After brushing past the heavy doors, Mill is met with a bombardment of purple flakes as he makes his way toward Sbeit amid heavy gusts. Sbeit, seemingly unimpaired by the flurry, turns away from the small Xamster and two Er'Kit to address Mill, "They'll make peace, I'm sure of it. The Xamsters are rounding up the bodies, both warm and cold. Also, the Er'Kit are going to show us where they hid their supplies. So everything is fine out here if you want to… you know."
"Do you want to talk about it first?" Mill asks, holding his hand over his face to keep the spores from getting in his eyes.
"You know him better than I do. This isn't the first time I have seen something like this happen, so don't worry about me. War gets to all of us at some point, and even with the galaxy at peace, there is plenty of war to be found. Unless you have grown soft from those years with your head in the books, you know how to handle this. I recall you helping me through something similar when I was not much younger than Menyoo is now."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Mill mutters under his breath, hushed by the howling winds surrounding the Jedi. He shouts to make his next statement audible. "Fine, I'll be inside. You make preparations and call in TC. We aren't going to stay long, unless I find something. This temple is not what Yoda made it out to be, and I don't think Menyoo should be idle much longer."
Sbeit gives Mill a double thumbs up, flaunting his aversion to the wind and dust, then turns back to continue his conversation with the assembled group. Mill walks back to the temple. He places a foot in the entryway, but the winds settle before he steps in entirely, prompting him to look back and survey the carnage they left behind: a stack of bodies lays piled up in the middle of the field, scorch marks from stray bolts add to the décor of destruction left from a millennia of ongoing conflict. As he swings his head back toward the temple, he catches a glimpse of the dead bandit hung over the side of the mushroom and shakes his head, regretting his inability to stop the cycle of violence that plagues chance encounters like these. He steps inside and makes his way to Menyoo— another shot at breaking such a cycle.
Menyoo is sitting in the same position he was: staring at the severed head, emotionless and still. Mill quietly stands behind him for a couple moments, but still cannot think of something to say. "Hey, I'll uh, be searching the temple. Looking for secrets and what not. Feel free to join." No response.
Mill slowly makes his way over to the glass holocron containing the old lightsaber. He does not sense any ambient—or even residual— power residing with the weapon; but he also cannot trust his senses at the moment, so that means little. He looks around the temple hall. There is nothing remotely important or interesting in the room. He makes his way to the little alcove in the corner, hoping there will be something helpful within. He creeps around the open passage and finds something with potential. A small, handwoven rug covers the floor of the space, and a small metal shrine stands ahead of it, against the back wall. The body of the shrine is a jagged cliff, shaped like the bow of an aquatic ship, with a small symbol carved under its obtrusive tip: a small circle with lightning bolt shaped rays zig-zagging away from the top half. Mill is unfamiliar with the symbol.
Seven small stones sit atop a small ledge that separates the shrine from its user. These stones are small replicas of the Muntuur stones: jedi symbols representing strength, will, and a deep connection to the force. The real stones are used as meditation tools for Jedi practicing their telekinetic ability. Each weighing a ton, legend has it only one Jedi has ever lifted all seven stones at once— Master Yoda has won acclaim for being able to lift five of the seven. The small replica stones act as proxies for the real stones during meditation, and although they are not comparable in weight or size, they help strengthen a Jedi in both body and mind. Mill concludes these stones must have been used before the Sith attacked the temple however many centuries ago, and were left untouched by the various inhabitants since, who more than likely thought them to be mere pebbles upon a useless relic.
Mill feels energy pulsating from the shrine, most spiritual jedi objects act this way, but his readings are obscure. The feeling is one he is not accustomed to; raw and hidden, he feels vicariously like a wounded creature in a forest, hiding in in view of his predator, ready to defend himself if discovered. The feeling sums up all too well the many emotions of the past hour; perhaps the feelings of the cornered Er'Kit were trapped by the shrine. Whatever the case, this is not what Mill is searching for. He does not know what he is searching for, but he knows there must be something. He looks behind the shrine, feels around the walls, taps the floor in various spots with his foot—nothing. He then remembers the second story window he saw from outside. He looks up at the rafters above the main hall, discerning how the weight is distributed. He determines the building must have an attic.
