It had been a long time. A very long time indeed since she had heard voices in her head. In those times she would have sought the voice out, followed its life-thread to the source. But she knew that if she were to reach out, all she would find would be stale air.
She shook her head, blinked, listened for a clue. But no clue came to her. Her reflection mocked her and she pulled a face, showing it her indignation.
"No life, eh? Creepy and cryptic, of course." She talked aloud, and listened as her words echoed off the walls. She could see behind her, through the mirror, a door.
With a sigh, and a straightening out of her back, she turned and strode towards the door. It slid open soundlessly, and antiseptic-laced air tickled her throat. The smell that hit her next was unpleasant by association. Preservation chemicals. The fountain of youth for the dead.
"Morgue" she muttered to herself, "very clever. Now where are my answers? " Two corpses were laid out on the hard cots. One was a man, badly burned- the other an old woman who seemed to have died of old age. Around the man's waist was a utility belt, barely scorched, and she cautiously undid the clasp. She was careful to avoid the scorched flesh as she searched the pockets, removing hydrospanners and various security clearance cards.
"Find what you're looking for amongst the dead, Ainia?" She froze. Her name hung in the air, sounding so familiar and yet so foreign. She turned slowly, eyes narrowed to slits, brandishing a plasma torch she had lifted off of the belt. The old woman was sitting on the edge of her cot, the brown hood of her robes falling over most of her face, her mouth a thin line, awaiting an answer to her query. Twin braids framed her wan countenance, and the hood cast shadows and deep wrinkles across her skin.
"How- Who are you?" Ainia demanded. It had been many years since anyone had spoken that name in her presence. She had abandoned it around the same time she had abandoned the Order.
"You sound startled by your own name, child. Have you been keeping it safe for someone?" The old woman sidestepped Ainia's question, and forced her own upon the younger. Frustration bubbled inside of the young women. What right did this half-dead prune have that allowed for delving into her past?
"I have been keeping myself safe by keeping it lost. But if you plan on dusting it off for use, mind telling me yours?" Ainia's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
"Kreia. Would you rather I call you the Exile? " She spoke with little emotion, though her tone hinted cynicism.
"Ainia will be just fine, thank you. So, please, enlighten me as to our particular situation." Ainia's lips pursed tightly, and she placed her slender hands on her hips. This- Kreia seemed to know too much.
"Ah, yes. It appears my ship somehow got here, though I am not sure how, or what this place is, for that matter. And it also appears that not all is right. I sense something is coming. And I sense it does not bode well."
"Just the answer I was looking for."
"Well, go do what you youth are good at. Find yourself some clothing and some information. I will wait for you here."
"And after that, you owe me a damn lot of answers. You understand? You could be a Sith Lord, for all I know."
"I will answer what I can, Exile." Kreia watched as Ainia left the morgue, a peculiar smile contorting her lips. It was odd. All those years had passed since she had last caught a glimpse of the girl. Twelve years since Revan began recruiting her fellow Jedi and rallying them against the Mandalorians. And yet, the Exile did not appear to have aged a day. Granted, she had been very young when she had left the Enclave.
But still, it troubled Kreia. And intrigued her.