Anthology (A-Z)

[Lúka]

Jumping on the Liz-inspired A-Z bandwagon with Christin (https://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?57365-A-to-Z) and Sarah (https://www.theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?57387-The-Soundtrack-(A-Z)) with some insight into the backstory of Inyos Aamoran and Lúka Jibral (Master and Padawan). These moments may be flawed/subjective, depending on whose perspective it is from, and some moment may show up several times from different angles.



Apprentice

A Jedi should not know fear. Of the lessons Lúka had been taught here at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, few were more fundamental than that. Fear was the first step on the path to the dark side. Fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of outcomes beyond your control, those clouded a Jedi's perspetive, infecting him with doubt and hesitation that might cost him his life, or the lives of those he was charged with protecting. Yet, fear was an essential part of life: the foundation of every survival instinct, every impulse that cautioned you against danger and recklessness. Worse, the teachings of the Jedi instilled further sources of fear: cautionary tales of mishandled lightsabers, warnings against the seductive dangers of the darkness, consequences for those who did not ascend from the ranks of Youngling before they became too old for Padawan training, and more besides.

The hardest for Lúka to comprehend was the fear of fear itself. Unlike many of the Younglings in his class, Lúka knew fear. He was not a coward, of that he was certain: but of late he had been plagued by nightmares, dark dreams that haunted him even after waking, half-remembered flashes of golden eyes, of the scent of lightsaber through flesh, of Jedi bodies strewn lifeless at his feet. The Council said he was not ready. They said he felt too much, that his emotions were too wild, too unpredictable. The shadow of Dooku was long, and fresh, and so they would not banish him - afraid to tarnish the Order's reputation any further, perhaps - but they warned that he would not advance; that he would remain among the Younglings until he was too old, and then progress into the Service Corps, where all failed Jedi found themselves. The AgriCorps or the EduCorps, those were the destinies that lay before him, unless somehow his emotional turmoil could be subdued. That potential disgrace, that fear of failure, was the swirling magmatic core beneath his maelstrom of emotion, worsened by every report of Republic defeat, and every familiar name that graced the casualty reports. Friends, classmates, brothers and sisters from his Clan:they fought for their Republic, and for their Jedi Order, while Lúka merely languished, stewing in his own failures.

He shifted in his seat, another reluctant glance cast at the florid and enigmatic words that graced the display of the datapad clutched in his hands. He had obtained the contents - the allegedly sage teachings of some Jedi philosophy from thirty-six centuries prior - from the Archives on the instruction of a Jedi Knight; one who had vanished offworld without a word some weeks ago. Inyos Aamoran had been his name: one that Lúka only vaguely recognised. A Padawan until recently, if memory served; and clearly one who had forgotten how things were supposed to work between Knights and Younglings. Perhaps it had merely been an exercise of newfound authority, an instruction provided merely to see if Lúka would follow. If there was a lesson to be learned here, Aamoran had certainly left no indication of what it might be, and Lúka could not decipher it from the texts themselves, despite three weeks of intense scrutiny. All the exerise had left him with was a knot of frustration reserved for the Knight in question, and an irritated curiosity at how the Jedi who had chronicled Master Ari''ana's teachings could have endured listening to such pretentious tedium for so long.

Lúka would have his answer, though. As he sat, he waited in ambush, knowing that at any moment the returning Knight Aamoran would land back on Coruscant after his weeks in the Outer Rim, pass through the main doors, stride into this corridor -

"Lúka Jibral?"

The Youngling's attention snapped up from the datapad, so consumed in his thoughts that he neither saw nor sensed the Knight approach, nor his two companions. The knot of irritation tightened. Aamoran seemed to react, exchanging a wordless glance with the Jedi beside him, his verdant robes a far cry from the generic creams and browns that Aamoran wore. A subsequent glance was shared between the verdant Jedi and the Clone Trooper that completed their triad, his scuffed and scorched armour a style he didn't quite recognise, despite Lúka's obsessive study of the Battle of Geonosis reports, and every other shred of information about the war effort he could get his hands on.

