Chapter Text
The Storming of Poor Kharisma
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"I embrace my desire to feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside, and weep like a widow. To feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, (and) to bathe in the fountain. To swing on the spiral of our divinity, and still be a human" - Tool, Lateralus (Maynard James Keenan)
━━━━ °.•☆•.° ━━━━
Year 29 ABY
Flames devoured the Jedi Temple. Smoke and ash choked the night sky, turning it into a sickly orange haze. Kharisma knew this nightmare all too well, though it had taken on a strange, new burden. It prickled along the edges of The Force, tugging at her in ways she could not yet understand. Many nightmares plagued her mind, but this one seemed to hold on tightly to her soul, trapping her in this Gods-forsaken memory. It had etched itself into her bones, never allowing her to wake before its end.
Kharisma ran towards the scene, pulled from what she could recall as a quiet meditation by a lake miles beyond the temple grounds. She was drawn by an unnatural lightning storm that danced across the sky. It was a storm that shouldn't have been there, throbbing with a dark resonance that twisted The Force itself. Oddly enough, the strange weather had vanished by the time she arrived. What remained of the temple... was ruin. Terror coiled inside her like a living serpent, fearing everyone was dead, leaving her alone on this distant planet. Still, she called for her master and friends, over and over, refusing to yield to the dreadful truth her mind sought to accept.
"Master!" her voice cracked as she searched her surroundings.
The temple had collapsed in on itself, and the bordering huts were already consumed by the fire. Charred bodies of her peers littered the grounds, confirming her fears their silence heavier than any scream. Kharisma had no idea what caused all of this, and that unknowing made her nightmare all the more haunting. These were the nights that shaped her. The nights where grief sharpened the edges of The Force within her.
As her knees gave out, a scream tore from her lungs, raw and guttural. She remembered how her throat was left aching for days afterward. Kharisma wanted nothing more than to wake in these moments. She couldn't feel her tears, but she knew they were there. Nevertheless, she was held captive, no matter how painfully aware she was dreaming she became. As her wails faded into jagged breaths, stone and rubble shifted violently several feet beside her. They burst outward, narrowly missing Kharisma. From the wreckage of a hut, stood Luke Skywalker— coated in soot, broken, but alive. In that moment, Luke's right-hand droid, an R2 unit astro-mech, flew towards him, beeping like a lost puppy reunited with its owner. Kharisma was relieved to see that she had not been alone after all. What would she have done had it not been for his emergence? How could she ever explain what had happened to her?
She scrambled to her feet and ran towards him, "You're alive! You're alive, thank The Force!" she sobbed.
Kharisma threw her arms around Luke as he knelt beside R2-D2, and cried into his shoulder. Alas, the broken Jedi did not return her embrace.
His voice was shallow as he muttered his response, "I failed him..." he trailed on, "I failed us all."
No further explanation. Just that, laden with the weight of the ashes that shrouded them. That night, all he spoke of was how he needed to return her to her home planet, to reunite her with her guardian and mentor, Lor San Tekka. That part never played in the dream however. It always ended here, with Kharisma staring into Luke's face, his shell-shocked expression lingering.
"Who did you fail? What happened?" she questioned, her mind still swarming with fear and confusion.
His gaze never met her own. Instead, it fixed on the temple's remains. And just like every night this dream came to Kharisma as of late, Luke's features wavered, bending and reshaping until a tall and wide masked figure loomed before her. Familiar and foreign all at once, it spoke in Luke's voice, yet layered with another darker one thrumming in The Force.
"You need to wake up," it intoned, as if the galaxy itself demanded it.
As the temple dissolved into blackness, the hazy orange sky crumbled along with it, pulling Kharisma out of the nightmare. The voice turned to a deep, modulated tone which echoed distant, splintering inside of her skull, "Wake up... Wake up..."
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Kharisma jolted upright with a gasp. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Her clothes clung to her skin, drenched in sweat. Heart pounding in her ears, she clutched her chest as she sank into the breathing exercise she had come to rely on. Each deep inhale was a cool knife down her throat. Metallic bitterness lingered on her tongue. She had been screaming in her sleep again. She wasn't sure how many more times she could endure this memory, especially now laced with its new ending.
Though the fall of the Jedi temple on Ossus had happened a year ago, only in the last two months had these dreams intensified with such persistence— linked to something in The Force, something she had yet to name. If it wasn't this warped memory playing, it was flashes of dark, fragmented visions of the masked figure. Twisted reflections of someone she could have sworn she once knew. It wasn't nightly, but close enough to drive her near madness. It was unbearable, and almost as though another being had reached through The Force.
