18

A sunrise corona limned the far edge of the planet Dantooine, setting its vast northern forests alight with a verdant glow. From his spot upon the Ebon Hawk's holding ramp, Avner watched the last vestiges of darkness vanish beneath the rising sun's warm glow, bathing the planet's lush fields in a golden glow. Everything was green and overflowing with life, a far cry from the cold duracrete jungles of Taris. Avner flipped his knife over deftly in his hand, carefully cutting away another notch from the wooden block he had carved out from a downed tree limb. Heavy footsteps approached and stopped just at his side, and Canderous Ordo found a seat next to him upon the ramp. They were both quiet for the next few minutes, enjoying the last fleeting moments of a silent sleeping world before its inhabitants awoke, chasing away the wonton tranquility of the night.

"It's almost too perfect," Canderous muttered as he leaned forward to brace his forearms against bent knees. "Too perfect to end."

"Light must give way to darkness and darkness to light," Avner murmured back.

"Nothing good can last forever," Ordo finished.

"Dawn: bright death of mortal night," Avner recited in flawless Mando'a, and Canderous blinked in surprise. It was a Mandalorian proverb; sometimes, one good thing must give way to another. How he knew of such wisdom… well, it was just one more thing tumbling around unbidden in his mind, shackled by the chains of ignorance. They were quiet again; the only sound shared between them was the soft plinks of wood splinters hitting the ramp. A warm breeze brushed through his shorn hair, and Canderous huffed.

"Figured the Jedi would have returned by now."

The Kiffar shrugged and shaved off another notch. "Between Taris' destruction and the Sith, I'm sure she has a lot to recount."

"Suppose you're right."

The chittering of creatures who rose during the day began to resound around them. The distant hum of speeders and the low rumble of many voices and feet moving in unison added to the slowly growing fervor of the rising sun. Dantooine was coming alive, not just before his very eyes but also from deep within his being as well. The Force tentatively shifted within him, brushing against his mind with gentle ease so as to not exacerbate any lingering wound he had sustained in the weeks prior. Avner latched onto the power and allowed it to seep from his consciousness, spreading out across the grassy fields and stone archways, seeking out any other being. Or perhaps one specific being with tempestuous, gray eyes.

His search was in vain, though, as the Force barely broke from the invisible tethers keeping it shackled to the few meters encircling his body. Try as he might, he could not conjure up the absolute world-shattering power he had experienced deep within the dark temple on Yavin IV. It was as if that one expression of might had completely drained away any reserves the Force may have built within him. Instead of being able to draw upon it, he found the Force to be even more elusive now than when he had been completely ignorant of its hold on him. Anytime he had tried to push out beyond himself and reconnect with the trillions of other life energies beating around him, he was met with an unmovable wall spanning heights he could not even begin to comprehend. And if he pushed too hard or tried to scale that impossibly high wall, he was met with pain. A burning ache that quickly morphed into a deep, unrelenting agony the further he climbed, as if someone was repeatedly stabbing a jagged pick into his brain and viciously twisting it around. A smarter person would have stopped trying to crawl over the mental wall altogether, but Avner had a very low sense of self-preservation. So he persisted, and the pain grew.

He wondered if it was all part of some kind of test the Force was putting him through. Perhaps this was a trial of the mind, the Force, and maybe himself trying to find his limits or possibly push past them. He should ask Bastila what she thought before he left. Maybe she could give him some type of mental training he could do while on leave. Another set of footsteps came down the ramp and stopped just behind him. He didn't need to turn to know that it was Carth, the weight of the steps too heavy to be Missions but too light to be Zaalbars.

"Never thought we'd make it here," Carth said, giving their surroundings an appreciative once-over. "Maybe now we can get some answers to everything that's happened. Figure out our next move."

"Your next move, soldier," Canderous grunted, but Carth didn't even bother responding. Instead, his eyes shot to Avners, but his were firmly fixed on the block in his hand, a smooth curve finally starting to take shape. He was not in the mood to bring up their previous spat nor provoke Carth into another argument over why he should remain or go. At this point, the other man had little to hold over him to make him stay. After Bastila returned and granted them access to the Jedi's long-range comm equipment, he would contact High Command and get his next assignment. Bastila, Carth, and everyone else would become another hazy memory to add to his numerous others. Though he would hold onto Mission, Zaalbar, and even Canderous' remembrance a bit more tightly. Their faces he wanted to keep.

