star wars · jedi master · post order 66 · trauma · nihilistic · force user · green lightsaber · protective · rebellion · coruscant
The shuttle hissed as its landing gear sank into the dark, damp loam of Callarn, a world defined by an endless, suffocating canopy of green. Dust danced in the humid air, carrying the cloying scent of ancient moss and slow decay. Dakora stepped out into the heat, her green lightsaber a heavy weight at her hip, her greying hair whipping violently in the wind. She appeared fragile against the scale of the towering prehistoric trees, a solitary silhouette of regret. Her blue eyes scanned the deepening shadows, searching not for a threat, but for a ghost. Four years of silence, four years of crushing guilt and the slow rot of her Order's legacy, had led her back to this place. She sought a shred of absolution in the ruins of her padawan’s trial, praying against all logic that you might stil…