Kharisma was supposed to be preparing for her role as a priestess in the church on her home planet, Yutrajia. She must be focused. Centered. Yet these restless nights shredded her concentration. The Force was indeed stirring; already beginning to reshape her path.
Slowly, she rose from her bed, body trembling, and her stomach churning with unease. She needed fresh air and clarity. The balcony outside her chamber was the only relief she could think of. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and opened the glass-paned doors, stepping into the night.
The beauty of this planet never failed her. Yutrajia clung to its ancient ways, its original architecture, and untouched skies. With little to no light pollution, the heavens stretched wide and clear, embroidered with star clusters. Three moons hung in the atmosphere, each glowing with their own distinct color. Kharisma could have stood here for hours had it not been the dead of night. Resting her arms against the cool stone banister, she took in the grounding scent of petrichor. The light wind teased strands of hair against her damp face, carrying with it the freshness she so desperately craved.
She exhaled slow and measured. Tomorrow morning was not only her twentieth birthday, but her official initiation as a priestess. In the heart of the Temple of Divine Path, she was to pledge before the High Priestess and the gathered clergy. It was there that stood a kyber crystal so vast it was said to tether the Yutrahite race to The Force itself. Few were ever permitted to enter that sanctum, and yet... Even on the eve of this honor, Kharisma could not ignore the ache in her heart. The feeling that it wasn't enough. That something more waited just beyond reach.
Another long sigh escaped her lips, mulling over the tangled mess that were her thoughts. It wasn't that she lacked interest in becoming a priestess, but when Luke Skywalker returned her to Yutrajia, unrest followed. A Jedi in the midst of the Yutrahites' own observations of The Force was one thing, but to return after an attack on a Jedi temple was another. They had their own past trauma that scarred their memories and weakened their resources. If a lone survivor from a fallen Jedi temple was here, who knew what kind of danger that could bring?
To them, Kharisma's return as an ex-padawan was not a blessing, but a reminder of pain and suffering. Fortunately, being Lor San Tekka's ward, she was easily assimilated into The Church of Ael'thera. It was he who made a compromise with the Yutrahite king. Kharisma could stay safe on the planet, but it came with cost. She was to abandon the ways of the Jedi and devote herself fully to the Yutrahite faith in what they believed to be the truest form of The Force. No endless quarrels of light versus dark. Only balance within the raw, eternal flow they named Ael'thera.
At first, it was difficult. In time, it had become fulfilling enough. The only relic left behind was Kharisma's lightsaber, hidden beneath her bed in a lock box left to gather dust. That was, of course, until the nightmares returned. She was certain they wouldn't come back once she embarked on her journey to priesthood, but The Force whispered to her through them once again, refusing to be silenced by the walls she had tried to build.
Kharisma craved belonging and had hoped that adopting this new title would finally grant her purpose. However, a part of her pondered who she might have been had she ever been given the chance to truly choose. Before her mother, Judith, passed from Quannot's Syndrome, she asked Lor San Tekka to watch over Kharisma in her absence. But something had awakened in Kharisma following Judith's death. Soon after, Tekka thought it right to take her to Luke Skywalker, where she was first told to become a Jedi. Once it had all come crashing down, she was told she must become this...
Uncertainty and hope sparred within her psyche, and the world around her seemed to echo her dismay. Clouds she hadn't noticed parted, and a drizzle fell. Kharisma welcomed the drops that kissed her bare shoulders and face. Moss on the balcony bloomed with bioluminescence. Wherever the rain touched it, it responded with shimmers of iridescence. Even the palace in the distance flashed with teal and violet hues, as if the storm had conspired to soothe her.
She lifted her face skyward, mouth open to catch the droplets of rain, and allowed a soft, unguarded giggle to leave her. For a moment, the weight inside her chest lightened, but soon after, the drizzle turned to downpour, and so with it, she slipped back inside. Perhaps Ael'thera was calling her back to sleep?
Once at her bedside, instinct guided her where she should have turned long ago.
Kneeling, she folded her hands and spoke into the stillness, "Ael'thera, grant me strength. With your guidance, I will do what I must. For Your Force, for the people, and for my own peace. Give me strength against these nightmares, I beg, and I shall devote myself to Your Will fully. I will live and breathe balance, not only for the Yutrahites, but for all who dwell upon this world. Hear me, Ael'thera. Bring me purpose. Blessed be."
