Bomoor's Journal - Entry 5
Posted on Wed May 20th, 2026 @ 10:45pm by Bomoor Thort
1,058 words; about a 5 minute read
BOMOOR’S JOURNAL
FOURTH ENTRY
I have returned from Übal with a heaviness I did not expect. It has been many years since I last set foot on that island, and yet the moment the shuttle touched down, the air felt familiar: the salt of the channel, the soft hum of the wind through the coastal reeds, the distant calls of the seabirds that nest along the cliffs. It is a quieter world than the one I have lived in for so long.
My father brought me to my aunt Marga’s farm, the same place he once worked as a boy. I met my twin cousins for the first time: Omba, a broad‑shouldered man, yet soft‑spoken, and Miraala, whose tomboyish laughter reminded me faintly of Loren. They welcomed me with warmth, though I could sense the curiosity beneath it; the kind reserved for a relative known only through stories and holos.
We spoke for some time about their lives on the farm: the stubborn animals, the unpredictable seasons, the way the soil has changed since the last great storm. They asked after my travels, though I found myself reluctant to burden them with tales of Sith tombs, cultists, and the endless shadow of Axion. Instead, I told them of the places that still held beauty: Naboo’s lakes, the ruins of Ossus, the great library on Alba.
At one point, Marga mentioned my mother. Not her death, as they already knew, but simply asking what I remembered of her. To my shame, I had little to offer beyond the memory of her warmth. She recalled a memory of her staying on the farm long ago, helping with the twins' birth, her calm presence soothing even as a young, inexperienced healer. The moment her name was spoken, something shifted in the room. A quiet sadness settled over us all, as though the air itself remembered her. No one lingered on it. We moved on gently, as I suppose families often do when grief is shared but still tender.
Bruta seemed lighter today. He spoke proudly of his early years in Mooko, of the debates he used to enter, of the first time he addressed a Republic envoy. I could see how much he had missed this place and how much he had missed being simply Bruta, away from the campaign trail, just being a brother and an uncle.
While we visited, Serus remained elsewhere on the island, meditating with G2‑O7. I sensed him distantly: a steady, disciplined presence, like a furnace kept deliberately low. Before I left for Übal, we learned of a message from Masters Thurius and Sotah stored in the Raptor's data logs so he agreed to come with me so we could view it together when I was finished.
We watched it together from G2's projector. Their faces were older, more lined than I remembered, but their voices were unchanged: calm, patient and full of the quiet conviction that once guided me through my earliest time as a Jedi. They spoke not as judges of our choices, but as mentors who still believed we could be reached. It seemed they were willing to risk their own standing if it meant helping us find our way.
Hearing them again unsettled me more than I expected. It awakened a pull toward the life I once lived: the temple halls, the certainty of purpose, the belief that the Jedi were the galaxy’s guardians. But that life feels distant now, like a dream I can no longer fully inhabit. I have walked too far into the shadows to pretend otherwise.
And yet, I do not believe the shadows must consume me.
During Serus’ anointing, I found myself drawn to the figure of Darth Vectivus: a Sith who did not descend into madness or cruelty, who wielded darkness without surrendering his identity. His gatekeeper rests within the Telos Holocron, waiting. I intend to speak with it soon. If there is a way to walk the line between light and dark without falling, then I must understand it.
But I hesitate.
My healing abilities have grown harder to reach of late. Not gone, but more distant, flowing less freely through me. I do not know if it is simply the shock of recent events or a permanent change within me. The Jedi would say one cannot serve two masters. But the Living Force is not two masters. It is one. It is a whole. And I refuse to believe that drawing strength from its darker currents must sever me from its compassion.
The truth of it is, I do not know enough yet and I must learn more if I am to walk this path. I no longer consider myself as an exiled Jedi, but I am still clear on being apart from Serus' Sith. I am simply an unaligned wielder of the Force: a Magus of neither light nor dark.
For now, we remain in the Mayagil sector, recovering aboard Dunari’s Delight. Serus grows stronger each day and so do I. When the time is right, we will continue our quest against Axion. But, while we wait, I will activate the Telos holocron and seek Vectivus’ counsel. I must learn how to wield power without losing myself. Whatever comes of reaching out to them, I owe it to Thurius and Sotah to retain the best of what they taught me while I still aim to grow beyond their teachings. I also owe it to Mentis to be a stronger teacher and Mentor - he has made that abundantly clear.
There is also the matter of what is going on in the wider galaxy - the increased scrutiny on GalactaWerks is welcome, though it has come at the cost of Bothawui. Perhaps now, with the Bastion document in hand, Vice Chancellor Hul can push for tighter control over the corporation. We must be ready to help in that struggle too, particularly listening to my father's campaign to be the Mayagil Senator. He seems set to win, which will allow Serus and I more legitimate access to the Vice Chancellor.
The path ahead is clouded, but I am more confident than ever that it is the right way.
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