"Master Aamoran," Lúka replied, wielding the Knight's sleuthed identity like a victory trophy.

The response came slowly, almost painfully so, Aamoran seeming to invest considerable time in contemplating his words. Lúka used those few moments as an opportunity to study the Knight: young features, and piercing blue eyes, but otherwise as ordinary a human as one could find. Just his luck: a Knight had finally taken an interest in him, and they wound up being the most bland and boring Knight in the history of the Order.

"I see you took my advice," Aamoran said at last, gesturing to the datapad and it's presumed contents. "Good."

And that was all: the entirety of conversation that Aamoran was prepared to offer before he walked away, viridian companion in tow. A dozen paces passed before Aamoran stopped, and turned.

"Well? Come on, we don't want to keep the Council waiting."

Silence was all that Lúka could respond with, a few seconds of absolute confusion passing before he slid to his feet and began to follow in Aamoran's wake. The Council? Which one? Surely it was too soon for him to stand before the Council of Reassignment and accept his fate; and yet these were different times now, amid the war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Perhaps there was no longer time to wait for his age to exclude him from the mainstream Order; perhaps the Service Corps were to take a more active role in the Grand Army of the Republic, just as the Jedi Knights had. It was not the means of service he had hoped for, but perhaps the Exploration Corps, perhaps a role in reconnaissance aiding his fellow Jedi? The mere notion of ending his inprisonment here at the Temple filled him with enough excitement to quicken his pace, drawing alongside Aamoran rather than trailing behind.

But no: quickly, Lúka realised that his assumption must be false. There would be no need for a Clone to accompany Aamoran if this was merely internal Jedi business; nor was that likely to be their first destination upon returning from a mission. A few more corridors confirmed it:they would have made a right if they had been headed to northeast tower; instead they continued onwards, headed towards the southwest: the High Council. The familiar sense of fear and dread began to stir within Lúka's chest. What had he done? What further disappointment had he become to the Jedi Order?

"Master Aamoran -"

The repeated words were all that Lúka was allowed to say. Inyos responded as if his words were prepared, simply waiting for Lúka to trigger it by speaking.

"We are about to debrief with the High Council regarding our last mission," Aamoran explained. His voice was strange: not dismissive as if the answer was obvious, but unexpectedly calm and patient. It clashed with the version of Aamoran that Lúka had constructed in his mind, carefully built out of fragments of frustration. "It seemed prudent that my new Padawan be present, rather than have to recount the mission to you separately."

In an instant, the bottom fell out of Lúka's stomach. This was a mistake. An error. Master Aamoran had confused him with a different Youngling, and that truth was about to be revealed before the High Council, to their mutual embarassment. Lúka should speak up; should say something; but his voice struggled and protested in his throat. Perhaps there was a chance, an opportunity to his benefit. if he only remained silent, if he allowed the mistake to persist, perhaps it would be too late to undo the steps that had been taken by then. Perhaps -

His better sensibilities refused to indulge that train of thought for even a moment longer.

"You can't."

The blunt statement was accompanied by Lúka coming to a complete halt in the corridor. His hands gripped tighter around the datapad, the knuckles on his already pale hands turning whiter still. He searched his mind for what to say, how best to convey the doubts that the Jedi Order had instilled within him. Every sentence he tried to construct collapsed upon itself however, leaving only one single result. His eyes turned down to the datapad in shame, his hands holding it towards Aamoran.

"I did not understand your lesson, Master Jedi."

Something softened in Aamoran's expression. He offered a brief nod to his clone and his companion, and without a word they continued on their course, leaving Aamoran alone in the corridor with Lúka. A few short strides retraced his path, and he dropped to a knee, a hand resting gently atop the datapad.

"My Master urged me to read these teachings when I became his Padawan, so that I might understand him better. My intention for you was the same."

His brow furrowed, and Lúka sensed the faintest hint of reluctance in advance of Aamoran's next words.