Carth brushed past him on the ramp, and Avner looked up. Bastila was slowly approaching them, her shoulders stooped slightly, and a profound sadness… no unease hung around her like a dark cloud. Perhaps her meeting with her masters hadn't gone so well. When she saw them, her posture straightened, and the clear discomfort he had felt radiating off of her in waves vanished instantly. Instead, cool indifference was all that greeted him as she came to a stop at the bottom of the ramp.

"So, what did they say?" Carth asked, coming to stand beside her.

"They were appalled by the Sith's cruel tactics demonstrated at Taris and have made preparations to begin shoring up Dantooine's defenses. The Council has also sent word to Republic High Command of the recent events but also wishes for you to make your report to them as soon as possible," Bastila replied, her eyes flicking between both him and Carth before settling on him. "The Council has also requested an audience with you, Avner."

His hand stilled for a second, but he didn't raise his head to meet her piercing gaze. He wanted to stubbornly deny her, or perhaps a more selfish petulance dictated his reluctance. Still, the last thing he wanted was to be trapped in a small room with several wizened Jedi as they poked and prodded at him like some exotic specimen.

"An audience with the Jedi Council? That's pretty unusual for someone who isn't even a Jedi. What's this about, Bastila?" Carth questioned suspiciously. Good to see the pilot's paranoia really did extend to more people than just him, but it hardly seemed to ruffle the Jedi.

"I'm sorry, Carth, but I cannot tell you. All I ask is that you trust in the Force and the wisdom of the Council," Bastila said without so much as a bat of her eye.

"Is that the company slogan or something?" Avner finally remarked dryly from his spot several paces away, but Bastila ignored him. A favored tactic of hers.

"I don't like being left out of the loop, but I'm not looking to get you in trouble with the Jedi Masters. So, we'll do things your way," Carth conceded, then added quickly under his breath. "For now."

If she heard his last comment, she made no move to reproach the pilot, instead focusing on him. "Come, they are expecting us. I will lead you to the Council chambers, and, Carth, I will show you to the communication's center."

Again, he wanted to refuse her but found himself unable. He sheathed his knife, Canderous offering him one last meaningful look before he followed the young woman across the verdant plains back to the temple. Perhaps curiosity was what was leading him blindly down a path he did not want to walk; maybe these Jedi Masters could offer insight into his predicament. They could possibly help piece together some of his shattered memories or make sense of the strange dreams he had been having. They were soothsayers, right? Heh, or maybe Bastila was leading him to his doom.

Whatever the reason, he could, at the very least, inconspicuously admire the Jedi as she led them through the grand stone archways heralding the sprawling fields and training pits dotting the temple grounds. She had shed the oversized ragged clothing she had worn on Taris and instead had donned a respectable tunic and trousers all warm earthen tones and faded leather. Her brunette locks were pulled back away from her face into two simple knots revealing a slim neck that traced down to slender shoulders. He followed the elegant curve of her back down to her hips and…

"The communication center will be through here." Bastila's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he abruptly tore his gaze away before it could turn… torrid. "Wait here, Avner."

She disappeared with Carth through an open doorway, leaving him to stand idly by like a lost primary student. He took the time to observe his surroundings. Deep gray blocks well worn by the elements comprised the bulk of the sprawling Jedi temple before him. The garden Bastila had left him in was bustling with activity; robed individuals of all species were traversing the paved pathways winding around flowering trees and smooth arcing stones. An impressive bronzium fountain stood in the middle, water flowing continuously from one large shallow bowl to the next, providing a soothing stream of gurgling murmurs. It had an almost magical sound, making his eyes lower and his heartbeat slow, mind-numbing to all that surrounded him. The garden was just so… peaceful.

"You there! Padawan!"

Or at least it was. The loud, indignant voice abruptly pulled him from his relaxing stupor, drawing his attention to a pair of individuals rapidly approaching him. One was a human woman, a little younger than him, with fiery red hair, pulled back into a severe bun, while her companion was a lanky Bothan with fur as dark as the brown woods of a wroshyr tree and eyes as bright as glowing yellow lanterns. The girl marched straight up to him while the Bothan hung back a step, watching the enfolding scene with barely contained mirth.

"Why are you not wearing the customary robes of the Jedi? Do you mock the honored traditions of our Order?"

