The Force is Your Tool

[Palara Iscandar]

It was six in the morning, and she sat, sipping caf and frowning at her datapad at a small table in one of the few remaining garden rooms in the Citadel. The table was nondescript, a small grated metal affair that had a small pot on a warmer along with a small plate that had held a few rolls and some butter along with small dishes of honey, milk, and sugar. Her chair was no comfort, being the same grated metal design as the table, but at least she was sitting.

The lights were slowly brightening in time with the sunlight outside, and an artificial breeze stirred the leaves in the trees. It was still a facsimile of true life, but the plants and the flowing water fountains and pools at least allowed some semblance of the breath of the Force to be felt.

She was teaching a class in basic Force usage.

Ridiculous.

But the will of the Knight-General was not to be denied, especially in such unimportant circumstances as this. So instead of leaving the garden, she tapped the small holoprojector that sat next to her pot of caf and glanced at the time; she idly adjusted the cuff of her uniform jacket (the long coat was draped over the back of her chair), and swept a lekku off her shoulder.

Despite the fact that her students would be arriving in moments, the Twi'lek didn't seem at all tense. Instead, she sipped from her cup and went back to reading from her datapad with nonchalance.

[Maalik]

When Maalik had learned that he was going to be taking part in a Force training class with Knight Iscandar, he found himself excited. After all, despite the fact that it was her who had invited him to it in the first place, out of all the people who inhabited the Citadel, she was the only one so far that had gained at least a semblance of respect from him. Aside from this, the fact that the class was to be taking place in a garden... well, that took him from excited to elated. He rose early, dressing in the black uniform he had been given. Although it wasn't as comfortable as the clothes he had worn on Wayland, feeling far too restricting, he was slowly getting used to it.

His footsteps echoed along the hallways in the early morning silence as Maalik made his eager way toward the garden, entering to find Knight Iscandar sat reading one of those infernal little machines that infuriated him so.

"Hello again, Knight Iscandar," He said with a giggle, bowing before letting his gaze dart around.

He could smell the earth, taste the plants upon the air and hear the rustling of leaves. This would be his home away from home, that much was certain. It was clear the plants had been fairly neglected; while being kept alive, they were not truly flourishing. He would change that soon enough. He felt the Force beginning to flow through him, a smile appeared on his face and he brought a hand to rest on the bark of a tall, thin tree with browning leaves.

"Let's see what we can do for you, my friend..." He whispered, glee in his quiet voice.

If Knight Iscandar were to look closely, she would see the wildman's eyes beginning to change in colour, from their natural, warm blue to a vibrant, unnatural shade of green. As his eyes changed, so did the tree in front of him. New shoots and buds began to sprout on the tips of branches and the browning leaves found life once more, restored to full health.

"There... that's better isn't it?" Maalik whispered through a gleeful grin, cocking his head as if listening for a response.

If one came, it was only him that heard it...

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Six months since Halajiin Rabeak, disguised as Kyle Rayner, had arrived at the Citadel, and two quarters of Imperial Knight Cadet training were under his belt, with a fresh quarter set to begin. That meant a new class schedule, a few new classmates, and jarring changes in subject. For most cadets, it wasn't so much a matter of what courses you would take, as opposed to when you would take them. It was with a smirk of irony that Hal glanced at the next course on his schedule. Basic Force Application. If there was a cadet among the entire program who didn't need a course in basic Force usage, it was Hal - the only cadet to have gone through all this rigamarole before back in the days that the Jedi called the Citadel their Temple.

Still, a course was a course, and an easy class would mean an even better grade point average. The better he could look, the more he'd be trusted, and the more he was trusted, the sooner he'd get to knighthood. In all his plans for escape, knighthood seemed to offer the Nehantite the most options, and thus was his end goal.

Also it'd be funny as hell to have the Empire unwittingly knight someone they didn't know was already a Jedi Knight! Oh, but it is to laugh!

Well, at least laugh on the inside. It was with a calm, almost bored face that Hal entered the garden room and nodded hello to one of the first faces he'd seen at the Citadel. "Good morning, Knight Iscandar," he said, before turning to see the freaky tree-hugger dude. "Good morning."