"As a Youngling, I struggled to comprehend the spiritual side of the Force. I understood it in practical terms, in how I could shape it and utilise it, but the mysticism and philosophy of it all? It felt archaic, at odds with the structured way we learn to understand the rest of the world. At first, these words and teachings baffled me as well, until one day, one by one, they did not. Slowly, I came to understand that there was no distinction between my Force, and the Force of others: I merely comprehended in a different way, and had only to learn how to conceive the Force in my own terms."

Silence fell again, and Aamoran patiently waited until Lúka's eyes climbed upwards, meeting his.

"The Council had their doubts about me, as well. My Master saw in me what they did not: his faith, and the opportunity he provided, allowed me to prove those thoughts false. I see a little of myself in you, Lúka, and so I offer you that same chance. Will you take it? Will you let me help you prove them wrong?"

The maelstrom inside Lúka shifted. The shame didn't dissipate, but rather transformed, a similar weight of doubt and unworthiness turning the eye contact between him and Aamoran into a struggle. Something else stirred as well though, a flicker of resolve, carving through his thoughts like the gleam of a lightsaber in the night. He mustered a small nod.

"I will try, Master."

A faint flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of Aamoran's mouth. "I would not let Master Yoda hear you say that, if I were you."

[Inyos Aamoran]

(delete please)

[Inyos]

Brothers

Inyos shuddered at the sound of the engines, reverberating through the echo chamber of the LAAT/i Gunship's troop compartment like the roar of a robotic Acklay. He had thought it bad enough hearing the muted and muffled version that vibrated through the hull when the pressure doors were sealed and the transport surrounded by vacuum, but now with the doors flung wide and the howling rumble of Coruscanti air rushing past, it was several times worse. Some people no doubt found it a thrill; the same people who relished the wind whipping through their hair as they screamed through the skies atop the precarious cushion of repulsorlifts. The Kaminoan clone troopers meanwhile regarded the spectacle with indifference, carefully bred and raised to disregard the sight and sound as nothing but a disinteresting aspect of their intended lives.

Inyos envied both of them. He was not peterbed by flying, not fearful of it, or reluctant to it. It was an aspect of what the Jedi Order required of him, and he regarded it as such. But he felt no thrill or joy; and lacked the ability to ignore the complex sciences and technology that made it all possible. Inyos had an innate understanding and consciousness of every facet that could go wrong, every system that could fail, every factor that could disrupt the delicate balance and send them plummetting through the sky lanes of Coruscant's multi-layered air traffic, and eventually to the ground far, far below. The Clone Wars had expanded upon that consciousness, adding the possibilities of hostile fire and friendly fire to the mix, fates he had witnessed befalling clones and Jedi alike these last months. That awareness did not leave him afraid of flying; but it did fill him with a healthy respect, and perhaps even a reverence for it.

His eyes shifted, settling on his companion. From the barely restrained smile on Mandan Hidatsa's face, Inyos could tell that his old friend was aware of the thoughts that spiralled through his mind. When it came to emotions, to the nature of others, to the living Force, Mandan had always seemed to possess an innate affinity that Inyos almost envied. For him, other beings were complicated, too many variables and cultural disparities to be taken into consideration. How Mandan made such insight seem so effortless, Inyos would never understand.

From the insightful twinkle in his eyes, Inyos could tell that Mandan saw beneath the thoughts of flying as well, peering through Inyos' attempts to focus on something other than the impending choices and actions that would shape Inyos' future forever. "You're really going through with it, huh?" Mandan probed, as if aware that Inyos had noticed, with as much gentleness as one could inject into their voice while speaking over the roar of air and engines.

"You're always commenting on how stubborn I am," Inyos countered with a defensive edge, though it was one born out of habit and good humour, rather than any sense of hostility towards his companion. "Why would you expect me to have changed my mind now?"

Mandan shrugged, his easy smile not dislodged in the slightest. "Because I know you," he countered, his words somehow understanding, supportive, and matter-of-fact, all at once. "You don't just want to make a good choice, you want to make the right choice. The best choice. Right now, you're not entirely sure which one this is."

