FORSAKEN - Target: Zero

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Thorn landed atop a small mesa hidden away from the eyes below. The group hiked across the cold rocky desert. A couple of hours later, they saw the rudimentary adobe dwellings and tattered tents of the small village. The gentle music of a flute could be heard as they got closer. The source of the melody came from a Kyuzo monk, sitting at the entrance of the hamlet. The flat wide-brimmed helmet was autochthonous to his species and covered the upper half of his face. An ODX-series protocol droid's vocabulator had been fitted to his filter mask. Tools were affixed to his layered robes. A metal staff rested against the low wall behind him.

Syrran stopped. "Can either of you sense him?"

"No." Elynn was relieved it wasn't her lack of training.

"Barely." Theleema was mystified by the phenomenon. "It's almost as if he's an illusion."

"He is solid." Syrran perceived the Kyuzo's body temperature. "And so are they."

A gang of Anomids who had ridden into town on towering long-legged blue-skinned creatures, approached the monk. The villagers grabbed their children and hurried inside their homes. The shadow of the nomad leader over him made the monk stop playing. He lifted his head to stare at the newcomer with his compound yellow eyes behind corrective lenses.

"You're the itinerant mechanic?" said the Anomid through his vocoder mask.

"Do you need anything fixed?" The Kyuzo's words translated to Galactic Basic Standard by the vocabulator in his breathing mask.

"No, but I heard that staff of yours is made out of pure beskar, is that true?"

"It is."

"That's quite an expensive possession for a simple monk. It must have cost a small fortune."

"To the person who gifted to me, I suppose."

"Then, how about if you give it to us?"

The calm Kyuzo tucked his metallic handmade flute in his robes and rose his wiry body to his nigh two meters of height. The scattered nomads readied their weapons in case he tried something foolish. The Kyuzo grabbed his staff and placed it in front of him. When the nomad leader reached for it, the monk kicked the bottom, hitting him in the groin. In a spinning blur, he beat the thug unconscious. Then he jumped over the wall to avoid the blaster fire from the gang.

Elynn moved forward. "We have to—"

"Hold on," Syrran stopped her.

The monk stuck his war helmet over the wall; it's turadium alloy served as a shield, as he expanded the limbs of his energy bow to take out three shooters. The nomads scrambled for cover. The Kyuzo began to release arrows in the general direction of his attackers. The projectiles turned in impossible angles, hitting their concealed targets.

Realizing their precarious situation, the rest of the nomads rushed the Kyuzo, in an effort to take him out at close range. The monk shot the first one with his bow before jumping over the wall parrying blaster fire with his staff. Kicking his weapon against two rushing nomads, the monk recalled his staff with his mind, and a blade of chartreuse plasma flared up from the tip of the rod. The monk proceeded to eliminate his aggressors with his lightsaber lance in an impressive display of martial arts.

"Nice shooting, pilgrim," said Theleema as the group came closer after the melee.

The monk studied the trio for a moment. "Thank you, sister. But I'm not a pilgrim; I'm just a humble Guardian of the Whills." The blade disappeared. "My name is Gorin."

"You're a little more than that." Elynn was thrilled to meet another Jedi. "Aren't you afraid of exposing yourself like that?"

"Only when there are witnesses around." Gorin rested on his staff and surveyed his fallen opponents.