off sharply. The Commodore suspected that such a high order of usage to rapidly construct the large army and navy had finally taken it's toll on the economy, and that it would need an overhaul as a result. He suspected that that would be yet another assignment for him after he was done with the shipyard work. In all, he forsaw himself at work for at least the next five years just getting the Empire back into top fighting trim, and by that time, it would probably need another overhaul. He could really use a full droid staff, he thought bitterly. His human staff was good, but no one had perfected the art of calculations, processing power, and memory storage like the droids. Adopting a more machinery involved state was something that he had been pushing for a while, trying to convince the priest and elders that an all human empire, while clean in the eyes of the overlords, was not going to cut the bread, in relations to keeping the Empire in tip top shape.

But anyways, all of that was in the future. For now he had to go to his temporary quarters on the base grounds and get cleaned up. Tonight a banquet would be held in the base mess hall commemorating the close of the base and awarding the personnel who had put so much time and effort into maintaining the facility and teacing the excellent novice standard troops and personnel that had graduated out of the facility. Turning his back, he proceeded away from the headquarters and headed off torwards the barracks.

~ONE WEEK BEFORE THE DEATH OF GASH JIERN~

Starkillerr had only been a Sargent then. Just another grunt in the Coalition. He had always heard of Gash Jiern the great jedi who was suppost to be greater than any ever. He was the master of the Jedi and was a perfect role model. Starkiller had looked up to the master with envy wishing he could be as famous as the great Jedi. He was the perfect man.


~THE DEATH OF GASH JIERN~

That was it all over the papers and in the news reports of the great jedi had came. He was dead... The greatest jedi and to Starkiller the greatest man had been killed. The news of the cuase of his death had not reached Starkiller. But the young Sargent had hoped that he was in a better place. But then how would the galaxy be without him. The jedi masters are geiving and the evil Emperor had been thriving and probably therw a banquet in honor of the jedi dying. The Coalition had also to rebuild. The Cree'Ar, well Starkiller had not gave them any thought nor the Black Dragon Empire either. But he was sure they were planning to do something.

At the time he was stationed at the Azguard sector on the capital of the Azguard Provice. He had heard the grusome information from a freind and well the Coalition was in silence. The Empire had to pay and this might even turn out to an all out war. Coalition and Empire might be locked into a rage and many lives will be killed and all just for this funeral. He could not go to the planet Ossus becuase all of the jedi were there and he had no money to go. But he did see it on televison and the news about the funeral. All of the jedi were in a grusome mood.

But then what of the rivals of the jedi the Sith? What were they planning what were they thinking. Mabye even the Jedi and Sith will be locked into a war and then all of the galaxy will go. But Starkiller was probably going to the front lines to fight. If he did fire his rifle then he will make up a story about that he never shot it. Well only time will tell what will happen.