Inner Universe

"I'm falling right now—catch me," she said softly.

The soft rustling of the trees that grew from the small pots beside them continued to fill the silence and remind them of the gentle breeze that sought to cool their bodies and their hearts, if only for a moment. All that stood in the moment was the both of them together again, as light beads of sweat glistened on their bodies.

He continued to shuffle about, watching her smile a wide grin that stretched ear-to-ear. He always enjoyed that smile. He kept her in his arms, safe and far away from falling thousands of stories to the black depths that lay beneath the balcony from which they stood.

She appeared carefree—almost as if she were thousands of light-years away from the currents and what-have-you-nots of the Galaxy. It hardly mattered to her anyway—all that really mattered was that she was here, with him. "I love you," she whispered in his ear before she jumped.

The light rustling of the gentle breeze filled his nostrils with that one flowery scent she managed to somehow retain. But she was long gone, and there he stood, enjoying the breeze that carried her scent. "Rena," he whispered, shortly before he felt himself thrust far away from the precarious perch he had been but a few, short moments ago.


Dante woke up, coughing as he fell off the cot he had rested on. His eyes snapped open as he realized he was not falling any further than the deck plating and the height of the cot would allow him. He rose, shaking his head, as he was clothed in his black breeches, gloves and tunic. His long coat hung at the edge of the bed, along with his lightsabers and modified Mandalorian heavy repeating blaster pistol he had taken from an old enemy from a long time ago.

He sat at the edge of the cot, burying his face in both of his hands, rubbing his face slightly. His black hair, peppered with some signs of greying strands, appeared disheveled, as always. He heard the door hiss, followed by slow deliberate footsteps, as the door hissed closed.

The cool, almost too calm feeling of her presence was just enough to startle anyone—but he hadn't been fazed in the slightest.

"You had a nightmare," she stated, rather than asked, in her soft-spoken manner.

"To be honest, I don't know what it was," he replied, slowly dragging his hands across his face as he looked up to see her looking down at him.

Her soft, almost golden skin seemed to flush ever so slightly. The velvet veil she wore over her head quivered slightly from the subtle breeze of the vessel's ventilation ducts. Her soft, full lips also seemed to quiver slightly. She sat down neatly, on the cot across from him, resting her hands on her lap as she gazed—though Dante couldn't be certain—quizzically towards him.

He could feel the soft, barely noticeable echoes of the Force around her. She felt something, but she appeared to be a master of her own emotions. He surmised as much, considering her life as something of a Sith Apprentice. Despite her past and the masterful control over her emotions, he felt no qualms about sitting comfortably in front of a former Sith. In fact, he felt nothing at all.

"So?" She asked, after a moment of comfortable silence between the two.

"So what?" He asked.

"What was the nightmare—or premonition?"

He exhaled deeply. "I-I don't want to talk about it, right now, if it's all the same to you."

She cocked her head. "You don't feel comfortable?"

"What I feel is irrelevant," he replied somewhat sourly. "I just don't want to talk about it for now."

"What if it is a premonition about the Jedi Order? Or perhaps about the Sith? You can't deny the perceptions of the Force so easily."

He looked at her intensely, gauging her reaction and hiding a smirk as he noticed her skin flush ever so lightly. After another moment, he looked at the ground and glanced back towards her. "You never told me why Theresa chose not to kill Atris."

"Three words: Quid pro quo," she replied.

Dante sighed audibly. For a Miraluka—and an ex-Sith—she's something. She's almost as stubborn as Rin, he mused, before he felt his heart sink a bit with the name. Rin. "Very well," he chuckled dryly, "but you go first."

She nodded politely. If it bothered her, she didn't show it.

I'm glad I've never played Pazaak against her—I don't think I'd stand to win. I'm glad I haven't played Atton for that matter, he thought. I'd probably owe him more credits than I'd ever see in my lifetime.

"Master Falcus chose not to kill her because she saw potential in Atris' redemption from the Dark Side. Atris had given in to her anger, becoming the very thing she swore to destroy. Atris had allowed her anger—her rage—to consume her and direct her for most of her life—unknowingly, of course."

Dante nodded slightly, curious as to why exactly the fabled Exile had chosen an action such as redeeming the fallen Jedi Master.

"Atris was like a sister to her," Visas continued, "and Master Falcus was true to the Light by sparing Atris' life. Why Atris has begun this course of action or whether she still lives, for that matter, at the mercy of those holocrons remains to be seen. If she really is behind the things that have taken place—as you say—it is then Atris' fault in its entire entirety. She will be stopped."

He nodded. So, Atris was like a sister to Theresa. I can now imagine how she must have felt when Theresa had entered the Council Chambers—and how Theresa was exiled for her beliefs in joining the war effort. He began to grow in appreciation for the so-called Exile. More importantly, he began to wonder how Atton was coping with the Exile's disappearance. Atton struck the Jedi Knight as someone who would have followed Theresa to the bottomless pit of the Dark Side and back.