Garfife, that dude was freaky. Hal was willing to bet he did more with trees than just hug them, too.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika held her breath as she crossed the threshold into one of the Citadel's courtyard gardens. This was the most greenery she'd seen in one place since the class trip to the Skydome Botanical Gardens two years ago. It hadn't been anything like the few square meters of sawgrass and a bush that passed for a park in the Chiba District, or even the carefully manicured lawns of her father's estate. The ground rolled seemingly at random, with no respect to speeders or trains or foot traffic, and unless you were near the edge of the dome you could look all around you and see nothing but trees, grassy hills, running water, and blue sky, not a sign of duracrete, durasteel, or transparisteel anywhere to be found, and it was so... quiet. Oppressively quiet, watchfully quiet, quiet enough to hear the air pressing in on you, the whispers of every blade of grass and every shuddering leaf - why did there have to be so many?! She'd felt like an interloper, like a fish out of water, like a bird flapping in vacuum. She wasn't in any hurry to experience a whole planet that was like that.

At least the Citadel gardens were small enough to wrap her mind around, and there were reminders of civilization everywhere she looked. Such as the table and chairs where Lady Iscandar had parked herself, and the benches nearby, and the stone fences and planters and columns that lined the colorful arrangements of exotic flora. Onika quietly made her way to a bench near the edge of the clearing and laid out her datapad, briefly making eye contact with the Twi'lek knight. She felt as out of place here at the Citadel as she'd felt in any arboretum, but if there was one class where she wanted to make an impression, it was this one.

[Jeryd Redsun]

Nebbil had gone on ahead, this time, at Jeryd's request. Covert excuses were made, heavy implications about 'fresher needs, all backed up by a sudden onslaught of gas that sent Nebbil into swift retreat. In the haunting silence of the empty dorm, his stomach roiled. Maybe he was going to be sick. He paced the width of the room. His arms felt insubstantial at his sides, like they were nothing but air and light. Each breath was small in his chest.

After his sixth or seventh pass, he stopped, rounded on his bunk, and crouched. From his pocket, he produced a single credit chit, and laid it on the smooth sheets. As he regarded it, what little air he had left in his lungs was expelled in a low huff. He closed his eyes, and could hear his heart thumping against his chest.

"Okay..." he uttered, but, before he could begin, his eyes snapped open, and performed one more precautionary sweep of the dorm. He was definitely alone. Another deep breath.

"Anger, and fear... anger, and fear..."

Even with his eyes closed, he could almost see the world around him starting to warp, bending to his will. That was the fear, honing his senses to a knife's edge, like a survival instinct. Right now, fear, he had in abundance. And with it, he could feel the credit chit on his bed. Now, he needed anger. His face changed over the course of a minute, from one of firm ironclad focus, to a red, scrunched, quivering, grinding mess.

"Gah!" he heaved, releasing before he ruptured a blood vessel. The chit hadn't moved an inch.

"Idiot!" he hissed. There was a crack as he slapped himself on the face. And again, "Loser! Come on!"

In his mind's eye, he saw himself surrounded by a class of cadets, pointing, laughing, and mocking his paltry attempts to use the Force. What kind of Imperial Knight couldn't move a blasted credit chit? He was going to fail. He was going to lose the faith of Lúka, and all the other instructors, and he was going to be rejected from the Knight program. Maybe he'd end up in some admin or clerical job in the Citadel archives. He could see his father's face, his brother's face. His hands balled into fists until the fingernails bit into his palms.

Or, maybe his failure would be so catastrophic that the Empire would have no use for him at all. Your value to the Empire is now singular. Lúka's words rose like a phantom from his memory, and struck him down. He was still dispensable. Just another name to be struck off the list.

The credit chit fired across the room like a bullet, it pinged off the ceiling and wall, before vanishing from sight. In the renewed silence, he released the breath he'd been holding in.

"Frak..."

####

When Jeryd entered the garden room, he felt completely at odds with the relative tranquillity of his surroundings. His insides were turning, and his throat was arid and tight. For once, he kept away from the crowds, and lingered at the back.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Being used to mornings and being good at mornings were two very different things as cadet Par'Vizal was finding out. Not that he considered himself a particularly lazy individual, or that he took a particularly long time to get up and moving, but there was always more effort put into it than he would have liked. Maybe it would eventually pass as he adjusted to the early hour that some of his classes required him to be conscious for. He'd looked at the slight details of this particular one in the pre-dawn hours with a particular... Well, it wasn't loathing, entirely. But he felt insulted on some level. Basic Force Application. Hadn't his per-acceptance interview already covered that he knew enough of the basics to get by in the other classes? That feeling simmered as Jensen had gone to the mess to ensure that his stomach wasn't entirely empty before class and mostly evaporated when he was done and heading towards the gardens. It really wasn't his place to judge how ready he was, after all, and considering he was essentially self taught and had a whole host of problems associated with that, maybe a beginners course wouldn't be entirely beneath him.

