Coast to Coast

Posted on Wed May 20th, 2026 @ 10:40pm by Thurius & Bomoor Thort & Darth Serus & Sotah & G2-O7

3,432 words; about a 17 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IX: The First Verse
Location: Übal Island, Öetrago
Timeline: Day Nine, Evening

The wind coming off the channel carried the scent of salt and wet stone, rolling in steady breaths against the craggy cliffs of Übal’s western coast. Below, the tide surged and withdrew in slow, rhythmic pulses and behind them the temperate forest rustled with the soft chatter of evening creatures settling into their nests. In the distance, they could just make out the Thort farm: a scatter of low buildings and grazing fields and, beyond that, across the shimmering water, the lights of Mooko City flickered like a distant constellation.

Bomoor knelt on a flat outcrop of rock, G2‑O7 perched obediently beside him. The Ithorian had the droid’s maintenance panel open, his large fingers delicately navigating the cramped interior with surprising precision.

"Your projector unit is older than I thought," he murmured, leaning in to peer at a stubborn cluster of wiring. "Perhaps it could do with an upgrade. You know, my cousin Luaal said she’s good with droids - perhaps we should leave you with her for a bit."

G2 trilled in alarm at the suggestion of being away from its familiar YX-1980 cargo ship any longer than necessary. Bomoor rolled his eyes and continued on.

He had spent the morning at the Thort farm with his aunt and cousins, sharing a simple meal and walking the fields his father once tended as a boy. The warmth of that reunion still clung to him; a quiet, grounding contrast to the life he now lived and the lingering emotions of it sat just beneath the surface as he worked.

"She reminds me a little of Loren, you know. The same clever spark and edgy humour. You'd never have thought she grew up as a farm girl out here in the Rim.”

The breeze shifted slightly along the cliffs, stirring the loose folds of Serus' dark robes where he stood a short distance from Bomoor near the edge of the outcrop. Without the respirator obscuring the lower half of his face, the damage left by Sleheyron appeared starker in the fading evening light; the pale scar tissue disappearing beneath the collar of his tunic and the faint mechanical elements along his jaw catching dull reflections from the sea below. Breathing naturally came with a huge conscious effort, but he endured it regardless, drawing in the cold salt air slowly through his nose as though stubbornly refusing to surrender the sensation entirely. The rasping was audible, all the same, his ravaged respiratory system barely maintained by the Force without his mask.

At Bomoor's mention of Loren, his eye and implant remained fixed upon the distant lights across the water.

"She would... have... h--ated it... h---ere," he barely managed after a moment, his cracked voice little more than a painful whisper. "A... mind of sky.... scrapers a-an-and nois-s-se."

The fractured words carried no visible bitterness. If anything, there was the faintest trace of tired fondness beneath them before his ravaged breathing resumed, more laboured for having attempted to speak.

Silence settled between them again, broken only by the wind and the soft metallic clicks of Bomoor’s adjustments.

"So, this message..." Bomoor continued, ignoring any previous discomfort, "It was just sitting in the Raptor's logs all this time?"

Serus folded his hands loosely behind his back, gaze still lingering on the darkening horizon.

"We... w-w-ere... occupied," he answered simply, his chest now rising more heavily with each painful, almost-silent word spoken, huge intakes of breath following the words and his organic eye wincing from the pain. "Even... machinessss... em-employed."

Bomoor tugged gently on a loose connector. Nothing. He frowned, reached deeper, and felt something catch beneath his fingertips.

"Ah. There you are."

He gave the component a firm twist.

G2‑O7 sputtered, whirred, and then a burst of static crackled from its projector lens. The droid chirped indignantly and then, with a flicker of blue light, a shimmering hologram snapped into existence above the rocky ground.

Two figures resolved in wavering lines of light: Master Thurius, tall and stern as ever with his tan robe pulled tight, with Master Sotah beside him, hands folded in his blue-robed sleeves, his expression grave but warm.

The wind quieted. Even the sea seemed to hush.

Bomoor exhaled slowly.

"Here it is," he said, voice low, "Let’s hear what they have to say."

Serus had already stepped closer, the step slightly more of a stagger in his respiratory distress, before Bomoor finished speaking.