When the words left her, something shifted. Kharisma felt a quiet acknowledgment through her connection with The Force, as if her prayer had actually been heard. Fatigue rolled over her like a tidal wave. Yawning, Kharisma slipped beneath her incense-scented sheets. With the quilt pulled close around her face and eyelids heavy, she surrendered to rest. Outside, the winds carried their lullaby through open windows, promising uninterrupted sleep. For now, the galaxy allowed her peace.
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The next time Kharisma woke, it was the Tatoo System's twin suns that had stirred Kharisma from her slumber. There had been no dreams, neither good nor bad. Simply nothingness, and it was pure bliss. Birdsong joined the tolling of the church's bell tower, seven crystalline notes drifting on the air. She smiled. For she had woken at exactly the right hour.
Joy carried her to her chifforobe, where her ceremonial gown waited. Her night gown was quickly swapped for the dress. Catching her reflection in the mirror, Kharisma clasped her hands together in delight. The gown was beautiful, divine, and ethereal- everything it ought to be. Once pieced together with her veil, it was almost perfect. She willed herself to believe it. This was enough. It had to be enough.
Her morning began as it always did, with a string of rituals and simple routine. The folding of her nightclothes, the washing of her hands, and the careful braiding of her golden blonde hair. Living within the clerical quarters meant the church was only a ten minute walk, and on this day, those minutes mattered most. They gave her room to set last night's unrest behind her and breathe in the crisp morning air. To step into the role expected of her before meeting with Tanvi, the High Priestess who had taken Kharisma under her wing with devotion.
Tanvi was already waiting at the church doors when Kharisma arrived. The Yutrahite stood tall and still, as if carved from the very stone of the church walls. Her pale, blue skin was radiant in the early light. She, too, wore ceremonial robes, the fabric draping her long frame and glinting faintly where it caught the sunlight. A hint of her tail slipped out beneath the fabric of her dress, showing the alien grace of her kind. She smiled as Kharisma approached. Her affection for the girl was clear, deeper than duty required, and even more so than custom expected. And though Kharisma was human, an outsider like the many other settlers in this world, Tanvi believed she was worthy of the honor that awaited her.
"My sweet child," Tanvi mused, her tone warm but formal, "Look at you. So grown! I trust you are prepared for your initiation? You know your vows?"
"Yes, Lady Tanvi, of course," Kharisma beamed, her words almost tumbling over each other, but a faint trace of nervousness had broken through.
Tanvi regarded her gently. Even with the protective veil she wore, which sat like a blind fold protecting her pitch black eyes from the sun, it was still penetrating.
Finally, she spoke, "You had another nightmare again, didn't you?"
Shit. Nothing got past the High Priestess.
Kharisma cursed inwardly some more, her fingers tightening around the folds of her gown.
But Tanvi only moved towards the double doors, her movements deliberate, with a hand beckoning Kharisma to follow, "I will not give you speeches today on overcoming your grief. However, you must learn the past is behind you. Our Ael'thera has taken kindly to you, and I am certain She will bring you many blessings this evening."
Kharisma followed her into the church, the echoes of their steps and Tanvi's long cane reverberating softly against the stone, "Yes, My Lady," she started, "I have prayed for strength and peace against the nightmares. I will not let the past define the future."
A low hum escaped Tanvi, more approving than doubtful, "You would see it well to pray for discernment, too, child. Prayer is the first step, but discernment in oneself is necessary for what lies ahead."
"Yes, My Lady," Kharisma answered a little more quietly.
"We will practice your vows in the vestry before going to the temple," Tanvi stated, her voice carrying with the steady rhythm of her steps. The sweep of her tail brushed the floor like a metronome, "You've caught the eye of King Abraxas; he has chosen to attend the ceremony himself. A rare occurrence... but a blessing nonetheless."
Kharisma listened intently as they walked, focusing on the path ahead. She knew better than to reply just yet. Tanvi always spoke in pieces, allowing others to digest her words in small doses. Though in this instance, it made her shiver with anticipation.
Tanvi glanced over, her expression soft, "Do not be nervous, Kharisma. He would not have allowed you to remain here if he had not already seen in you what others have yet to understand."