Ugh, how droll, to suddenly realize he was turning responsible. Maybe the Citadel would make a Knight of him yet.

A few stray crumbs were dusted off his uniform before he entered and glanced around, noting those who had already arrived as well as the Knight herself who would be teaching them. Jensen had seen Twi'lek's before, but they weren't ever this... His mind searched for a word in the morning haze and came up empty, modestly clothed would have to do. Not that it was particularly shocking, not here anyway, not with the handful of times he'd been around Zepparah - half breed that she was - but it still struck him. Then again, maybe it was more in the relaxed way Knight Iscandar - as his datapad had informed him - sat at the table without a seeming care in the world. Her caf was eyed enviously but also suspiciously. Who knew where it was from and what it actually was like, for all he knew it could be - Jensen almost shuddered - decaf.

The other cadets were milling about and so Jensen more or less joined them with mildly curious glances cast towards those he thought were more advanced. Maybe everyone needed a return to basics now and then.

[Khoovi Wan]

"He's smart, to be sure. But he's just a kid. He should be in classes with children his own age, y'know?"

Khoovi entered the garden near last among the students scheduled. He kept to himself and nodded to acknowledge Rayner, and a few of the other students who acknowledged him, but otherwise he stayed quiet. His empathy was awash in different emotions, all of them familiar, all of them not his.

And the Twi'lek sitting at the front of the group of assembled students, reading a datapad and sipping her caf glanced up at him, and he felt a disgusted revulsion overwhelming him for a moment, before the emotion was gone, and the class was quiet; he was on his back and staring up at the artificial blue of the domed ceiling. He sat up, and the Twi'lek was kneeling before him.

"I apologize," she said quietly, and stood.

[Palara Iscandar]

"Not every person signed up for zis class eez 'ere, but unfortunately for zem ze appointed time eez upon us. I am Knight Iscandar. Zis class is called Basic Force Usage. Zat is too seemple a name for what you will learn. I will teach you basic techniques to control ze abilities you possess. Zey will be ze building blocks upon wheech all of your future lessons and knowledge will rest."

She folded her hands behind her back and paced in front of the gathered cadets.

"Some of you 'ave more control or more knowledge zan ozzers. Zat will not make zis class easy for you. Zis class is not about comparable or relative ability. Eet eez about your ability, and your capability of control. Many classes you will take 'ere will 'ave similar objectives."

She stopped pacing and turned to face her pupils.

"Ze Force is a field of energy. It is present everywhere. It molds, and is malleable. It moves, and is moved. Zat is, it can be; weeth a sufficient force of will."

As opposed to other teachers, Palara did not offer an example. She merely stood before the children and spoke.

"Before any parlour treecks can be attempted, you must first be able to sense ze Force wizzin yourself. So, with zat in mind, I will not teach you to sit and close your eyes. Everyone, stand in file, four rows, five columns, and more zan your arms' breadth between you and your neighours. Breaze like so."

She took a deep breath in through her nose, such that her chest and core expanded visibly, before letting it out through her pursed lips as slowly as she took it in. She observed her students with a blank expression for a few moments.

"Well? Get to eet."

As the group assembled before her and began to breathe, she walked between them and commented.

"No, Redsun. You are breazing too quickly. Slowly in zrough ze nose, and just as slowly out, as when you 'ave completed physical training and want your 'eart rate to slow."

"Good, Zepparah. But your breaths are too shallow. Breaze deeply until you can 'old no more inside, and control your exhalation."

"Focus on your breath, Rayner. Not Cadet Undriya's bottom."

After about a minute, she stopped in front of the class.

"Why am I asking you to breaze?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Because if we don't breathe, we'll lose oxygen to our brains, pass out, and then we'll be no good for learning anything at all," Hal replied, attempting to take his eyes off dat ass. It must have been a test, why else would it have been there?

Before he could be chided for being silly, however, he came up with what he presumed to be the correct answer. "But seriously, steady, measured breathing is known to regulate the heartbeat and allow the mind to focus. It's part of meditative or concentration practice in thousands of cultures. Proper oxygen levels in your blood calm the nerves and give you better focus."