The appearance of the two old Jedi Masters seemed to pull something taut inside the Sith Lord. His posture straightened instinctively and for a fleeting instant he looked less like the dark figure he had become and more like the young Knight who had once stood attentively before them in the halls of the Temple. His golden eye remained fixed upon Sotah in particular, studying the familiar features with an intensity that bordered on uncomfortable.

He had clearly not expected the sight of the old Selkath to affect him so sharply.

The hologram flickered once in the evening air before Sotah finally spoke, his gentle voice crackling faintly through the recording.

"My boys," the old Jedi said warmly, dark eyes looking imploringly into the recording. "You have led us all upon quite the adventure. But, you were true to your word. Even casting yourselves beyond the walls of the Reborn, hunted by suspicion and fear, you did not turn idle. You pursued this Cult and the darkness surrounding it with admirable conviction. In another age, I believe the Jedi would have praised such stalwart dedication."

A faint sadness touched his expression then, carried gently upon the distant sounds of rainfall and thunder audible somewhere beyond the recording.

"But I worry," Sotah admitted softly. "For all the evils that lurk within this broad galaxy, there is none more dangerous than losing oneself whilst believing entirely in the righteousness of one's path. This Axion is not merely a man to be struck down. I fear that, in hunting this darkness so fiercely, you may not realise how much of yourselves you are leaving behind upon the trail."

For a moment, Sotah simply regarded them both in silence, the flickering blue light washing softly across his aquatic features. When he spoke again, his voice carried less the weight of a teacher and more that of a weary father speaking openly to family.

"But please know this message was not sent to chastise you, nor to command you home." A small, melancholy expression crossed his face, his Selkath teeth exposed even in the poor holographic representation. "Quellus' Council may speak in decrees and condemnations, but there are still those within those old walls who care for you deeply. Whatever path now lies before you both, you are not abandoned."

Rain crackled softly through the transmission, causing it to shudder awkwardly at occasional moments.

"You were our students, yes... but more than that besides. We wished for us to speak again, in person, if only briefly. Not as Jedi or masters, but simply as those who have walked beside one another for many years. So much has happened so quickly, yet beneath all of that noise are still living souls trying to bear burdens they were never meant to carry alone." His dark eyes lifted again towards them. "We do not reach out because we doubt. We do so because we wish to see you with our own eyes, to understand what these trials have meant, to hear your thoughts openly, free of doctrine and decrees and all the frightened voices presently speaking over one another."

The old Selkath's expression grew gentler still. "There are moments in life where simply remaining present beside those we love becomes more important than being correct. I believe this is one of them."

There was a pause and, though not turning, it was clear even in the small flickering projection that Thurius was considering his words. He angled his head down, now seeming to stare directly at the comm unit on his end.

"Bomoor, Thane..." head dipping slightly as he spoke the names, his voice slow and still carrying the precision of a teacher, "Know that we have always been open to your message. The warnings you returned with have begun to take root and, even now, Jedi are joining your fight against the servants of Axion."

Bomoor leaned in closer to look at his own master, holding back his hood as a sharp gust of salty wind rolled in across the Übal channel.

The Cerean master shook his tall head slowly, "But I know that this response has come too late and, once you saw the threat for yourselves, you knew that you must follow it through. Your instincts serve you well, as does your drive to take ownership of the galaxy's many problems. Patience is a Jedi virtue, but we know it should never come at the expense of the present. Conversely, conviction is a powerful ally, but it narrows the mind if left unexamined."

His pale eyes clenched shut for a moment and they saw a subtle turn from Sotah as he looked towards his fellow master. When the Cerean's eyes re-opened, his tone was a little more strained, as though holding something back that bubbled just beneath the surface.

"So here we stand now, on Ord Mantell, still unable to match the pace you set but, for the first time, in a long time, trying to reach you. Trying to make up for the lost time and make it clear you are not alone. In my time as a Master, I have had to learn difficult lessons: I have both pushed too hard for progress and preached too much restraint and both have lost me the very thing I hoped to protect. So, I hope you will forgive an old master and grant us all space to understand each other once more, as fellows."