"I'm not-."

"Furthermore, where is your weapon? It should be properly displayed at all times, blasters notwithstanding." She cast a critical eye to the gun strapped to his side, and he felt a flash of annoyance at her assumed condemnation.

"Listen, sweetheart, I'm-."

"Sweetheart!? Is that any way to address your fellow Padawan?" The girl further admonished not letting him get a word in edge-wise. Kriff, she was worse than Bastila! "Just who is your master?"

Avner let a sardonic grin slip across his features. He really should resist. "I-neeta."

"Yes, I-neeta." She waved her hand impatiently for him to continue.

"Sanwich." But he couldn't.

"Sanwich?" She blinked in pure confusion.

"Yeah, I-need a Sanwich," Avner finished, and the girl's puzzlement only grew while her companion let out a loud guffaw, slapping his thigh in clear amusement at the Kiffar's stupid joke.

"I don't see what's so funny," she sniffed, shooting her friend a cold look that he ignored.

"No, Belaya, you wouldn't." He sauntered forward and offered a hand. "Padawan Typho Ven. What might I call you, stranger?"

"Avner Marek, not a Padawan, just a soldier. I came here with Bastila." He firmly shook hands with the other man, relaxing under the Bothan's genuine grin.

"Bastila is back!? We had thought she had lost to the Sith! Why the Masters thought it was appropriate to send her after Malak on her own…" Belaya trailed off, crossing her arms while staring down at the ground pensively.

"Her Battle Meditation makes her the only logical choice. Plus, she is strong in the Force; a prodigy is what the Masters say," Typho said.

"Or a prideful fool is what others claim," the girl muttered lowly.

"She defeated Darth Revan. I think that affords her some credence to her talent," Typho pointed out.

"You're right," Belaya relented, then she turned her gaze on him. "You say you are just a soldier, but that cannot be. The Force is strong within you; I can feel its presence. If this is some kind of continued jest, it is in poor taste. Our Order is not a subject for jokes."

"That's where you're wrong, Junior Jedi. Everything can be a subject for jokes; life's just one big comedy, after all," Avner said, flashing another of his crooked grins. Typho snorted. At least someone appreciated his humor.

Belaya looked like she wanted to launch into another lecture, though, but her friend laid a hand on her shoulder, staying her. "Relax, Belaya. Remember how Master Zhar encouraged you to control your emotions? Well, take the joke in stride and move on."

Her lips twitched, and for a second, Avner was worried she would ignore the Bothan's advice, but her expression smoothed, and she nodded sagely. "You're right. Please forgive my initial abruptness. It was harsh and perhaps unfair. As a stranger, you cannot be expected to know of our customs."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

"Sorry for the wait, Avner, I-." Bastila had returned from the communication center sans Carth but stopped abruptly when she saw the pair before him. She dipped her head nervously for a second before clearing her throat and offering her fellow Jedi a small smile. "Belaya, Typho, I see you have met Avner."

"He's a pretty funny guy, Shan; where have you been hiding him all this time?" The Bothan asked, returning her smile with one of his own.

"I've only known him for a short time. He helped me escape Taris before…"

She didn't finish, and they all glanced away uncomfortably. By now, Avner was sure nearly everyone knew of Taris' demise; the question was, did they all blame Bastila for its destruction as she did? Clearly, some among her Order didn't hold her in very high regard.

Bastila coughed once to break the tension and forced her smile back onto her face. "In any case, the Council is waiting for us. I'm sorry, but we must go."

She all but pulled him away from her peers, her small hands wrapped tightly around his forearm, and she didn't let go until they were far from their sight.

"Nice friends of yours," he commented as he followed her through the cool halls deeper into the enclave.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Typho and Belaya are some of the best apprentice swordsmen within the Order. They make Master Zhar proud."

They were kind words; stilted, but kind.

Bastila finally led him into a large spacious rotunda, the domed roof soaring high over their heads, several glass skylights letting the bright morning sun stream inside, bathing the entire room in a warm glow. Brown cushioned seats lined the walls, and trees wound through the small alcoves interspersed throughout. In the very center stood a dark, jagged rock, tall and imposing as it reached a single spindly appendage skyward, the very middle of the stone bowing inwards around a single metal hilt. He had little time to further study it as he was ushered before four distinct individuals. They stood proud, backs straight and wearing an assortment of earthen robes, expressions nothing more than calm serenity or stern stoicism.

