The Realm of Muertos [Under Editing]

Chapter 2. Leaving

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
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Galen's P.O.V.

Lyra and I can wait.

We can wait as long as we needed to. Time seems to have no affect on anyone in this realm. It doesn't matter if it was minutes, hours, days, years, even more. Time had little meaning in the realm of the dead.

And we can wait.

Yet with each day that passes, our hopes begin to slip. Even Orson, who has been excitedly waiting with us, starts to doubt she would come.

Where is she? Lyra pesters Orson and I with the same question each day. But neither of us mind. We would have asked the same thing everyday ourselves if she didn't do it.

How much longer will we have to wait for our daughter to come home?

Since the day he arrived, about three weeks ago, Orson has gone under some home-rehabilitation that Lyra and I gave him. We are hoping to edge him towards the pacifist state of mind rather than the war and bloodshed state. Thankfully, our efforts seem to pay off not only to mentally aid Orson, but it also helps restore our friendship and things start to feel like the old times. I never realized how much I missed Orson in my life. And though I doubt I would have predicted our disputes to amend themselves in the afterlife, it was better to do it now then not at all.

Right now, Orson is cooking dinner for us. Even ghosts have to eat, though I wouldn't call us ghosts. Really, we're living in a parallel realm to the physically living realm.

Lyra and I are sitting across from each other at the table. I can see that she's distressed. I lean across the table and touch her hand. "Our daughter will come, I know that. Sooner or later, she will."

"But she died on the same day Orson did... why is she not here with us? Why did she not appear in front of us like Orson?" Lyra's voice is hardly audible. Yet each word strikes against my soul like a gong being struck while I was standing next to it.

I wish I knew the answer. But all I can do is say "I don't know." The lump in my throat grows larger. Anything could have happened to Jyn. The realm of the dead was not the prettiest place in the world. People from the beginning of time were here. Every crimelord, Jedi, bounty hunter, smuggler, politician, Sith, even my own parents lived here. Yet the dead spread out amongst a never-ending Galaxy, for in the realm of the dead, planets and Galaxy space are expanded and larger.

It's not just the people in the realm of the dead. It's the creatures as well. There are creatures that can tear you apart if you're not careful. Jyn's inexperience in this realm could lead to her ending up inside a creature's belly.

I look into Lyra's eyes. I know I have the same frightened expression in my own eyes. Even though we aren't gifted with the Force, it's like we can talk telepathically to each other. Perhaps it's the bond that's developed over time between a married couple.

We are so busy talking telepathically we don't notice Orson serving up dinner. He doesn't say anything. Three weeks has been long enough for him to understand that Lyra and I have conversations that are never said. Thankfully, he has been respectful of that. Since we told him after he asked why we would stare at each other for minutes on end, he has never interrupted any of our telepathic conversations.

Lyra and I finally break away. The three of us place our hands together and say grace, along with a plea to the Force that Jyn will be okay. Then we dig in.

No one really talks during dinner. Or at least, no one does until we're halfway through. Then Orson says something. "I've been thinking about Jyn..."