Star Wars: The Last Qymaili | ✔

5 | The Southernmost Point

Song: "Padmé's Ruminations" from Revenge of the Sith OST

Grief fit him like old, wet linens, squelching against his scales as he docked off at Abesmi. He hugged his cloak tight to his body, unaccustomed to the bone-freezing cold of the sacred ground.

Passing through the new Yamikhi tribe and finding a boy there who swore to return to the Kharankhui with him to serve at his side, sailing frosty seas alone for a standard week....it was no matter to him. She was worth every pain, every moment of suffering amidst the waves. If he could hold her just for a few minutes, to give her a proper goodbye, nothing would be in vain.

But can I say goodbye to her?

The images of kissing her—of living with her and loving her and protecting her forever—of someday helping her birth their children and raising them with her—of growing old with her and exploring the galaxy....maybe even visiting Coruscant with her....

Every dream went up in smoke, and he hugged his chest as sharp pain stabbed through his torso, congregating in one area around his chest. Her kiss was like poison now.

Snow crunched beneath his feet as he bowed in the center of the ancient circle on the tiny island, the closest the Kaleesh could get to the dead. A single tear found its way down his face. Every moment with her—the battles against the Yam'rii invaders where they defended one another, the sweet kisses against her moon-pale scales, the joyous glint in her eyes each time she sank a sword into the wicked Huk—sank into his scales like frozen rain.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please...." The air chilled his lungs, and he sputtered a cough onto the snowy ground. "At least let me see her one last time."

The wind laughed as he slammed his fists down. "I submit myself to whatever you ask. I submit."

The wind whistled around him like her voice when she imitated birds, and the distant sea curled into ebony waves. The summer skies looked like her perfect scales, gold and traced with veins and speckles of light brown.

But he was denied.

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Should he burrow himself in the snow and freeze to death? It would be less painful than what hers had been—a shameful end under a shameful enemy race.

The wizened gaze in her eyes, the lovely echo of her voice, her hands stroking his neck and arms—just a few more hours, and he would have had all of that and much more. He could almost feel the warmth of a campfire, the cool of a rainfall with her, the nights on long missions in which they would rest in the comfort of one another's embrace.

He willed his eyes to look ahead. In the distance, her unmistakable form lingered, her twin swords glistening at her side. He dizzily stood. His boots made wet squelching sounds as he raced toward her. Oh my gods. Oh....my....gods....

She looked his way just as he engulfed her, squeezing her tightly to his chest, crushing his body to hers. He removed his mask, fitting his mouth over hers immediately. Her breath was hot as she kissed him back. Whispered his name, again and again, as she interlaced their fingers. Her callous hands stroked his own as if he was a priceless gem, a good man—not a wretch struggling with every wicked act he'd ever done.

Her form flickered, and he pressed their foreheads together. "What's wrong?" She asked, her voice dreamy but still the same. Still the voice of his sweet Ronderu.

"Oh, Ru," he mumbled as he lifted her up and buried his face in her black hair.

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