Vestiges of the Seer

Day of Emergence

Candles burnt out when the time came. The wind hollowed and silenced after a long day, and the birds began to fall out of the sky; it was the end of a story, and the beginning of a new. Cautionary tales to be told to children as years pass. A story of a woman who dammed herself to the end—who hadn't cared what it cost her, all that she could see was the absolutes of truth and the undeniable nature of the Force tearing at her soul, lurching it's way to consume her and leave all but an empty void which heaved its way to new life. She felt it through her visionless eyes, she felt through her heart and in her hand, she was at the end of her path, of her journey. She was at the place her path first officially began.

And now, at this end she has realized her biggest mistake hadn't been by being abided to a code that has long since been a substance of poison to those who follow in its steps or by allowing herself to be blinded by the truth, her biggest mistake had been not training the Exile sooner, to give her clairvoyance of halved truths and falsities. She had too much of the Jedi still lingering within her—she could never truly understand the true nature that was given. Her compassion outweighs the sad realities they all live in, her perception is as far as her good heart would go. The galaxy does not need good nor does it need the bad, it needs only the cut ups between them. Kreia stood now, as she always has, in the middle of two worlds, two oddities of Ashla and Bogan. Her mind has wandered farther from its own time to that of the future, she was gifted or rather cursed with the knowledge she had been given.

Her cloak was tethered, her hair stood out and her skin pale, revealing her corruption and revealing how far she had let herself fall. She sat crosslegged in the heart of the Trayus Academy, meditating and opening her mind as she felt the loose chains circle around her, ready to engulf and lead her to a ravine, the innermost desire became a dimming light and the outermost ideals became the necessity. It was as if a thousand eyes looked down and cascaded her into an empty space where she'd learn the depths of the Force. These eyes lingered beneath and above, side by side, they were the watcher of the Force and she was the seer, the curse paved way farther than her own blind eyes could reach, and her hand was dazed by the effects of the watcher. Her eyes seethed with the Force, her lips as dry as a desert and her body a nestle. She couldn't shake the feeling off that she was a vessel for the Force, nothing more. A vestige that has been missing for countless years, a mirror on the other side which called to her and the concatenation of it all.

She withered in this inner turmoil but she yearned to continue on. No amount of concatenations or vestiges can prevent her from completing what she was destined to do—no amount of fear mongers or peace establishers can throttle over her own caliber, she knew this to be exact yet she also reminded herself that the future is always in motion and always changeable, anything could happen in between her plan and the Exile's journey to Malachor V. She had 'betrayed' her apprentice and in doing so, she will be faced with her again. Only this time, it will not be to gain wisdom or to understand her lessons, it will be a confrontation, one that ends in her own death. Kreia struggled to pinpoint the pieces of what she discovered, what felt like so long ago, on Malachor V.

A distant echo made its way to her opening mind, whispering to her of mangled apparitions and tangled deities, "Reality is often spoken less of when one is confronted with fiction." A voice coughing up what is real and what is not as it tried to manipulate the elder woman, "In this, you cannot trust fiction as it takes you away from what is real, and reality cannot be trusted as it takes you away from a fictionalization of it all—to make sense of it." These words sprung its way to her sub-conscious. Filling her thoughtful mind to a minimized version of thoughtlessness. "I must break way with both in order to see the truth," she said aloud in response. The Trayus Academy heightened its ambience and the voices of the dead called out to her embrace of the eeriness the Academy held. "Separate one from fiction and they become nothing but poor souls who has no way out of a sad reality. Separate one from fiction and they become nothing but souls who cannot face reality up hand and believe they are special in every way. But, when you discard both you can see the truth, as long as you allow yourself to see it."