Sotah's gaze lingered quietly upon Thurius for a moment after the Cerean finished speaking, the old Selkath's expression touched by the same subdued grief and affection that had coloured the entirety of the message. Outside the recording, rainwater rolled somewhere heavily across stone and metal, accompanied by another low murmur of distant thunder. Finally, Sotah inclined his head slightly towards the holorecorder once more.

"There is much more that could be said, but perhaps that is best reserved for calmer waters and kinder days." His voice softened further still. "If either of you should wish to find us... then make contact by way of the bronze lady's old home by the next syzygy." The faintest glimmer of something that was almost knowing humour tried to touch his features at the strange phrasing, but his weary sadness still held it back. "We would like that very much."

Thurius turned his head away slightly, face catching a dim light from somewhere on their end of the transmission.

“Do hurry boys,” he said as he drew in a breath, “Tides are shifting across the Republic and beyond. Let us meet before we are all swept up by it.”

He turned back and faced them, this time seeming to angle just right so his eyes were clear and directed at them.

“But whatever you do, be well and may the Force be ever with you.”

The transmission crackled harshly for a moment before the recording dissolved back into static, with only the sound of the wind and distant surf remaining.

Darth Serus stood motionless near the edge of the cliff, the dying glow of the projector fading across the pale scar tissue of his exposed lower face. His narrowed golden eye remained fixed upon the empty space where the holograms had stood moments before, distant and unreadable beneath the soft twilight gathering over the Übal channel.

For several long seconds, neither he nor Bomoor said anything to one another. Then, slowly, Serus reached up and lifted the respirator from where it rested against the rock beside him. The black mechanism settled back across his damaged jaw and throat with delicate precision, internal connectors aligning beneath the skin and along the ruined structures beneath. There was a muted sound as the connections formed, followed by the faintest hiss as the system engaged and the subtle rhythm of assisted respiration returned.

"It is..." The artificial interpretation of Thane's voice paused briefly, quieter than usual beneath the sound of the sea. "A well-meaning sentiment."

His gaze remained upon the horizon a moment longer before finally lowering towards the dark rocks below.

Bomoor allowed himself to rest down upon the rocky outcrop, staring at where the projection had just been.

“Perhaps more than sentiment, Thane...” he twigged his use of the name and angled his head slightly towards his friend, not concerned but merely measuring the response, “Serus. They have followed us very far in order to meet with us. If the Order had wanted us returned, they would have sent shadows or some of Rynseh’s Templars...”

Or Rynseh himself, He thought warily.

The wind stilled once more and they were left with the quiet judgement of the softly whispering tide as it brushed the shore.

“No, this is in invitation that deserves our utmost consideration,” he continued, now keeping his eyes on the slower, easier breathing of Serus now he had donned the respirator, “While a hard line with the Reborn Order might be the easy route, it could be at the expense of the two men that guided us through that faulted world as best they could. While meeting risks drawing the Jedi to us, we may have already crossed that line by even receiving this message. We should reply.”

Serus remained still whilst Bomoor spoke, the black respirator hiding whatever subtleties might otherwise have crossed his ruined expression. Only the golden organic eye remained truly visible beneath the dim Öetragan twilight, narrowed faintly as he considered the Ithorian's words.

For a brief moment, his gaze unfocused again, and Bomoor could almost detect the thoughts, either unbidden through their connection or just their familiarity. Thoughts like, had Sotah and Thurius acted sooner, spoken sooner, abandoned Quellus and his fearful sycophants when the rot first became undeniable, perhaps things may indeed have unfolded differently. Thoughts around Loren surviving, or Sleheyron unfolding differently. Thoughts that, perhaps, the Caanan's ruined body would not now require machinery and the Force merely to stand upon a cliff and breathe sea air like an ordinary man.

But, whatever thoughts his Human friend had been mulling seemed to just as quickly vanish, and the Sith Lord's eye sharpened again as it settled back upon Bomoor.

"They are..." The respirator distorted the pause into a faint mechanical crackle. "Good men." The admission came without resistance. "But they are also still Jedi." The words followed more coldly, though not cruelly. The wind shifted lightly around the cliffside, stirring the dark robes hanging from his frame. "They could have left." His tone remained level and thoughtful rather than accusatory. "They could have challenged Quellus openly when it still mattered; they could have come to us before the Order started truly fracturing itself around fear and obedience." His gaze drifted briefly back towards the dark sea. "Instead, they endured, as Jedi often seem to do, hoping institutions correct themselves whilst better people suffer beneath them, or that they might steer it - and they were spat in the eye by their friends."