"Ah, so you are the one who rescued Bastila."

Avner gave them each a small nod in greeting and clasped his arms behind his back, spine straightening and gaze snapping forward in attention. A well-practiced stance he had adopted during his time serving in the Army. "Not alone, sir."

"Of course, we have heard all about your companions and the part they played in your escape. Our gratitude goes with them, but they are not why we have called you here today, Avner. Bastila has made us aware of some… events that have taken place around you, events you may not understand." A tall Twi'lek with skin as red as a dying sun stepped forward. He was the only one out of the four who wore any semblance of armor beneath his swirling robes, lekku curled neatly around his neck. "We hope that we may be able to offer you some clarity. I am Zhar Lestin, Battlemaster of the Jedi Order and member of this governing Council." He turned and gestured to each remaining person in order. "With me are Master Vrook Lamar, Master Vandar Tokare, and, of course, the Chronicler of our Academy, Master Dorak. Knight Shan, you are already familiar with, of course."

His eyes flicked between each Master's face respectively for a few seconds. Master Dorak was unreadable, his tan robes nearly swallowing him whole. His skin was a deep brown and well-worn like the pages of an aging manuscript, a fine ring of graying dark hair encircling his scalp. Master Vrook stood tall, his expression radiating clear skepticism as if he expected everything that would leave the Kiffar's mouth to be a lie. Deeper still in those cold blue eyes was carefully hidden disdain and perhaps even anger. At what, Avner wasn't sure. The look reminded him of the ones Bastila had given him on their flight from Taris, but much more severe. Finally, his eyes met the gaze of the smallest master gathered before him.

Vandar Tokare stood slightly hunched over, swathed in deep blue robes, leaning heavily upon a knobbed walking stick, studying him closely with perceptive eyes the color of Dantooine's verdant plains. His skin was green but browning considerably with age, wisps of white hair crowning his head and sharply pointed ears. He smiled gently when their gazes connected, and Avner felt a comfortable warmth rush through his chest at the oddly familiar sight. A swell of emotion rose up in him, almost as if his mind was grasping at feelings that were once known to him but have now been thrown to the very fringes of his psyche. He knew that smile…

But he was not ready to discover why he did. So instead, he asked the safest question he could come up with at the moment, a buffer to buy him some time to organize his thoughts. "Isn't the Jedi Council on Coruscant?"

"Yes, the High Council of the Jedi Order is on Coruscant; Master Vandar and Master Vrook are both representatives, but a separate Council exists here on Dantooine for this enclave specifically," Master Zhar replied patiently.

His buffer question got him nothing and offered him little time to formulate his feelings which have suddenly become scrambled. Hadn't he spent the better part of the night going over what he would ask these people if he ever got the chance to speak with them? Argued, debated, even yelled, demanding answers to every nightmare that had plagued his sleep and how the Force seemingly appeared within him one day, rapping on his mind like a blunted hammer. Except now… now he was at a loss for words. He didn't know what he wanted and didn't want. Suddenly the prospect of answers, of uncovering some of the mysteries that plagued him, was infinitely more frightening than the darkness that had nearly swallowed him whole on Yavin IV. But he needed to ask something! He could not just squander this opportunity, so he steeled his nerves and focused.

"What do you want from me?" It was a stupidly straightforward question that gave much but asked for little in return.

Zhar eyed him carefully while he answered. "Bastila tells us you are strong in the Force. Perhaps even strong enough to be considered for Jedi training."

"What?"

"Master Zhar speaks out of turn, perhaps," Master Vrook said sternly from his spot beside Master Vandar, a look of cold certainty shining in his icy blue eyes. It made Avner feel small, impossibly small like he was nothing more than a mere spec trapped beneath this man's thumbnail. "We would need indisputable proof of your strong affinity to the Force before we even consider accepting you for training."

It was Bastila who spoke out on his behalf before he could even open his mouth. "Proof? Surely the entire Council can feel the strength of the Force within this man, and I have already related to you the events that took place on Taris!"

"Perhaps it was simple luck," Master Vrook shot back, his displeased glare settling fully on her now.

"You can't ignore this!" Bastila continued disregarding the older man's mounting annoyance and, instead, turned to plead with the other assembled masters. "He needs help!"

