The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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If Ahsoka hadn't been to the Lake Country on Naboo with its lush waterfalls and beautiful meadows, upon arriving at the villa – an estate she'd gleaned from Lux's halfhearted attempts at conversation belonged to his mother's side of the family – she might've thought she'd come to paradise.
Though its leaders were hell-bent on expansion, Kyzeron had never felt anything but stagnant. It was a place of dead ends in the Force, where none but the truly desperate or truly enterprising ventured; most stayed away for fear of upsetting the Empire or the nobility and winding up slaves themselves. Physically, breezes traveling through it were a scant few degrees cooler than the surrounding air temperature, and more often than not choked off by the stifling humidity.
It wasn't like that here.
The air that wafted into the gunship as it landed was clean and cool – and it moved. The wind bit at her exposed arms and legs sharply but without malice, like a water creature holding an unfamiliar object close enough to examine by taste. The jungles that dominated Onderon's surface had transitioned into violet palm trees, a hardier stock than those closer to the equator. Rupings and smaller, brightly plumed avians rode the currents high above; the palm fronds rustled with their passing.
Even without reaching into it, Ahsoka could feel how strong the Living Force was here. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and felt a hidden tightness in her chest loosen. The grip Kyzeron had on her soul was slipping away, even if she knew Barriss should've been there with her.
She froze up again, running back to her walls of icy apathy out of reflex, but they gave her no peace now. She was too full of feeling – it pounded on the gates of her little mental fortress and howled until she could hear nothing else – and she didn't dare release any of it into the Force. Surely orders had been sent out by now for the Elite storm troopers to begin their search patterns, each unit precisely placed to form an unbroken net screening for the slightest use of Jedi power...
Grief gave way to panic, and Ahsoka curled a little tighter around herself on the munitions crates she and Lux were sharing. She'd touched the hearts of so many in the plaza by the auction house, rioted them into rebellion, but she'd nearly lost herself to (she had to name it for what it was) the dark side to do it. And for what? She was alone and apart again, a speck of dust in the cold emptiness of space so far from hope and help even the stars seemed dim.
Lux draped his short cape over her shoulders and helped her to her feet with such tenderness Ahsoka clawed at it, anchoring herself to his presence in the Force. He was never completely untroubled, but he was always warm and welcoming. Yes. He was her purpose, her mission – the star to guide her to salvation.
"It's early, still, but would you like to retire after a light supper?" he asked as he led her away from the gunship, their escort following a respectful distance away. The path curved around an especially dense group of tree trunks, but through the lush vegetation, Ahsoka could see flashes of stonework that suggested a large building. "Or, I, well..."