[Palara Iscandar]

Knight Iscandar continued her circuit of the class, ignoring Rayner's jocularity as if it hadn't even existed.

"A partial answer. It is not incorrect, but I am looking for somezing more."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika found herself stuck in the front row, much to her chagrin. Between Lady Iscandar's melodic accent and her classmates' formation, she felt as if she were six years old again and practicing her balance in her first dance class with Madame Bijou and the other Twi'lek girls in the district. It had been fun, until it became apparent even to her how fast her classmates were outstripping her, and she came to realize why the other girls grew suddenly quiet and watchful when she walked past.

She dashed the memories from her mind and focused, as the Knight had indicated, on her breathing. As deep as she could manage, swelling her narrow chest, without disrupting her rhythm or pace. The scents of the garden filled her nose, herbal and floral and spicy and sweet... just like her mother's flower shop. Damn it.

Her eyes opened again at Palara's question, and Hal's characteristically flippant answer. Smartass. Part of her hoped he'd be the next Cadet to be dumped on his tail. And then before she knew it she was opening her mouth.

"It's a centering exercise. It clears the mind and body and opens them to the flow of energy. Both kinetic and... spiritual. Ma'am."

Madame Bijou's words, almost verbatim. She was stunned that she had remembered them. Even more stunned that she had brought them here. Her cheeks tinged a few more shades toward fuchsia.

[Palara Iscandar]

"Zat eez closer," the Knight responded. "Cadet Amman, stand straight, do not slouch. 'Ow are your lungs to fill eef zey do not 'ave ze room?"

The Cadet, a short red-headed boy, sprang to attention. Iscandar moved on.

"Most of ze time, we do not zink of our breazing. Ze air, it is taken for granted, like it is not even zere. Being mindful of ze air you breaze, it is not so different from being aware of ze Force. For it, like ze air, is always zere, and when you are untrained you use it like someone 'oo is not physically trained when zey exert zemselves. You tire easily, are inefficient in its use and it is not so effective as would be ozzerwise."

Iscandar stopped in front of the cadets.

"Now, when you breaze in, focus on your lungs filling to capacity. Hold it in. Zen, I want you to exhale. Picture nozzing but your breath emptying your lungs. Become aware of ze air you breaze, and ze energy it gives you as it flows zroughout your body. When you 'ave done zis, sit down, and we will continue."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Why am I asking you to breaze?"

Jeryd could have asked the same question. Instead of finding himself approaching some heightened sense of inner peace and self-awareness, he could feel himself becoming increasingly agitated, filling closer to the brim with every new breath. The turbulence within, of unreleased tension, of stoppered anxiety, it roiled against the walls of his resolve, and against the tranquility imposed all around him. He took another breath, slowly, through the nose, as instructed by Knight Iscandar. She said something to Rayner about his wandering eyes, with almost oblivious disregard for the magnetism of her own pert posterior. Palara Iscandar was unquestionably one of the most attractive women in the Citadel, and that, in itself, was less than ideal for cultivating an atmosphere of unwavering concentration.

And another breath. He couldn't picture the air leaving his body, or the energy flowing through it, for that matter. He had felt the Force before; the road was treacherous and hard, but he knew how to find it. Fear and anger, he reminded himself. How in the galaxy was he was supposed to be fearful or angry in a place such as this? Knight Iscandar was leading them down another path, one that was gentle, and meandering; a stroll through the countryside, rather than an expedition up a mountain. Still, he felt nothing. His shoulders dropped, and the placid silence was broken again.

"Ma'am, if the Force is all around us at all times, is it possible for a trained Knight to feel it all times, too? Or is it changeable, like the wind, ma'am?"

Inwardly, he cringed at his flowery choice of words. First, the breathing exercises, now, this? He'd be braiding his hair with Felucian daisies, next.

[Palara Iscandar]

"Zat eez not a foolish question. Congratulations, Cadet Redsun."

Iscandar looked over the assembled students with a studied air of nonchalance.

"A Knight, or anyone capable of using ze Force, may or may not be able to use it or feel it at a given point. Let us use you as an example. You are attempteeng to touch ze Dark of the ze Force, or more accurately, you are attempting to focus your own dark emotions to elicit a response. Ze problem is, you are not focusing on ze Force, but yourself. Pain, fear, and anger are conduits to ze Dark, it is true."