He knew that the love those two must have shared had to be something truly great and wondrous. The loss of that love—and that person—tended to pull the survivor back into the bottomless pit, consumed by its void; never to return. He remembered those few precious memories of Rin left in his heart; most were washed away during the darker months of his life, as he had found the cantinas to be of some comfort. He'd almost walked out of his life—and the Jedi Order—during that time. He could imagine that Atton must have certainly begun his journey towards the dark tunnel that tempted him, almost as if it were the notion of seeing a dead body that titillated the morbid and curious nature of a young child.

After a moment, Visas' soft, serene voice permeated through his thoughts. "Your turn, Dante," she said, smiling one of her 'rare' smiles—or so he was told.

He chuckled. "You're right." He cleared his throat as he said, "well, I found myself on the balcony of Rena's quarters, standing with her safely tucked in my arms. She seemed to be somewhat older." He coughed a bit. "She whispered to me that she loved me, shortly before she jumped."

Visas sat there silently, her hands had gripped the velvet cloth that was her gown. "I see," she whispered. "Who is this Rena?"

Slightly puzzled, Dante answered. "She's my Apprentice, of course. I thought I had told you this?"

She asked carefully, her hands chafing the fabric of her gown in between her fingers, "do you love her?"

"Of course—she's my Apprentice," he replied, thinking that would answer everything. He shook his head, clearing away his puzzlement. "Anyway, there is more--,"

Visas rose immediately. "It is quite all right," she replied quickly. "It was nothing more than a dream—not a premonition. I am sorry to have wasted your time." She turned and headed for the door.

"Wait," Dante said, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her towards him, as his other hand clasped her other wrist. "You don't understand."

"I understand everything perfectly. Let go of me," she warned icily.

Something in her tone—normally gentle—shook him to the core. He let go and he slowly said, "look, I think there is some misunderstanding. Rena is my Apprentice—she's like a daughter to me. Of course I love her—not romantically, but paternally."

"So you don't have a romantic relationship with her?"

"No," he replied, amused that somehow she had become flustered because of his relationship with his Apprentice. I just can't seem to understand you women at all, he mused, wondering what the hubbub was all about.

"Oh," she said, regaining her composure quickly. Great, how could I have misread that? She chided silently. "I seem to have misread your words, I apologize." She turned and began to leave, when Dante's voice spoke up, causing her to pause.

"It's quite all right. Would you like to hear what else I have to say?"

"Yes," she replied, after what seemed an eternity. "That would be…nice."

I don't see what Atton is so worried about, Dante thought as he replied, "let's grab something to eat first—I'm starved."


"I won't let you fall," he said softly.

The soft rustling of the trees that grew from the small pots beside them continued to fill the silence and remind them of the gentle breeze that sought to cool their bodies and their hearts, if only for a moment. All that stood in the moment was the both of them together again, as light beads of sweat glistened on their bodies.

She continued to shuffle about, watching him smile a wide grin that stretched ear-to-ear. She always enjoyed that smile.

He kept her in his arms, safe and far away from falling thousands of stories to the black depths that lay beneath the balcony from which they stood.

He appeared truly happy—something she had never seen in such a long time. It hardly mattered to her anyway—all that really mattered was that he was here, with her. "I love you," he whispered in her ear before he let go of her and jumped.

He was long gone, and there she stood, dumbfounded as he fell into the darkness, becoming nothing more as it consumed all his features.

"Dante," she whispered, shortly before she felt herself thrust far away from the precarious perch she had been but a few, short moments ago.


She snapped awake, panting and breathing deeply, as she looked side-to-side and muttered under her breath, as she attempted to determine where she was. Once more, Rena Naver was sitting up, in the night of her bed.

"I have to stop dreaming like this," she groaned as she threw one hand on her face, wiping off the sweat that had matted her short, shoulder-length hair, covered her skin and soaked her sheets once again. It hardly mattered to her that this dream had been different from the ones she had about Revan and the Exile. She rose from the bed and threw off the sheets, grabbing an extra set, throwing them on the mattress and casting aside her sodden ones. I'll deal with those in the morning, she thought, as she went to lie down.

A few moments after, just as she was falling asleep, she heard a ring at her door and she rose. "Just a minute," she called out wearily as she threw on a pair of loose fitting pants.

As always, she kept her lightsaber close to her reach with the Force—at the edge of the table. She opened the door and was surprised with whom she saw. "Febe," she acknowledged, albeit with some surprise.

"Hello Master Naver," she said sleepily, the young child yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"You don't have to call me 'Master,' Febe," Rena replied. "I am a Padawan, just like you. Call me Rena."