He studies the ceiling of the alcove, which is only half as high as the rest of the temple, and focuses his feelings on it. There is without question a distinct area separate from the ceiling itself. But how to get up there, he thinks to himself? Relying on the force, he holds his left hand up to the ceiling, extending his pointer and thumb, feeling for anything that resembles a lever or handle. Jedi builders, when creating hidden passages, often craft the entry mechanism in such a way that it would feel like a handle to a force user and hide it from view, to ensure only force users find it.
This is an old practice, but luckily he is in an old temple. He feels such an object and wills the ceiling down to him. A rectangular slab heaves its way through the ancient material, grinding and chipping sections of the ceiling with it. A stair case reveals itself, attached to the slab of stone descending to the ground. Once it reaches the floor, Mill glances out of the alcove to see if he piqued Menyoo's interest. His body remains still and faced away. "I'm on my own," Mill whispers to himself in a disparaged tone, then makes his way up the stairs, both excited and afraid to discover the attic's contents.
As he ascends the staircase, a chilling cold gradually fills the air, nipping at his bare skin. Although the attic is encased in stone, barring the grueling heat outside, this sort of cold should not be possible on this planet. When Jedi connect with places of power, the Jedi often experiences feelings of confidence and resilience, bodily sensation ceases, and a profound mental acuity commences.
This room is different. Dust settles on his lips as his lungs take in the stale air trapped in the musty attic. Mill's body shakes under the oppressive cold; meanwhile, his thoughts, alongside his eyes, wander across the room. This means either he truly is struggling with the force, or this location is not sacred to the Jedi alone. Mill pulls out his lightsaber and ignites it; the environment offers no indications at just a glace. The room is small, not nearly as large as the temple itself. A small walkway lined with boxes and slouching fabrics piled over them leads to a room no larger than a supply closet. As he approaches the space, three bookshelves as tall as the room, and a desk between them, come into view. Mill spots a small light on the desk, and turns it on in place of his lightsaber, so he can avoid bumping any sensitive material with the laser-hot blade.
The light reveals a manuscript on the desk, and full rows of books on the bookshelves, kindling a glint of excitement in Mill's eyes. These writings must be hundreds of years old, possibly as old as several millennia, and have survived, hidden away in this squalid attic. He considers running down and grabbing Sbeit, but then reminds himself of the sensitivity of his mission. He instead plans to keep this to himself, at least until he figures out just what was left behind. He peers over some of the titles on the spines: A Force to Will, and Triumph of the Higher Ground; A Jedi's Impending Fate, both titles Mill has never heard of. One he sees is well-known, since he and many other padawans were forced to read sections of it in classes: The Emendation of the Jedi Code: The Junction of Honor and Ethics. He opens up a random title from the shelf, but the writing is in Protobesh. Sbeit would be helpful in translating many of these.
Mill makes his way over to the opposite bookshelf, to the right of the desk, and peruses the options available: The Journey of Wrought and Ruin, A Codex on the Fall of Empires, and thirdly, The Rule of Two: Preposterous or Precious; A Collection of Essays for and Against. None of these titles sound remotely familiar to Mill either. He works his eyes down the right side of the enigmatic collection, until they land on an explicit title: Sith Ruminations. Mill stops dead in his tracks, "Could these be…" his eyes dart across a variety of other titles: From the Light Births the Dark, The Entelechy of Death: Gateway or Beguilement?, and a truly telling title: We are the Sith. Sith tomes, each and every one of them. This temple is not a crossroads through battle alone; it was inhabited by both Sith and Jedi, or somebody who took an interest in both. Mill ponders the implications of this find. Could Yoda have known what was here? And how has this been left untouched for so long? Who left all this behind? The possibilities were endless. He looks to the final bookshelf for answers, but is left with even more questions.
Sparser than the other two, this bookshelf only holds twelve titles total. As he works through the collection, he finds common ground among them all. Similar bindings, along with equal font and sizing on the spines. There is a thematic similarity between each title as well: Where the Light Meets the Dark, A Faint Line Long Disposed, and lastly, set in four volumes, Meditations on the Junction of Sith and Jedi Ideology. Mill opens the first volume of the set, and finds it to have been handwritten. He says aloud, "Somebody who studied both the light and dark. This was their library, but who?" He finds signed on the final page, written with red ink in tilted lettering, DG. Mill closes the old tome and walks to the desk.
