The boy anxiously walks past the central reference desk of the vast library. He tries his best to act casual, to not walk too fast, or seem too eager. He breathes a sigh of relief, finding the Chief Librarian busy assisting a Jedi Master with locating information on a star system currently in possession of the CIS. The boy's interest is only slightly piqued. He'd had his fill of CIS occupied worlds as of late.
The library was increasingly less populated as the war went on which made things easier, and harder. It was risky to meet this way but who could say if they would ever get the chance again. Plenty of Jedi and their padawans leave and do not return. It was getting very difficult to get a day pass, to leave the Jedi Temple, so the Archives would have to suffice.
He rushes past the banks of holodisks, the tomes on ancient history, political treatises, and nature journals. He so anxious to get there but the studious pupil in him does not allow him to pass without glancing at the book titles in fading aurebesh, and other less familiar script. He finally finds her in exotic botany, leaning against the tall bookshelf and thumbing through a dusty book.
She looks even more beautiful than the last time he saw her. When was that? He wonders. Geonosis. That hot, dusty, bug-infested rock; she had fought so fiercely there. They all did. It was there they first kissed, hidden from the others in the shadow of a droid control ship's wreckage. That's when, in the jubilation and grief shared by those who live to see the fighting cease, that their idle flirtation and playful innuendos changed into something else.
She wears that same serious expression she always did when she was deeply focused. Even when she was meditating. Her bright brown eyes dart across the page and she licks a single, slender, yellow finger before flipping the page. It was just like her, to be waiting for their rendezvous and wind up with her nose in a book.
"Anything I'd find interesting," he asks, trying to peek over her shoulder. He can smell the spicy-sweet scent of the meiloorun blossom oil she brushed into her hair.
She turns and smiles, "Um...it's probably a little too… cerebral?"
He staggers back as if he'd been struck, "I read!"
"Trashy fiction from the discount bin doesn't count, Drey," she sneers as she slams the book shut.
He leans in close, "Now Syrna, you know it's the trashy non-fiction that I'm into."
The mirialan girl puts a hand to his chest to prevent him from leaning in any closer.
"Master Nu," she asks, her brows furrowed with concern.
"Pouring over star maps with Master Zaidi."
Syrna asks clutching his robe, "Your master?"
"In his quarters meditating. Yours?"
"At a strategy meeting."
They crash into each other sending Syrna sliding back against the bookshelf, toppling several books over. The two kiss passionately; it is frantic, urgent, hungry. Dreyden pushes her against the bookshelf his hand finds the small of her back and pulls her in tightly. Syrna pushes back against him sending Dreyden reeling into the shelves of books behind him, sending several heavy volumes onto the floor with a loud crash.
These types of rendezvous were dangerous for both of their standings in the Jedi order. The Jedi take a vow of chastity and while they had not progressed past kissing they were both hurtling toward something more. The rules of the Jedi did not take into account the passions of young love, nor were they lenient with those who turned their backs on the ancient rules of their order.
They both stop at the sound of a metallic clicking on the hard, smooth floor. An SP-4 Analysis Droid turns the corner and finds the two intently pouring over books. The droid stops, looks at them for a moment, and then goes on its way. When the clicking of the droids feet is out of ear shot the two padawans struggle to shuffle their laughter.
"Wow," Syrna says, sliding her book back onto the shelf, "That was really close."
He knew, had always knew, since he first laid eyes on her during dueling practice all those years ago. He loved her; deeply, madly, completely. Their fates were intimately intertwined. When she turns back around Dreyden's face is grave, serious.
"What's going on," Syrna asks with concern.
"Leave with me," Dreyden asks, taking her hand.
"What?"
"Let's leave the order," he replies squeezing her hand, "Together."
Syrna takes back her hand, "Drey, it's not that simple. There's a war going on. They've trained us since we were little. You don't just get to walk away from all that."
"I don't care about the war, or the order. I love you, Syrna. I only want you. I want us to be together."
Rast's concentration is broken by the 2-1B medical droid stepping into the room. The droid looks at the monitors and then finally to the human woman suspended in the bacta tank.
Jez had seemed so indomitable when they had first met a couple of days ago, but floating unconscious in that opaque fluid, she looked so fragile and childlike.
Rast couldn't recall a time in recent memory where he was as afraid as he was bringing Jez and Zamila to the hospital ship. He didn't know if both of them would have made it to the ship alive, or if anything could have been done for them when they arrived.
"She's very fortunate you brought her in when you did," the droid says in a deep mechanical voice, "She was quite hypothermic. It appears that she will keep all her extremeties."
"When will she be able to get out of there?"
"Soon."
"And my other friend," Rast asks,"The twi'lek?"
"Physically she seems to be perfectly healthy. She is in a coma state but I cannot see a reason for it," the droid answers, "There is a flurry of brain activity, she just needs to wake up."
"Thanks," Rast replies, turning his attention back to Jez as the droid leaves.
Survival was a funny thing. The innate drive to survive can be so strong that the life it leaves you can have little joy or purpose. Other people were only means to an end. Their worth was only measurable insofar as their usefulness to Rast. When he met Jez she seemed to be a good distraction.
Staring at the woman in the bacta tank he is racked with guilt and shame. Rast knew she was damaged, he could sense that. Broken people, it would seem, can smell their own. He had been ready to manipulate her, to use her, but now It's as if a fog had been cleared. For the first time in a long time he can actually see another person. He was ready to die for them back on that rock, but now he knew why.
Rast places his palm against the warm glass of the tank. Jez was going to be okay, she was going to survive, but it was because of him. That drive for vengeance had led him to put the lives of two innocent women in danger. By his intent to kill one woman, he almost killed two others. He knew about the overdose but it was Rast that left her alone on that ship.
The more he looked at the helpless woman in the tank, the more he hated himself. Rast resolves to confess everything when he has them back, even if it costs him their friendship, it'll be worth it just to speak truth and accept consequences. He leaves the room, unable to look at Jez any longer and walks the halls of the aging frigate.
His fingers brush against the lightsaber hanging on his belt. "Bleeding" it's crystal at the first temple was supposed to create a deep connection with him and allow him to be a more skilled fighter. It hadn't helped him in that first fight. He lost that fight; he still draws breath and Qiron does not, but that doesn't alter the fact that he lost. Was the price of power really worth it?
Rast had turned from the path of the light side of the force so long ago, was he now turning away from the path of the darkside? Was there a middle path? If there was he had never heard of it. What path lies between the quest for harmony and the quest for power?