Iscandar walked through the assembled students to Redsun, who matched her eyes with studied discipline. She nodded in satisfaction, and then as quick as lightning, struck him in his diaphragm with one closed fist. The Cadet dropped, suddenly lost for breath.

"But you are too scattered and unfocused to truly harness ze Dark as Knight-General Atrapes or Knight Vissica. After all, what 'ave you to be angry about? What do you 'ave to fear? What do you 'ate? Using ze Dark requires strength of passion and emotion; strength you do not 'ave, if zis garden and a lack of external impetus are enough to make you incapable of reaching it."

She looked down at the human boy for a moment, her face inscrutable and blank once more. Khoovi shivered nearby. She extended a hand and slowly lifted Jeryd to his feet, giving him only enough help that he still needed to exert the effort to stand, but had a strong and steady hand to keep him from falling once more.

"We are not ze Sith, Cadet. We will not inculcate 'ate and anger wizzin you zat you do not already 'ave. Are you now aware of ze air you are breazing in? Do you understand now what it eez to be wizzout it?"

She turned to face the other students.

"Does anyone else need 'elp in focusing on ze air zey are breazing?"

[Jeryd Redsun]

For a painful moment, Jeryd remained doubled over, resting his hands on his knees while he sucked air through his teeth. The coughing had subsided, and, his lungs, that had felt like a couple of crumpled paper bags in his chest, slowly started to expand again. Oh, he could feel the air, alright. Once he stopped wheezing like an old woman, he stood upright, exactly as he'd been prior to Knight Iscandar's intervention. Had she known what he thought of her little breathing exercise? His gaze crept sideways, inspecting those bulbous brain tails of hers, as if he could someone spot the thoughts within.

Silence greeted Palara's open invitation, which came as no surprise. And Jeryd used the opportunity to make himself as uninteresting as possible. One punch per lesson was enough for him. He abandoned his quest to harness the fear and anger that had previously allowed him to use the Force, and turned to Knight Iscandar's advice instead. If he lacked the strength to summon that power at will, then perhaps there was another way. He took a long full breath, glad to be rid of the pain at last. And again.

Relax, you idiot. Just relax.

[Palara Iscandar]

Palara turned back, sensing the Cadet's emotions subsiding into a controlled tension, which at least was better than the roiling and tumultuous squall they'd been before. She moved closer to the Cadet and placed her hand on his diaphragm once more. This time it was an open palm resting gently just over the fabric of his uniform.

With gentle, subtle movements of the Force, she aided Redsun in his breathing, pulling air in and pushing it out with slightest brushes against his spiritual being.

"Focus, Cadet," she said, her voice soft. The Force was in that also, gently smoothing the rough current of his thoughts until the clean flow of the Light could be felt. "You feel it now, yes? Coming in with ze air, and flowing zrough you? Good. Continue."

She removed her hand and gently halted her assistance, and turned around once more.

"Again, I will ask: is anyone else 'aving trouble?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

To put one brick upon another,
add a third, and then a fourth;
leaves no time to wonder whether
what you do has any worth.

But to sit with bricks around you,
while the winds of heaven brawl;
weighing what you should, or can, do,
leaves no doubt of it at all.

The old poem ran through Hal's mind as he sat, cross-legged, paws resting on his knees, eyes closed. Like the Force itself, he hadn't understood it when he first heard it, and so he continued to seek his own meaning rather than the one truth it held. Only with time did he grasp what it meant: put in the work, do the menial, as it's the way to learn and advance a skill. Had he not put bricks of concentration on each other when he was young, he would never have realized what it was he was seeing in the Force. More bricks added understanding, and a platform from which to work. Brick by brick, Hal improved himself, and his relationship with the living Force, taking to heart the meanings of such a simple poem.

Here he was again, surrounded by the gnashing, tearing winds of heaven, a storm of chaos raging against all the injustices which had been dealt to the Jedi Order, yet Hal remained calm. His bricks were solid, his mortar hard-set, and through his walls he could see the storm, yet it could not touch him. Breathing had been one of his first bricks, as well it should be one of the first of his classmates. The time for jokes had passed, now it was time to be serious, and learn what more could be taught him, while simultaneously observing the ways in which his fellow cadets developed their own understanding of the gift Garfife had given them all.

[Jeryd Redsun]

Knight Iscandar's return made Jeryd rigid with alarm. His muscles tensed, bracing for the punch that never came. And then, the tension evaporated under her touch, and turned into something quite different. In the sudden unexpected intimacy of the moment, Jeryd's steady breathing faltered. Fortunately, Palara was on hand to provide assistance.