A handwritten manuscript lays on top of a small pile of papers, but it's not written in the same handwriting as the handwritten tomes from the middle bookshelf, nor was it written in prose. The first few lines, poetically spaced, read:
Wicked divisions grow dissent
Complicit through ignorance, the light shall stray
the darkness shrouds those who wait
Stalking and Prowling, they await their day
The redeemer's notes left for a pariah
To prevent changes of fortune, come what may.
The next couple of pages are diary entries. The entries are incomplete, starting in the middle of a story, and never finishing it. It details the writer remembering a scorching hot planet, and the fear they felt when leaving it. The writer appears to have been delivering something, until the entry ends abruptly, midsentence: For as long as I remain, the truest aspect of… The following page is lost. Only one page is left at the bottom of the stack, and it is written similarly to the poem on the first. The top of it says: Follow these notes to the truth, but only if you question the state of things; Not out of fear or contempt, but out of a love for the truth.
The poem reads as such:
The body of the one, who rules over two
the Madman, the Cynic, the Traitor
Your goal rests with the remains of he
Who found peace in the interstice between
Lay down arms of warring doctrine
And seek out the loner, between lost roads
Protected by a shield of Nebulous Black
Where tendrils of war have long gone unused
Where twin peaks embrace
A tomb lies unmarked
Outside the walls of his impenetrable home
Where the ruler of two became a body of one.
The manuscript is left unsigned, and the meaning is lost on Mill. Was the person who wrote the manuscript DG? Or is DG the dead man? Which one owned this library? Could they be the same person? And most importantly, what did the poem mean? It is a message, that much is clear; still, Mill is left with more answers than questions once again. Unsure where the next leg of the journey will take place, at least his next objective is clear: he must acquire whatever message is waiting for him. He further knows he cannot let the Order know about this office or its contents, not until he is able to copy the knowledge from the books that were left. The Jedi will censor, if not completely destroy, all of these works. He must first decipher the poem left on the desk, and he knows just the person to ask. Mill folds the manuscripts and walks downstairs. Having grown accustomed to the cold gnawing at his limbs, Mill nearly trips on the final step as the warmth returns to his extremities.
Menyoo and Sbeit are sitting on the floor talking— a good sign. "Sbeit. Menyoo. Good news! I know where we are off to next." Mill tells Menyoo and Sbeit about the document left on the desk and a bit about the office. Mill leaves out that there are Sith books, hoping Sbeit does not snoop and discover them himself. Menyoo appears to think the remnant writings are a good clue, but he is still not saying much; gloom radiates from his body language. Sbeit is much less convinced.
"This does not tell us where to go, nor does it relate to our mission. This is just an old message. And what makes you think you are the pariah he references? The message was likely already delivered a long time ago, this is a very old temple. And besides, we don't even know what the poems mean!"
Mill answers back with a smile, "No, no we do not. But I know somebody who may. Remember Plank?"
Sbeit makes an unapproving sound out of his throat and walks off, hands held high, "Mill, why do you always return to him? He cannot be trusted. Last time we went to him he led us into a death trap. I still have scars on my legs and forearms!"
Mill responds with a sarcastic tone, "And we learned to do our research before stepping into unknown territory, didn't we? Well, at least you did."
"This is not funny. He is greedy and manipulative. Anyone else but Plank!"
"Why did you call them forearms? Just say arms like a normal person."
"Don't change the subject! And because there are different sections of the arm. There is nothing wrong with being specific."
Menyoo interrupts their argument before they get too heated, "Would he know what the writing means?"
They both turn their heads to him in unison, "Yes"/ "Maybe," Mill and Sbeit answer at the same time.
Sbeit says in an exasperated tone, "Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Regardless, he is going to tell us he does if he can make a quick credit."
"And," Mill says with a defiant sneer, "he is our best option. So let TC know that we are heading for Socorro."