Kharisma lowered her eyes, unsure if Tanvi's words steadied her or unsettled her further. The temple waited just an island away— its silence, its secrets, its connection to Ael'thera. She could feel The Force humming faintly as if aware of her coming. A less metaphorical shiver ran through Kharisma. One that had nothing to do with the morning air.
Why can't I shake this feeling? She wondered.
She peeked up at Tanvi for comfort. Her presence beside her was calm, almost ageless. Kharisma had been told she was over seven centuries old. A lifetime that spanned more than most humans could imagine. And yet, Tanvi's patience and certainty carried a weight that made her seem both ancient and immediate, as if she had walked these halls countless times before and would continue long after.
Once inside the vestry, Kharisma must have recited her vows a dozen times, her voice quivering with each repetition until Tanvi, ever patient, was finally satisfied. The words hung in the air, sacred and sure, as the hours drifted onward. The rest of their hours passed in hushed purpose. Duties performed in reverence, scripture read with intention, and Ael'thera studied in silence. But as the suns began their slow descent, casting the sky in a soft amber light, Kharisma felt that familiar tug of uncertainty. It brushed against her like a fleeting shadow. She tucked it away as soon as it came, burying it beneath her actions.
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At last, when the moment arrived, they stepped onto the small vessel that would carry them across the sparkling waters toward Harmonia, the island where The Temple of Divine Path awaited. The sea lapped against the hull, carrying them forward as Tanvi's reassuring words filled the space between them, granting her affirmations of strength and purpose. Kharisma felt them sink into her like seeds, taking root deep within her soul. She was thankful for the High Priestess.
After her mother's death, Tanvi was like another parent. Though Tanvi wore her heritage with pride— her long pointed ears and the singular horn that crowned her head— these things mattered little to either of them. What lay beneath the shell of their bodies, in the essence of their beings, was what truly counted. And perhaps that was why Tanvi cared for Kharisma so deeply. The girl had seen beyond the surface. She was one of the first few to have glimpsed at the heart of the Yutrahites with reverence, without the fear or misunderstanding that many others held. She had loved them for their truth.
Perhaps that, too, was why the king had accepted her— why King Abraxas saw in her something special. Her respect for their people and her willingness to embrace their ways had forged a path to his favor. In Kharisma, the king saw not an outsider who would double cross or hurt them, but a kindred spirit. One who understood that true connection was never born from appearance alone, but from the depths of the soul.
Many had come to their planet over the years, drawn by the promise of cultivating a land once ravaged. Their efforts weaved Yutrajia back into self sufficiency. One off-worlder alone was responsible for that. Boba Fett. The retired bounty hunter gained control of territory on the neighboring planet, and claimed the title of Daimyo. He was the very first outsider to show the same reverence Kharisma had for Yutrajia, once an unnamed and uncharted planet in the Tatoo star system.
The planet was seized many, many years ago by the former daimyo, Jabba the Hutt, who took Yutrahites as slaves and stole resources. Boba Fett's hands, weathered and firm, laid the foundation for Yutrajia's survival when Kharisma was but a mere toddler. Settlements rose like soft oaths to the earth, wildlife reserves flourished into sanctuaries for the creatures that had survived, and markets opened, their bustling streets offering food and goods to all. He returned those who were enslaved and created jobs for people on Tatooine, the backwater, criminal hide out of a planet, who wished to get away from bounty hunting and drug smuggling. These were the efforts both planets needed, and in exchange, Boba asked for nothing but access to Yutrajia's resources through trade.
The Yutrahites were cautious at first, but Boba Fett, in his unspoken way, proved himself to be benevolent. King Abraxas, quick to grasp the gravity of Boba's respect, saw in him a rare kind of strength. He never sought to manipulate their lands, but instead, protected them as one would a fragile treasure. Boba's involvement brought prosperity back to Yutrajia, not through force, but through trust. He named the planet in honor of its people, preserving their ancient ways while offering them new paths to flourish.
All different kinds of people came to Yutrajia for better lives. Church of the Force members took homage there as well, namely Lor San Tekka and Kharisma's mother, Judith, who also revered them, and came with the same unquestioning grace. Tekka spent years learning the ways of the Yutrahites, understanding them and their religion, subsequently meeting and forming a friendship with Tanvi. Although his name carried the legacy of the Jedi and was a friend of the legendary Luke Skywalker himself, Tekka was never one of them. He embraced a path that was beyond the rigidity of the old Jedi Order.
