The days following the funeral were quiet. The Academy had cancelled classes for a week while they dealt with the aftermath of this tragedy. The students were encouraged to use this time to pursue their own intellectual achievements, while the professors and staff met behind closed doors. There were several visitors to the school grounds during this time, and it seemed that the Headmaster was constantly in his office, arguing with somebody. He rarely came out, and when he did, he looked more tired than usual. There was a sadness in his eyes, something beyond the pain felt by the loss of a member of the clan.

Nila-Om was spending this time familiarizing herself with the equipment left behind by Reeve. There had been no talk of who would replace Reeve as Loremaster, and Nila wanted to take the opportunity to prove herself. She knew that she was too young, too new to the clan to be honestly considered, but perhaps she could serve as an understudy or intern to whomever was given the role. The flow of information fascinated her, and she felt a natural calling to the role.

Khalon was spending a lot of time on his swoop bike, riding the perimeter around the campus. He and Sesna had parted ways shortly after the suspension of classes had been announced, and he was finding other ways to occupy his time. There was very little that troubled Khalon that could not be washed away in the rush of air that bathed him while he rode. Ever since being drummed out of the Jedi Academy, he had never given much thought to continuing his life down that path. However, he was giving more and more thought lately to acquiring a lightsaber of his own, if he could convince someone to teach him how to construct one.

Kaikorero and Sesna were finding a common bond in their love of machinery. Sesna had grown up the daughter of a ship's mechanic, and found a natural kinship with the scrappy tinkerer from Belsavis. The two spent hours in the garage experimenting with various gadgets and tools. Sesna helped Kaikorero calibrate the hydraulics in her mechanical knee, and Kaikorero worked with Sesna on improving the design of her custom sabers. It was a good friendship for both of them, and one that would serve them well in the future.

Zhejari was spending more and more time on the roof of the temple that made up the Academy's main hall. There was a aura of discontent around all of his actions. He silently poked at his plate during mealtimes, and interacted with the other students less and less. As much as his actions seemed to demand privacy, he was secretly yearning for a connection. All his life he had been told he was superior to other races, and yet living amongst such a diverse group of 'lesser' beings, he found himself craving their approval, and began to question the teachings that had been given to him since his childhood.

Fiachra had also found something of a kinship on the campus grounds, but not with another student. She was spending more of her time lately out by the cliffside waterfalls with her new friend Bersk, who was only too grateful for the company. Neither of them were very comfortable in social situations, and appreciated finding someone else here at home that was content to sit in silence with nature. Fiachra formed bonds with local wildlife, sneaking food from the cafeteria in the folds of her robes to feed the nekarr cubs and flutterplumes that squawked with delight as they flocked around her. And with Bersk, she found a relationship that she could not quite define. They were not attached romantically, as inappropriate as that would be. But rather she viewed him almost like an uncle. Albeit, an uncle that drank too much and occasionally smelled like pond mold. It was not uncommon for Fiachra to stay with Bersk until he succumbed to the drink and help him crawl into his bed of moss and flora where he would instantly lose consciousness and snore until morning. She felt indebted to him for saving her, but more than that she felt a sense of ownership in the hapless older man. He needed someone to care for him, and while Fiachra knew that was a task that should not have fallen to her, she looked forward to taking care of her friend.

And so it was that the students of the Halcyon Academy found their own ways of coping after the death of Reeve Halcyon. But not everyone was handling the situation so calmly.

"I'm telling you, we are under attack!"

Lothärius was having a difficult time keeping his breathing even. The murder of Reeve on his watch was wearing on him, and his calm, collected persona was beginning to fade. "We had an outsider breach our defenses and strike down one of our own in broad daylight. This has to be treated as a military operation. We have to source out who the enemy is and bring the fight to their door!"

The Halcyon Clan was taking the opportunity of having everyone gathered for Reeve's funeral to host a formal meet to discuss the future of the clan. Obviously, the main topic of conversation was recent events. They met in one of the temple structures on the Academy grounds, chairs arranged in a circle. There was no head, no council, just people. While such level playing fields felt comforting to those who sometimes felt trampled under the wills of those in charge, it was irritating to Lothärius, who knew that sometimes decisions had to be made without the approval of a committee. Such discussion slowed down the works, and in a time like this they had to move quickly.

Strangely, he had found an ally in an unexpected place.

"For once, I agree with the Commander." Haran'buir chimed in, his voice amplified through his helmet's comm system. "Every minute we sit here, the target gets further away and more difficult to track. We need to be on the offensive right now."

"Not everyone shares your point of view, gentlemen. That is why we discuss these things together." Volaro's voice continued to be that of reason. He was clad head to toe in a dark red robe that covered the top half of his face. He represented the Halcyon interests on Dromund Kaas, and his time on the political stage had done well for him. "We are more of a target now than ever, with this facility that bears our name. We must think of the protection of those we harbor here first and foremost. Running around the galaxy kicking down doors and flooding streets with goose-stepping soldiers draws the absolute wrong kind of attention to us."

