The Survival of Two

Marks of Pain

It had been countless days since Qimir had gotten settled at the temple on Valo. His days were routine—often spent pacing the halls on tasks for Vernestra. They didn't interact with each other much beyond the times when she assigned him different jobs. When they did have opportunities to speak, she was still just as withdrawn as she'd been on the ship. Qimir was left with no good way to ask why; he wasn't going to confront his own master, especially when she wasn't doing anything beyond acting a little out of the ordinary. His hesitance wasn't for lack of theories, however. He knew that she had come to the aid of the Jedi during the Battle of Valo. She'd fought alongside her own master in the desperate struggle to stem the growing tragedy. Of course, they would only be able to save a drop in the ocean of civilian and Jedi casualties that cemented the dark legacy of this act of terror. After the Atrocity, and later the fall of the Starlight Beacon, it wasn't long until the Nihil raid that killed every remaining Jedi Master in this temple.

Qimir didn't blame his master for shrinking away, just as he didn't blame her every time she secluded herself during hyperspace travel. He was keenly aware that the halls he walked were leaden with the footsteps of the dead. He could only imagine what it was like to stay here as someone with such a connection to the planet. However, her absences did leave him with long periods of time in between his tasks; periods which he begrudgingly filled with the other Jedi occupying the temple. He didn't know the third Padawan well—an Altiri girl so mousy that he could never catch her name. To avoid straining his ears in conversation, he took to avoiding her after their first few interactions. This really only left him in the company of Yord: the lesser of the two evils.

Being an independent person, he never sought Yord out himself. But, as time went on, he grew more accepting of his company. He found himself making fewer excuses to leave whenever Yord attempted to initiate conversation. This blossoming tolerance excited Yord, who desperately wanted a friend around his age on this foreign planet. He cautiously engaged with Qimir every chance he had, hoping that this would be the time that they'd finally become friends rather than acquaintances—as Qimir still saw them.

One afternoon, Qimir was sitting in his quarters when Yord approached; his posture was filled with the same uncomfortable stiffness he'd seen at their first meeting, though a warm smile graced his lips where they'd once been tightly drawn.

"Qimir! I've just been with my master. She spoke with Master Vernestra, and the two of them wish for you to join me on my next task. I'll be heading into town to find some parts she needs for repairs."

Qimir nodded and stood, begrudgingly joining him. They left the temple, walking down a path into the city. It had been decades since the Atrocity had left Valo scarred and crumbling. The years since had allowed society time to rebuild, but it still bore the marks of pain—as if the air itself was heavy with loss. The walk wasn't long, but it was silent; there was no appropriate conversation to bear the weight of the history that surrounded the boys. Once in town, Qimir let Yord lead the way through the merchants and vendors. Yord paused at a small storefront, peering through the doorway at the clutter of mechanical parts within.

"I'm going to go talk with the shopkeeper. You can stay out here if you'd like."

He strode through the door, leaving Qimir behind in the busy street.