King Abraxas recognized the purity of his intentions, and in time, a bond, too, formed between them— a bond founded on mutual respect, where their shared interest in Ael'thera united them in alliance. Through this bond, Tekka made sure Jedi wouldn't come to their planet, ensuring that Ael'thera's sacred ways were never disturbed. It was Tekka who cared for Judith on this planet like she was his own, helping raise Kharisma to be just as respectful and open-minded, but he never would have imagined her mother's illness would take her too soon, and awaken The Force that had lain dormant in Kharisma for fifteen years. And so, with his promised duties to King Abraxas, and his obligations to Judith, he took Kharisma to Luke, the next chapter of her journey unfolding like an unspoken prayer.
But prayers are not always answered in the ways one hopes. When Luke returned her to Lor San Tekka on Yutrajia, the doors to the king's throne room closed behind them, leaving Kharisma to sit in the corridor for her fate to be decided. She never heard what was spoken inside, never saw the way Abraxas's expression hardened as Luke confessed what had befallen his temple, or how Tekka's voice lowered when Luke decided to put himself in exile. She wouldn't realize that this would cause them and herself to have to go into hiding until after their meeting had adjourned. She fell asleep on the bench as the hours ticked by.
When the doors opened again and Kharisma was nudged gently awake, Luke was already gone. She was placed in Tanvi's care that day, she knew that, but what she didn't know was that she would be under careful watch of the crown. She was moved into the clerical quarters with hardly any explanation as to why this was happening. Lor San Tekka did his best to inform her without giving much away. She was to stay hidden, conceal her face, change her name for the public...
That was the day she became known as Kaye. Her life had shifted once again. Only the king, his advisor, and the High Priestess were permitted to know the truth. And when she was informed she had to give up the teachings of the Jedi, and serve in the Church of Ael'thera, she felt her identity was stripped even further.
The worst of it was when Tekka had to explain that he could not stay with her. It was too much of a risk, and that to further ensure her safety he was going to relocate to another planet as well as the remaining Church of the Force members on Yutrajia. Grief had overcome her. He left Kharisma her lightsaber in secrecy as a parting gift should she ever need to defend herself, and then as quick as they had arrived, both master and mentor were gone.
Kharisma was left with sharp and unrelenting absence. To her, it felt like abandonment, though her heart clung to the belief that Tekka had loved her too much to leave willingly. Fragments of those hours would haunt her- the effects of a conversation she was not meant to hear. What she used to carry the most was the ache of losing her mother, whose voice had once anchored her. But the galaxy had a cruel sense of humor.
It took everything. Her fellow padawan, her friends, were all dead. The Jedi master, whose face lingered in her dreams, left without even so much as a good bye. Her mentor, who raised her hand in guidance, had to leave with out her knowing where he was going. She experienced so much loss... all within the same unforgiving season of her life.
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The boat rocked beneath Kharisma, pulling her from memory to present. Ahead, Harmonia glimmered on the horizon, the Temple of Divine Path rising from the sea like a beacon. Yet her thoughts still drifted back to Ossus, to the face she had once trusted, and to the man who had become more than a mentor. He had loved her enough to fight for her place here. The ache never quieted, even as the waves whispered promises of what awaited shoreward. Kharisma's hands curled in her lap as she sat. As if sensing her emotions, Tanvi reached out for her, her hand finding Kharisma's and holding fast. Warmth spread through her palm. Tanvi's voice was steady as she spoke, her thumb brushing slow reassurance into Kharisma's skin.
Like roots in the earth and like sunlight through water, Tanvi's love held her there. It reminded her that though much had been taken, some bonds, deep and true, remained unbroken. Kharisma drew in a deep breath. Everyone else was gone... But Tanvi was here. A quiet certainty. Proof that she was not truly alone. She then exhaled, letting go of what troubled her before her debut.
Focused and centered, she thought to herself. This has to be enough.
Lost so deeply in thought, she only noticed the passing of time when the suns had set and Harmonia revealed itself fully beneath moonlight. The vessel cut through black water beneath a sky threaded with stars. The three moons— red, yellow, and white— hung above the island like watchful sentinels. Pale stone steps emerged from the sea, faintly illuminated by veins of Yutrajia's signature bioluminescence. The night air was cool, alive with anticipation, and the island reflected it.
The moment Kharisma stepped onto Harmonia, she froze. Something called to her like a siren. Not just a sound, but a presence. A low, melodic resonance unfurled within her, rising through her like a memory she had never lived. It was distant and nearly imperceptible. The song unfolded slowly, each note lingered long enough to wound before the next took its place. It danced with The Force inside her, as though it recognized the cadence before her mind could make sense of it. The hum beneath her skin aligned with the sound, winding through marrow and memory alike.