A muted silence lingered between them, but Serus continued quickly.

"Lahan and his Shadows are hunting us, of that I have no doubt whatsoever." The golden eye narrowed further. "And if they discover even the faintest trail leading towards Sotah or Thurius, then these old masters will become convenient excuses for Quellus' inquisitors to tighten their grip further." He regarded the Ithorian steadily now, a slight degree of challenge in his epxression and tone. "If you still wish to preserve the image you hold of them... perhaps it is wiser to leave them untouched by what we are becoming. Let them be saddened, Bomoor. Let them worry. There are lessons in helplessness and loss the Jedi seldom permit themselves to learn."

Bomoor's eyes shrunk back a measure, creases betraying his dismay at the response. He looked away, staring instead into the weathered stone and the struggling greenery that fought the biting sea winds to seed themselves into the cracks.

After a moment, he pushed himself up and walked a pace towards the edge. He stood with his back to Serus for a few breaths, letting the wind roll over him, letting his thoughts settle into something he could utter rationally. When he finally turned, it was slow and deliberate, not confrontational, but steady in a way that suggested he had found his footing again.

"Serus," he began, the name steady now, spoken without hesitation, "You should know as well as I that the Order is not a single creature with one mind and one will. There are some that I would condemn without hesitation - those that seek to perpetuate the cycle of fearmongering and indoctrination.”

He stepped closer, enough that his companion's soft respirator cycling could just be heard beneath the wind.

"But there are others.... many others who were as trapped as we were. Who were raised in the same narrow corridors, taught the same certainties, shaped by the same blind spots," His voice softened, not in pity, but in recognition, "If someone had come to us three years ago and called the Jedi indoctrinators, would we have listened? Or would we have stood there, just as complicit, just as convinced we were doing the right thing?"

He allowed the question to hang just long enough before continuing.

"Sotah and Thurius have spent years hearing and, yes, teaching those falsehoods but that should not make their rejection of it now any less meaningful. We know the trials and turmoil that come with facing these truths and stepping beyond the boundaries we once accepted but does that mean we must burn the bridge behind us the moment we are across? As you say, they are good men and good men deserve the chance to change their fates when the truth finally reaches them."

He crossed his arms and stared down at G2 once more, the message of their former masters still etched into his memory banks.

"And we should not deny ourselves allies just to preserve a pleasant memory."

The breeze rolled steadily across the cliffside once more, carrying with it the distant scent of brine and wet earth from the forests behind them. Bomoor remained where he stood, broad shoulders squared against the wind whilst the sea hissed softly below like some ancient thing whispering against the rocks and for a long while, Serus gave no immediate answer.

His cape shifted faintly in the gusts and the steady sounds of his breathing apparatus continued to fill the silence between them. Bomoor had seen that stillness before, numerous times over the years, and especially recently. The other former Jedi Knight was thinking with that same terrible intensity he once reserved for meditation or strategy, every decision being carefully crafted.

At last, the golden eye shifted back towards the Ithorian.

"I do not believe this changes anything," he said, the tone as firm and quiet as was possible for him. "Sotah and Thurius will not join with the Sith - even if only one calls themselves 'Darth'. And Quellus..." A faint distortion passed through the vocoder at the name, but he did not finish the thought. "But," Serus continued at last, the word reluctant yet sincere all the same, "you are correct about one thing: good men deserve the chance to choose differently whilst they still can. Answer them, if you wish. I will stand with you."

Bomoor immediately dropped his arms and hummed in a warmer, though still reserved tone.

"As ever, your caution does you credit," he stepped forward and placed a stabilising hand upon G2's dome-like chassis, "But I sense no foul play from them and feel we can be open. That being said..."

His brow fell slightly, "If they are not receptive to the path we have taken, then I will leave them to whatever fate the Order has in store for them. Good men or no, I will not let them bring the vengeance of the Jedi down upon us."

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