Michael Halcyon, Headmaster of the Academy and former leader of the Clan pointed at Volaro in agreement. "He's right, we've only recently managed to recover our good grace these past few years, and we did it by laying low and not starting fires. I want retribution for Reeve as much as anyone, but we have to be smart about it."

"And what happens when you achieve that retribution, Michael? Will that bring Reeve back from the dead?" Asmodeus, groundskeeper of the Academy spoke. "Revenge is not a pursuit that should be taken lightly. Trust me on this."

"I t'ink the more relevant questions 'as yet to be asked." The heavily accented voice of Tal'aran steered the conversation away from a potentially dangerous area. "The intruder took only one crate of contraband wit' him. I think we need to be asking ourselves how Oryon fits in with alla dis."

At mention of the name Oryon, several members of the clan frowned and looked away.

Jodoc, recent addition to the clan and one of the few final people to meet with Reeve before his death, spoke up. "Aye, I've thought of that. Tried reaching out to Belsavis port authority to check in on the prisoner. No luck. Even if the man had stole a ship and escaped they'd still be telling me all was well."

"Yeah, they aren't going to admit that they lost a prisoner. Bad for business." Bakurro, bounty hunter and arsonist, knew a thing or two about the prison world.

"We don't know that he's escaped, or is even involved. All we know is that someone wanted his stuff." Alan, private detective and cynic, was more interested in the facts than speculation. "Its possible that Oryon had left something in with his personal effects that the guy wanted. Reeve was maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Michael frowned. "Could we even confirm Oryon's whereabouts if we wanted to? It's not likely that he's sat in a cell the past few years. He's probably been out of the wardens reach for years now. Even if we sent a detachment of Dawnbreakers to investigate, they could comb that planet for months without conclusive evidence one way or the other."

"We don't have that kind of time." Haran'buir interjected. "If Oryon is involved, we'll know sooner or later. The priority right now is to find out how this person got in and out without our security measures detecting him coming or going. We figure that out, we might get a lead on where he came from."

Michael tapped his fingers, thinking. "Haran and Lothärius. Find out what happened. But keep it under the radar for now. I don't want this blowing back on us. If you uncover a lead, we will investigate it as a group." He looked about the room. "Utilize whomever you need, but I'd suggest letting Jodoc and Alan conduct their own investigation. I want you all to work together, but from your own angles. Let's find out what is happening here."

As the group dismissed, Michael and Lothärius stepped aside and had a quick discussion in low voices.

"How does she fit into all this?"

"I don't know, but we don't play that card until we have to."

"Is she a liability? Is it possible that she was part of this?"

"I don't think so, but I'm going to have eyes on her, just in case."

"You'd better, son. Because if I find out one of your students had anything to do with the death of an Order member, I'm going to shut your little school down immediately. You understand?"

Michael frowned, and met Lothärius' gaze with hardened eyes. "You are upset. I suggest you leave before you say something you'll regret."

Lothärius glared at Michael and stomped away. He would spend the rest of the night in the quiet garage on the Haymaker, working out his frustrations on the old wrecked swoop bike.

Oryon closed his eyes and breathed in the hot, arid climate that was now his home. "I hate Tatooine."

Still, he had to admit, uncovering an ancient Rakatan interplanetary transport device to sneak him out of Belsavis was an inspired move, even if it meant setting up camp on a miserable dustball such as this. The mute Togruta that had facilitated his jailbreak was proving to be even more resourceful as the days went by. Several of the old terminals had been repaired and restored to working order, and it was apparent that he had wanted Oryon to assist in some sort of technical capacity. To what end, he had obviously not said.

Oryon had taken a few days to recoup from his incarceration, stocking up on food and medicines that would aid his recovery both physically and mentally, as well as upgrading and modifying his old gear that his silent host had recovered for him. But now it was time for some answers. He found Zahavi upstairs on the balcony, tinkering with one of the Rakatan terminals he had managed to power on.

"I'm not entirely certain how this is supposed to work, if you cannot or will not speak aloud." Oryon folded his hands behind his back and widened his stance. "But I presume you did not bring me here without expectation of some sort of cooperation. I'd like to know what that is, before we go any further."

Zahavi turned and met the gaze of his guest. He raised a hand, open palmed, towards Oryon, and made a questioning gesture. Oryon studied the hand carefully, and then nodded his approval. Zahavi wished he could have spoken, to tell Oryon what needed to be done, sparing him the knowledge that haunted his own soul. But things were as they were, and this was the only way.

Zahavi laid his hand against Oryon's temple, and immediately the Chiss collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. A thousand years of memories flooded his mind, and he struggled to regain his composure. Centuries of war clouded his thoughts, worlds on fire and entire stars collapsing under their own weight, killing trillions. He was seeing the future through the eyes of someone who had seen it, and the horrible implications of it all made him sick.

"By the stars..." Oryon steadied himself with one knee on the ground, fighting back the urge to vomit. "There is no other way..."

He rose to his feet and looked Zahavi in the eye, the knowledge of a thousand years of war settling in his mind. "The Halcyons must be destroyed."