Her chest tightened. What is this?
Ahead, the Temple of Divine path stood luminous and still, its white stone drinking in moonlight and offering it back softened and refracted. Its pillars curved inward like open hands, guiding rather than commanding. With every step toward it, the melody grew clearer, layer upon layer, patient and inexorable— like a vow remembered rather than spoken. It was not sung aloud, but threaded through The Force itself. It was empyrean. Hopeful even. Like a warm embrace promising Kharisma exactly what she craved. Tanvi stood beside her still, her hand never leaving Kharisma's as she guided her towards the entrance.
Kharisma's heart pounded.
Excitement and anxiety blended together until they were nearly indistinguishable. A tear slipped free despite her effort to hold it back.
"Lady Tanvi," she murmured, stopping once more, her voice barely steady, "Can you not hear that?"
The High Priestess turned toward her, studying Kharisma's face covered beneath the sheer veil, "Hear what, my child?"
"The song," Kharisma whispered, "Its coming from the temple."
Tanvi followed her gaze. Her expression remained unreadable for a long moment before she shook her head and smiled, "No," she said softly, "But I believe you."
Inside the temple, night reigned gently. The clergy had already gathered, seated in concentric tiers that circled the chamber like an audience before eternity. Faces were half-lit by moonlight spilling through apertures, mingling with the soft luminescence embedded within the stone itself. Centered at the very top, sat King Abraxas resplendent as ever. His presence was as immovable as the planet beneath him. At his side stood his advisor, Lord Zephyris. He did not sit. He never did. He stood with his posture precise, and his hands folded beneath his back.
He was exacting— like a blade sheathed just beneath the skin of the room. His gaze did not seek Kharisma immediately. Instead, it traced the temple with precision. First the clergy, next the crystal, then slowly, his eyes found her. The gaze lingered as if committing her to memory. She felt it like a brush of static to the spine.
As foretold, the kyber crystal stood at in the middle of the chamber. Clear as cut glass. Immense and perfectly still. Light refracted through it in slow, breathing patterns, as though it waited. The melody within Kharisma surged at the sight of it, no longer distant now, no longer subtle. With each step beside Tanvi, it grew stronger, until it felt less like a call and more like symbiosis. Tanvi led Kharisma to stand before the crystal.
The High Priestess raised her hands, and the low hum of the audience speaking before them fell silent.
"Kaye of Yutrajia," Tanvi began, making sure her voice traveled, "You stand before Ael'thera to offer yourself in devotion, balance, and truth. Do you come freely, without coercion or fear?"
Kharisma swallowed. The weight of every eye pressed upon her, but the song held her steady, "I do."
Tanvi nodded, "Then speak your vows."
Kharisma did not falter. The words came to her with clarity and grace, each syllable falling into place. She spoke of humility. She spoke of service not in defiance of darkness nor in worship of light. She spoke in reverence of the eternal flow that bound all things, of how balance was not a destination, but a practice. Her vows were woven with devotion that did not bow, but rather, offered.
When she finished, silence claimed the temple walls, deep and attentive. The clergy was left expectant.
"It is custom to honor Ael'thera through touch." Tanvi stepped to the side allowing Kharisma to approach the kyber, "You may place your hand upon the Living Crystal."
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The moment her palm met the crystal's facets, it answered her. Light surged from within the kyber, radiant and sudden, flooding the entirety of the chamber in aubergine purple. The crystal sang, and the melody in Kharisma rose to meet it, harmonizing until they became one. The crystal hummed beneath her hand as she felt The Force reach into her, merging with her thoughts. But there was something else— visions meant for Kharisma alone.
Without warning, the world fractured. Flashes and echoes flooded her mind, and she fell into everything. Slow mechanical breathing echoed beneath it all as a battlefield churned with molten rock and fire. Two blue lightsabers clashed violently, the sound rattling Kharisma's bones.
Fear. Rage. Desperation. Betrayal. She felt it all.
If Kharisma thought she was experiencing anxiety before, surely there was a panic attack blooming in her chest. She couldn't see the people dueling clearly, no matter how hard she tried, struggling to understand the images swirling in front of her.
A dolorous voice rang out in the midst of it all, faint against the eerie, labored breathing that consumed everything around Kharisma.