"It is the best choice," Inyos countered, his words shaped to convince himself as much as Mandan. He was confident in those words, mostly: he had laboured over the decision, considering his options, analysing which of the potential candidates would be the best choice as his apprentice. The faint shadow of hesitation did not come from the decision that Inyos had made however, but rather from the way it had been made. Inyos had encountered Lúka Jibral at the Temple some weeks before, roaming the corridors, a familiar cloud of doubt draped around his shoulders. In an instant, Inyos had known he was meant to train the boy. There was no logic to it, though extensive study and consideration had found several reasons to justify why Jibral and he would harmonise well. It was an instinct, or an impulse; the will of the Force, Mandan had suggested, much to Inyos' annoyance. He did not feel such things. The Force did not speak to him in such ways. Yet, on this matter, it seemed to have. Or perhaps it hadn't: perhaps this was simply all in his mind, a sentimental reaction at seeing a little of himself in the boy that his mind sought to justify as something more.

That question undermined Inyos' conviction; that, paired with the understanding that he didn't need a Padawan, per se. He had become a Knight in the wake of Geonosis, elevated in part - alongside the likes of Skywalker and others - to replace the losses the Order had suffered. There was perhaps a valid argument to be made that under such circumstances, Inyos should allow himself the opportunity to settle into his new role and responsibilities: after all, he was not merely a Jedi Knight now, but a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, a responsibility new to all the Jedi. But the others, Inyos' peers, were not exercising that kind of patience and caution; and every Padawan not taken was a Jedi Commander of which the Republic was deprived. Taking an apprentice was the pragmatic choice; the most valuable course of action.

Mandan seemed to sense the lingering doubt. "You could always ask the Council to assign someone," he suggested, knowing full well that it was an option that Inyos had already extensively considered. "Perhaps the Togruta that Master Koon encountered on Shili a few years back -"

"Commander Tano," Inyos interrupted, provoked into mild frustration by Mandan's deliberate attempt to rile him by not using the names he knew full well for people and things, "Has already been assigned to General Skywalker." Inyos found himself making a deliberate effort to refer to his Jedi compatriots by rank rather than title. There weren't exactly strict protocols in place for such things, but it felt appropriate: it was the form of address the clone troopers employed, and training himself to use their vernacular seemed prudent.

Countering Mandan's comment in the teasing jest with which it had been intended, he added, "Besides, she reminds me far too much of you."

"You say that like it is a bad thing," Mandan replied, his grin broadening.

Inyos forced out a deliberately exaggerated sigh. "Believe me, Commander Hidatsa: the one of you I already have is more than enough."

[Lúka]

Cowardice

Of all the places in the galaxy to die, never in a million years had Lúka Jibral imagined it would be Ord Anor. There was nothing special about the planet: quite the contrary, it was entirely benign, and that was the problem.

Six years had passed since the end of the Clone Wars. Six years since the Supreme Chancellor - no, the Emperor - had declared the Jedi Order enemies of the state, commanding the Grand Army of the Republic that had once obeyed their Jedi Generals with seemingly unwavering loyalty to hunt and execute them with extreme prejudice. Most Jedi had died then and there, cut down as their noble choice to lead from the front transformed into an opportunity to be shot in the back. Ki-Adi-Mundi on Mygeeto. Aayla Secura on Felucia. The explosion of Plo Koon's starfighter over Cato Neimoidia. Saesee Tiin, Agen Kolar, and Kit Fisto, the would-be assassins that had breached the Supreme Chancellor's chambers, leaving him scarred and disfigured. The new Galactic Empire was not squeamish of sharing footage of these fallen Generals, chilling proof of their deaths designed to support the claims that the Jedi Order planned to betray the Republic. Lúka was sceptical: of course he was, no Jedi he had ever met seemed capable of the things they were accused of. Yet, even those Jedi he was closest to, his master Inyos Aamoran, his friend Mandan Hidatsa - they had all voiced frustrations over the choices the Jedi High Council had made in an effort to win the Clone Wars. Just ask about Susevfi, or Umbara, and you began to see the doubt in their eyes.