Her passionate appeal was not lost on the gathered Jedi before them or on him. Her gray eyes were imploring earnestly now, and she looked as if she was about to drop to her knees and beg on his behalf. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about this sudden outpouring of emotion from a woman who usually regarded him as nothing more than some sort of slavering beast.

Her outcry didn't fall on deaf ears, though, as both Masters Zhar and Vandar nodded in agreement. "You make a compelling point, Knight Shan. We feel the Force within this man, though it is wild and untamed. The question now remains would it be safer to train him or perhaps use other methods to help him control this new errant power?"

"He is strong; he can learn!"

"The Jedi training is long and difficult, even when working with a young and open mind. Teaching a child is hard. How much harder will it be for an adult to learn the ways of the Jedi?" Master Vrook chided Bastila, who deflated under the older human's stern words. Master Dorak and Zhar nodded in accord with the other man, casting pointed glances at their young student forcing Bastila to shrink deeper into herself.

Avner felt a sudden protective urge rush through his chest, and the Force lunged from his body, wrapping around Bastila in a defensive embrace. He could practically taste her shame at having spoken her mind, acrimonious and bitter, while simultaneously feeling the intrusive jabs from all four men standing before them. They were trying to pry into her mind, pick through her memories to better understand him, and violate her privacy so obtrusively that it set a fire ablaze in his gut. And Bastila refused to defend herself, too cowed under their watchful reproach, so Avner clumsily lashed out at them in her stead. Yes, she was somewhat overbearing, cold, and sometimes too prideful for her own good, but beneath all of that, she was a gentle, kind spirit ceaselessly looking to please others. And Avner would be damned if he, at the very least, didn't stick up for her. So he swatted away the Master's invasive probing, a heavy-handed blow that drew their attention immediately to him. Bastila also whipped around to stare at him in complete disbelief, but he just stared down at the other men with a hard gaze of his own.

"I'm willing to try my best to learn." He was willing to give it a shot to prove that Bastila's faith she put in him was well-founded and perhaps because a small nagging part of him did want to learn more about the Force. He didn't want to be dragged around by some unseen chain anymore, never knowing if the power within him would be a help or a hindrance.

Finally, Master Dorak spoke, though he looked mildly perturbed at what had happened. "Traditionally, Jedi do not accept adults for training, though there are some rare exceptions in the history of our Order. You present a special case."

Master Vandar stepped forward and tapped his cane upon the stone floor, drawing every eye to him. "We cannot afford to turn away someone in need. Those we turn away today are becoming the Sith we fight tomorrow. At the very least, we should give this young man the training to protect himself adequately against Malak's forces. With Revan dead-."

"Are you certain Revan is truly dead?" Master Vrook interrupted, his voice laced with deep concern. "His teachings and his ideas still live on, influencing many to join his legacy's cause. What if we undertake to train this one and inadvertently create the next Dark Lord?"

"That is a discussion we should have in private," Master Vandar shot back before he turned his attention back to them. "Bastila, you and your friend may leave. This is a matter for the Council alone."

Bastila bowed low in respect. "As you wish, Master Vandar. We shall return to the Ebon Hawk and leave you to your deliberations."

He didn't want to leave. No, he wanted to stay and defend his name, which would most likely be the main source of the Council's ensuing discussion. But he had no grounds, no authority to remain and press his case. So he turned and followed Bastila back through the enclave and into the early noon sun. She stopped when she reached the outdoors, taking a deep breath as if to clear her body of any lingering discomfort she had brought upon herself within the Council chambers, then she turned on him.

"What were you thinking!?" She punctuated each word with a quick jab of her finger into his chest, eyes blazing with indignation.

"What? What did I do?"

"You – You disrespected the Masters!"

Avner scratched his head. "I don't remember doing that. I thought I was pretty agreeable, all things considered."

Bastila shook her head. "Avner, you pushed them away from me, put up a mental block."

He blinked in surprise at her chastisement. "I was only getting them to back off; you didn't seem to enjoy them rooting around in your mind."

"Whether I like it or not doesn't matter; the Masters are well within their right to search for the truth however they see fit, even if that means using more invasive means," she explained shortly. "Remember how I said following the Light Side meant sacrificing yourself? Well, the same is true when being a Jedi. We sacrifice our very beings and everything we hold secret for the betterment of our Order. Total transparency and absolute trust make our bonds stronger."