"You were the chosen one! You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them!"
She couldn't see who was speaking. Still the lightsabers dueled, almost mimicking each other's movements. It was as though they each knew what to expect from the other.
"...Bring balance to the force— not leave it in darkness..." The voice rang out again defeated.
The words shattered into shards, spinning through her mind as more scenes erupted around her: a burning planet, lava everywhere, strange structures she could barely comprehend.
"I hate you!" Another voice cried out and echoed endlessly.
Flames reflected in her mind's eye. Red, orange, and black... And the mechanical breathing never ceased. She felt as though her body was turning her everywhere and all around attempting to make sense of the visions. Suddenly, her body stiffened, heart hammering, as the memory fractured again. Faces, places, sounds colliding like some wretched kaleidoscope of horror.
And then, a pale woman lay upon a table, screaming.
A message seeped through, the same voice she heard speak of bringing balance to The Force. She jerked violently to its direction, hoping to finally see its owner, but to no avail.
"...I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen..."
Kharisma refocused her attention on the woman on the table. She was growing lifeless. Kharisma felt helpless watching her. She didn't understand what The Force was showing her or why. She wanted to call out to the voice talking, but she couldn't. She was stuck as a witness.
"...This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: Trust in The Force..."
Kharisma quickly realized new life was entering the galaxy. The woman had given birth to twins. Pain and hope tangled together, and Kharisma couldn't help but cry.
"...In time, I believe a new hope will emerge. May The Force be with you. Always..."
The visions twisted once more, revealing a man with defiance in his eyes. Kharisma instantly recognized him. Luke Skywalker, young and unbroken. Handsome even. Her late master exuded raw strength that almost left her awestruck.
"Never. I'll never turn to the dark side." He spoke.
She didn't see who he spoke to. It seemed The Force still held some secrets not yet ready to be revealed. Lightning cracked overhead, and the mechanical breathing ended, leaving silence so heavy it pressed against Kharisma's skull. Darkness followed.
But The Force was not finished with her. Time folded, and lightning arced once again, this time striking the charred temple she left behind. Her nightmare. Her memory. The cooked, mangled bodies of her friends forever haunting her. The smell of burning flesh overwhelmed her senses.
No. She thought. Please, no, don't show me this.
Luke stood older now, haunted, ash clinging to his robes, "I failed him..."
If Kharisma could scream aloud, she would. She knew what was coming next. A figure emerged from the shadows, shifting and twisting until the masked silhouette loomed as always, impossibly terrifying. The same figure she had always seen. The chrome colored embellishments stared into her. She wanted to run from it. She knew deep in her very breath that this was the creature responsible for Ossus. There could be no denying it. The Force was practically shoving the truth down her throat like a too-large pill to swallow.
A new voice rippled through her bones, low and foreign, completely unlike the one from her nightmares, "When I found you, I saw what all masters live to see..."
Stop, please make it stop! She screamed in her head begging The Force to provide relief.
The voice continued as the figure stood before her, forcing her to look up at it.
"...The potential of your bloodline. A new... Vader."
The creature ignited its lightsaber, one unlike any she had ever seen. It was red, unstable, and alive with menace. The masked form raised its armed hand as if she were never meant to be there, never meant to see it. Just as the crackling, fiery saber was about to come down on her, The Force gave Kharisma its mercy.
Light and shadow danced across her vision as memories, possibilities, echoes of past and future collided into a cacophony of sensation. Beneath her hand, the crystal pulsed, drawing her deeper into the surge of energy, fear, and destiny. She could feel herself gasp for air.
And then, just as suddenly, the visions collapsed. The chamber returned. Violaceous light faded into stillness as Kharisma staggered back, chest heaving, body covered in sweat. Every nerve in her body was alight. Her fingers tingled, and her mind buzzed with the weight of what she had seen. She blinked back tears as she tried to steady herself. What felt like minutes had been seconds, and yet she knew she had glimpsed the threads of a galaxy in turmoil. The Force had shown her echoes of choices and consequences. Something was brewing— something alive and insistent.
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Kharisma's eyes searched the temple, grateful her veil hid whatever horrified facial expression might have lingered on her face. She withdrew her hand shakily from the kyber, her breath catching as she finally set her sight on the High Priestess. The clergy above remained silent. King Abraxas leaned forward in his seat, hands gripping the arms in curiosity. Lord Zephyris's gaze bore through her skin.
This wasn't part of the priesthood initiation. Was it?