When it was finally over, his eyes opened, heavy under the weight of Palara's blissful influence. He could hear her, but the feeling she had left him with was so intoxicating, all he could bring himself to do was smile. Warmth, stillness, and light, in perfect harmony with each other, stirred within. The turbulence of thoughts, of worries and fears, it had been banished to somewhere far away, beyond the scope of his comprehension. And he had no desire for it to return. So he held on to that feeling, incandescent, like Palara, herself. It felt so bright, he could glow. Maybe he did.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

He was breathing. Of course he was. Jensen was even paying attention to it, trying to follow the Twi'lek Knight's instructions. Granted, he may have stopped for a few moments when the sudden sound of an impacting fist collided with Redsun's chest and the few seconds thereafter; but overall Cadet Par'Vizal focused as best as he could.

Each inhale was taken deeply until it felt like he couldn't draw in anymore, and with each exhale the air was forced from his lungs as much as could be done and still be comfortable.. He felt it as far as the air was concerned, the way it expanded and contracted his chest, even the way it made his nose feel ever so slightly numb; but the energy that Lady Iscandar spoke of was absent. It felt like something just out of his reach as if with each intake of air his senses reached out from him but whatever it was that he was intending to be feeling always moved just that tiny but further away.

Despite closing his eyes, Jensen thought he could feel the others near him achieving what they thought to be the goal and taking a seat. It wasn't his place to worry about what the others were doing or not doing, though, and he knew he was being too distracted thanks to frustration.

Redoubling his efforts only got him so far, even with slow measured breaths that he believed could become his entire focus. Apparently Par'Vizal had the same problem that Redsun did; his usage of The Force was more focused on moments of heightened anxiety or need. Here, now, there was no threat, no danger to cause him to conjure up the connection. He'd heard what Iscandar had said, though. They weren't Sith, this wasn't all about anger and all that, he should have been able to feel that connection even in this peaceful place.

So why was it so damned hard? His mother had made it look easy when he was a child, levitating those soap bubbles when she washed the dishes, when she had transformed them into little loth-cats and canoids and had hovered them over his head and he would pop them with his finger and...

Oh. There it was. And just as soon as he had felt that familiar energy it dissipated, snatched away no sooner than he had inwardly looked towards it.

Oh, come on! He silently cursed and cracked open an eye as he heard the Knight reiterate her question regarding anyone needing aid. Reluctantly Jensen raised his hand to about shoulder level.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika had to bite down on a nervous giggle when Jeryd went gasping to his knees. Not... not that it was funny. Okay, maybe it was, just a tiny bit, seeing a big, cocky wegman dropped like a sack of nunas by a Twi'lek woman who'd probably be strutting through his fantasies tonight. But she'd already known Palara wasn't just another Imperial trophy. Otherwise she'd have made it back to Chiba that day several weeks ago, and she and Kona would already be disappearing into the Southern Underground, or some other insanity. Palara was the person who brought her here, and in a lot of ways, was the person keeping her here.

Well, until she figured out the locks, anyway.

But Rayner was already sitting on the ground, which meant he'd already found his inner peace, or whatever it was they were searching for. Onika wanted to show she could do this. She closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of her own breath, shutting out everything else around her. No... the sound was doing nothing for her. She had to visualize it. But how did you see air?

Easy. You give it a color. She imagined herself standing in a sea of pale blue mist, spreading languorously like the huge white clouds that floated across the sky when the weather controllers decreed it. And then she inhaled. The mist brightened as it stirred, streaming into her nose in jets of cerulean, swirling and streaming their way down to her lungs, which swelled like bellows, folds straightening, their membranous linings growing thin and translucent so the sapphire glow shone through. But it didn't stop there. Red blood surged through her lungs, drinking up as much of the blue color as it could carry, and the air in her lungs grew dull and muted while millions of tiny blood cells flared bright purple, like the embers of a chemical fire. The motes of purple light then sped their way through her heart and through arteries and branches and capillaries, like a drop of dye spreading through a basin, until the color of life filled her entirely. And then she exhaled the green-gray air from her lungs, which spun off into the air around her, where it faded back into the limitless blue.

She felt more grounded and at peace than than she'd been since she first set foot in the Citadel. She took in another grateful breath, then carefully lowered herself to sit on the ground, curling her fingers into the grass.