"Are you all right?" The little girl asked, too tired to listen to the older woman's reprimand.

Rena looked taken aback. "Of course I'm all right," she said softly to the young girl.

"Are you sure? Because I felt ugly waves coming from you, while I was sleeping."

This little one is perceptive and strong in the Force, she thought bemusedly. She knelt down to look at the young girl. "You're very strong in the Force and very perceptive, Febe. You'll make a great Jedi when you grow up."

The little girl smiled. Her dark curly locks somehow seemed to fall on her puffy cheeks again.

"I'm quite all right," Rena replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," she smiled genuinely. Somehow, she had always been fond of the child, feeling some form of kindred connection with her.

As a toddler, Febe's parents were murdered and she was almost sold into slavery. An angry Frreral saw to it that Febe was spared that cruel fate. It was that same day he had torn the arms out of a bounty hunter, who had claimed that Frreral was his catch.

Now it was Rena's turn to ask the young girl. "Are you all right? What are you doing up?"

"I felt the ugly feeling and I couldn't sleep. I had nightmares."

Rena's expression grew baffled. "What nightmares?"

"I saw angry men in black walking towards us—one wore tubes from his eyes, and he was very angry with me. He said I shouldn't have seen him and that he has come to hurt everyone I love. He says I should go with him."

Slightly horrified, Rena asked carefully, "what did you say to the man?"

"I told him no," she replied, shaking her head from side-to-side.

"Good girl," Rena whispered.

"But," Febe said, catching the older Padawan off guard, "he said he will come for me soon."

Taking great care not to reveal any traces of fear, for she obviously realized the young girl had a premonition in the Force, Rena calmly said, "all right, Febe, go lie down and I'll talk to the Masters in the morning, ok?"

Febe nodded, but appeared apprehensive.

"What is it?"

"Can I sleep in your room?"

Rena smiled and replied, "of course." She guided the child in and put her to lie down on her bed, as the child covered up and soon after went to sleep. Rena lay beside the small, resting child, her thoughts turned towards a new chain of thoughts, as she quickly forgot her nightmares. Febe unwittingly had a conversation with a Sith—someone who's immensely powerful and who tried to tell her to join the Dark Side. If she could feel the presence of that Sith at this age, then there is no telling how powerful she may grow up to become. What's more, the Council has to hear about this. She noticed the night sky slowly changed its shade to indigo. I'll let the Council know of this in the morning, she reasoned, as she wrapped one arm over the small girl, who in turn nestled up towards Rena, and closed her eyes.


He tensed his left arm and flexed his fingers, as he watched the movements of the black-cased appendage manoeuvre to and fro. The slight whir of the mechanisms of the cybernetic prosthetic saddened him slightly as he realized his real arm was gone. Nothing but phantom pain raced across the black encased shell of his arm.
real

The prosthetic arm ran up to where his triceps began and where the rest of his arm met the socket. It was black and carried the generic shape of an arm, though at the size of a well-toned arm. Of course, the cybernetic arm was composed of very light—almost weightless—metal. It also seemed to be finely detailed and it was obvious that the arm was roughly the thickness and size of his right arm—the more dominant arm.

He moved his fingers again, testing out the control he had over the metallic extremities. He grunted as he rose, staring at himself in the mirror in front of him. He wore his tattered and torn robes—new ones would have to be acquired—as the intensity of his oceanic blue eyes had somehow diminished. When will this war end? He thought to himself. Bastila, I will come home to you. I know you can still feel me—even if the bond is weak. I love you and I will end this threat soon, just stay strong, my Love.

He sighed as his eyes gazed over his rough, worn features. His face was still blotchy with the stains of warfare, his goatee was still neatly trimmed and his hair appeared tousled. He heard the door his and he knew who it was, as he continued to look at his black arm that somehow seemed to fit his form.

"How are you?" She asked him, worry was thick in her voice.

"Well, aside from a few dirty clothes, a few scratches, a new arm," he said, moving the appendage about, "I'd say I am pretty damn fine. Nothing a bath can't handle," he chuckled dryly.

She sighed. "I am sorry it has come to this, Revan."

He turned about and saw the worry in her eyes and stance. He sighed. "I'm fine, Theresa—really, I am." His eyes shifted towards the ground. "It's just that having my arm blown off and having this thing in its place, isn't what I'd exactly call feeling a whole lot better."

"War has its price," she reminded him softly.

"I know—I just thought I had paid the price a long time ago." He looked up at her, knowing full well that they both felt the same way. "I just didn't expect I'd have to pay the piper again. I figured I'd paid all my dues and thensome with everything I've done." He moved his new arm, whirring ever so faintly, but loud enough for him to hear it now and always, as it would remain there for the rest of his life. "Guess I'll just have to live with it."