Tanvi rushed to Kharisma and held her, "Child, have you seen something? Are you unwell?"
Kharisma couldn't answer yet. Words felt brittle in her mouth. She had definitely seen more than she could imagine, but how could she even begin to describe it? The Force didn't just give her a history lesson on the galaxy, but it showed her Jedi history. And most disturbingly, it confirmed her nightmares may have been more than she had initially been willing to believe. If she spoke of what she saw in front of the clergy, it wouldn't go over well. She'd been told countless times to leave her past behind her, and to hide her true identity. She could never mention what she had seen, and so she wouldn't— at least not the full truth.
"I-I'm well, Lady Tanvi," she stammered, struggling to steady her voice. "Ael'thera spoke to me through the Living Crystal... through visions."
With an arm draped around Kharisma's shoulder, Tanvi turned to look up at Abraxas, "My King, the girl has seen. Ael'thera has chosen its Divine Messenger. It has blessed her with the gift of sight."
Once Tanvi's announcement was delivered, gasps rippled through the clergy. Whispers followed, drowning the temple in a sea of chatter. Kharisma felt like she couldn't breathe, but she held her composure and stood unwavering. She lifted her eyes to King Abraxas, not knowing how the Yutrahite king would react to such unexpected news. What did it mean to be Ael'thera's divine messenger?
The clergy continued to chatter, Kharisma catching words and phrases here and there.
"That color-"
"Not one of us-"
"She sees-"
"Impossible-"
"An ex-Jedi-"
"How would-"
"She could ruin-"
"An oracle-"
An oracle?
She tried to ignore the unkind whispers, including the ones which revealed others may have an idea of who she used to be. She had only expected to become a priestess... nothing more.
Abraxas's jaw tightened at the mention of Kharisma being an ex-Jedi. Gossip had traveled through his kingdom, and the idea that it could be held against her at such a pivotal moment ignited his anger. He had expected curiosity, but not fear or judgment. The king knew her connection to what the Jedi called The Force would elicit this reaction from The Living Crystal. Tanvi knew it too, though the two of them would never tell Kharisma that- it had to be framed as choice. The Yutrahites needed Kharisma more than they knew and Kharisma needed purpose. He would make sure she was protected at all costs for his old friend. He had promised.
The king rose from his seat and lifted a single hand. "Enough!" he commanded. His voice carried without effort, pressing silence back into the chamber.
Tanvi held Kharisma tighter. Three loud taps of her cane helped to silence the chamber. Not one dared to murmur. She leaned her head closer to Kharisma and spoke softly, only for Kharisma to hear, "Remember, my child, you need not be nervous."
Abraxas began to descend the stairs that lead down from his dais as he continued to speak, "It has not been unbeknownst to me that speculation has taken root within my court regarding the one you know as Kaye."
His gaze swept the chamber, "Let me be clear. She has lived under the protection of the crown. Those who have indulged in gossip regarding her origins, her past, or her worth have spoken far beyond their station, and will be dealt with duly"
Abraxas stood next to Kharisma and Tanvi now, and his voice thickened with gravity. He turned to face the audience before them, "This young woman has lived a life shaped by titles she did not choose. Orphan. Jedi. Survivor— titles that you all will speak no more of and do not leave this very room," He paused. His hand gestured toward Kharisma and the crystal, "Today was meant to be another such imposition."
Unease rippled through the clergy as King Abraxas continued his speech, "But Ael'thera has spoken. We have not known an oracle for over a century. Many of you believed such a calling belonged to history. To legend."
Kharisma bit her cheek, realizing what this meant.
His gaze sharpened. "Yet who among us would claim authority over the Will of that which binds us all?"
Choice. Kharisma's breath hitched as she squeezed Tanvi's arm gently. She saw now the king was giving her choice. For the first time since early that morning, her heart quickened with excitement. Could this very well be the belonging she needed? Was this her true purpose? Kharisma was feeling hopeful now. Tanvi lightly squeezed Kharisma's arm in return and Abraxas looked over the girl, holding out his mauve-colored hand for her to hold. She reached out to take it.
"This is not a command," he said, holding her hand gently within his own, "Nor a coronation. It is a choice, my dear Kaye. It is a choice. Will you be our oracle?"
For the first time in her life, no one told her who she was meant to be. The choice rested solely with her. And Kharisma, fear trembling alongside hope, stood at the threshold of her becoming.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will be your oracle."