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Chapter Fourteen: Dreams

The Great Dreamer.

That's what his homeworld had called him.

He had been prone to visions, yet somehow he had still lost everything.

He had gone to the destroyed village, under cover of night. He found the house, marked with his clan symbol, walls still streaked with carbon scoring and blood.

He was, somewhere in his mind, horrified at what his army had done without his watchful eyes. This never would have happened. He never would have allowed this.

He found drawings in the house. Sketches on papyrus flimsiplast. Family portraits, images of animals. All signed with the same signature.

C.J. Shakkessh.

Calirae Jai Shakkessh.

The Destroyer.

Somewhere in his mind, he felt proud. Proud she had earned such a name for herself. The pelts and trophies he saw were more than enough for that title to be well deserved. He found a child's bedroom, drawings on the walls depicting the growth of a half togruta half kaleesh girl who looked so happy. A doorway with tick marks of her height.

Carbon scoring, where clearly someone was shot at.

For the first time, in a very, very long time,

He cried.

His faceplate was streaked with honest tears. Angry tears. For all he knew, this had been the only thing remaining of his bloodline and his army killed it. He found a mask, hardly unfamiliar to him, ghosting his steel claws across the old paint.

He closed his eyes. He had never wanted this, any of it. His mind drifted to that Kaleesh Jedi. His words still echoed. Echoed and forced him to think about things he had never considered in his anger. Had he been right?

"General? Count Dooku is calling."

Grievous tucked his arm behind his back, hidden beneath his cloak, still clutching her mumuu mask.

"We are leaving. There is nothing left for me to see here."

For once, his voice was solemn, lacking in rage, if only for the moment.

For the moment, General Grievous was filled only with sorrow, that he had been unable to prevent the death of his daughter.

And rage that it was his master who was responsible.

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Kaar dragged himself out of bed. His dream echoed in his mind. Of a young lady with a sparkled veil over her eyes, and a long orange padawan braid over her shoulder. It was blurry and hard to remember, which told him that it was a vision of the future, not the past.

He made his way out into the room of a thousand fountains, a thermos of caf clipped to his belt as he searched around for a tropical spot to meditate.

Until sobs broke into his hearing.

Kaar felt drawn to it, into the one that mimicked Stewjon. He searched around for a bit, until he found a Miraluka curled into a ball sobbing. She had orange hair, freckles crept from under her sleeves and around her neck. She wore initiate's robes.