"Except when it comes to your Masters."

She frowned. "There are things that are best left only to the Masters. Their wisdom and experience allows them to view different situations better than if the collective has a say. Surely you understand this from your time in the military."

"The Army is different, Bastila, and you know it. They can't root around in your brain on a whim. How is it okay for those people to pry into your very most private thoughts and feelings, spread them out, and shuffle them around, but we can't stay and be a part of a discussion that is undoubtedly about us?"

"If you're going to become a Jedi, Avner, then you need to start trusting in the wisdom of the Council." She spun around abruptly, ending their conversation, and marched back to the Ebon Hawk, clearly through with trying to convince him of her master's permitted invasions. Bastila left him at the Hawk like a child sent to the corner for a timeout, then flounced back to the temple. No doubt to go scrape and grovel at her Masters' feet some more. He just stewed in his anger as he spent his time running through some martial sets in the cargo hold while also stringing up a burlap sack filled with an assortment of torn upholstery and clothes. His fists made a satisfying thud every time he struck the bag, the rough material scratching his knuckles raw.

He just didn't get Bastila. One minute she was treating him like he was some kind of malevolent plague hellbent on destroying her, and then the next, she was defending his honor, saving his skin, or tending to his wounds with a surprising level of compassion he didn't even know she possessed. It left his head spinning. He executed a quick one-two combo and then slammed his leg into the bag, sending it spinning uncontrollably. And of course, on top of all that, she had to be absolutely kriffing beautiful, everything Avner could ever want in a woman. Maybe he should thank his lucky stars that her insufferable attitude and Jedi status constantly held him at a firm arm's length and helped tamp down any attraction he held.

His fists connected a bit harder this time, and a thin sheen of sweat gathered on his neck and brow. His muscles were beginning to settle into the familiar burn of exertion, but he only embraced it and pushed himself to strike faster, strike harder, strike more. Anything to drive away the last remnants of resentment he felt at the Jedi Council… at Bastila. After one final impressive blow, he left his hastily made punching bag behind to shower and scavenge for food. There seemed to be an unwritten rule keeping them all bound to the Hawk, no one daring to step outside the ship without at least some permission to do so. Perhaps the Jedi had bewitched them into a more docile, compliable state, for even Canderous was sticking to the dormitories and galley.

He claimed a bunk for himself, a sudden wave of exhaustion driving him into a deep slumber. His consciousness drifted far from his body and across the fields of Dantooine, delving deep into the expansive cave systems that ram beneath the planet's surface like the spindly fingers of some massive beast. Unhewn caverns transformed into ancient, roughly carved corridors plunging further underground, dimly lit by luminescent crystals and archaic industrial lights. He followed in the footsteps of two men, both tall and broad-shouldered and around the same height, walking with a clear purpose. They stopped before a sealed doorway, and one of the men struck it with his fist in frustration. He was built solidly, dressed in the brown leathers and armor of a Jedi, shaved head lined with blue tattoos leading down to a face cut like a granite block.

"I don't understand! It should be here – the Dark Side… I can feel its power," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked so painfully familiar, though Avner could not fathom why. His companion, though, was a complete stranger, with heavy armor and tattered gray robes wrapped around his muscled frame. He stood before the entranceway tall and proud, his face completely covered by a helmet and cowl, and laid a single hand upon the stone.

"Is this wise?" The other man asked, a fleeting look of unease settling on his hard features. "The ancient Jedi sealed this archway." He looked down at his feet and then shook his head. "If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back. The Order will surely banish us."

There was no hesitation in the dark warrior, though, as he forced the doorway open and strode forward unafraid. The room was empty save for a free-standing structure in the center. It was an ancient thing, three arms engraved with an intricate series of runes arched upwards into a fine pyramidal point. The men gave the strange object a wide berth, circling it twice before, once again, the masked warrior stepped forward first, reaching out a hand, fingers barely brushing its smooth surface. The runes blazed to life, a harsh blue light illuminating the dark room as the archaic arms unfolded, a glowing orb rising from the center of the strange device. The orb flashed once, and then holographic images exploded from its center. They flashed so quickly that Avner could hardly make them out, but it appeared to be some kind of… map? The specters of his dream drew closer.

"Are the secrets of the Star Forge so valuable? Can its power truly be worth the risk?"