Not every Jedi had fallen on the battlefields of the Clone Wars, however. Many had fled, and now the Empire scoured the stars in pursuit of them. At first, it had been the clones, and the Senate Commandos, but then things had begun to change. There was Vader. There were the Inquisitors. The Jedi in exile were being hunted by their own kind. Inyos called them traitors, betrayers of the Jedi, and of the light side. Mandan called them corrupted, unfortunate victims of the insidious and seductive nature of the dark side. For Lúka, it was more complicated. He was young, he understood that, not yet wise enough to regard the galaxy with the certainty that his elders did. Yet, when he considered the Inquisitors, he wrestled with nuance and complexity. How could Master Aamoran, or Mandan, know the story behind each and every Inquisitor? The Jedi exiles accused the Inquisitors of betrayal, and yet they were themselves accused of the very same thing. It was too complicated a matter for certainty, for Lúka at least, and the Padawan struggled to know what opinion of the Inquisitors he should have.

Until now, at least.

Now, Lúka knew exactly how to feel about the Inquisitors.

Terrified.

Lúka felt the horror sink in as he once again regarded the locked and sealed doorway behind him, watching as his master and his companions fled from view down the long corridor that led back to where the Maelibus was docked. Six years had passed since the end of the Clone Wars, and with the Jedi Order in ruins, Lúka had finally begun to feel as if he had somewhere new to belong. A VCX-100 was no Jedi Temple, but it had become home, and those who dwelt within it had become his family - or at least, as close an approximation thereof as an orphan turned Jedi turned exile could ever hope to understand. Six years had been enough to start believing that this was his life now, that Lúka Jibral of the Maelibus was who he was destined to be. With the lock of a single door, the devastating clunk of magnetic seals, and the disappearing silhouettes of his family cast by the steady heartbeat pulse of blood red emergency lights, Lúka felt that destiny die.

The sickening shriek of lightsaber through durasteel came to a close behind him. He turned, watching as a glowing, molten fragment of blast door crumbled aside. Beyond, the shadow of the Inquisitor that pursued them loomed in the frame of the sundered doorway, his crimson lightsaber melding into the fatal vision before him. Lúka fell into a ready stance, activating his own lightsaber, the natural indigo of the blade igniting in protest of the sanguine aesthetic of the corridor where he would make his final stand.

"Your friends have abandoned you."

The Inquisitor's voice was sickening, his already slender and angular features turned more monstrous in the scarlet light.

"Perhaps they believe they can sacrifice your life in exchange for their own."

Lúka could feel it, not only his own fear, not only the surge of adrenaline within his own body as fight or flight reflexes awoke, not only the tempting whisper of the dark side beckoning him towards it, but also the something else, the shadowed weight upon his mind as the Inquisitor attempted to impress his will upon the Padawan, seeking to crush him beneath the weight of fear, and weakness, and fatality.

"A pity that your death will be in vain."

Every instinct fired, a chaotic cacophony of contradictory impulses. Fight. Flee. Surrender. Was he a Jedi betrayed by the Republic, or a Jedi who betrayed the Republic? Did he deserve to live, or deserve to die? Should he surrender to the Inquisitor's perhaps absent mercy, or surrender to the embrace of the Force? Should he fight, to buy the time for the family that had abandoned him to make their escape? Should he fight, seeking an opportunity to ensure his own escape? Should he fight, merely for the honour and glory of a noble death? Either way, his fate was certain, and sealed. Not even two decades of life, and he would die here, here, an unremarkable death on an unremarkable world -

No. The thought pierced his mind with absolute certainty, reaching out to grasp hold of the hand that the dark side extended in alliance. We do not die here today.

Lúka's eyes flashed with fire. "You talk too much," he uttered, as a wave of the Force swelled around him and surged forward, hurling the Inquisitor back through the entrance he had carved.