Home
It’s the sound of Ashara laughing at some crude joke Andronikos has made, it’s the sound of Khem teaching Xalek some kind of warrior thing Kha’variel had never been able to wrap his head around, it’s the sound of Talos and Ashara excitedly discussing old Jedi artefacts, the sound of Zash in her brief moments of control, trying to convince Ashara to research with her.
The sound of mealtimes together, in the cramped meeting room, a slight smell of burning in the air if anyone other than Kha’variel or Andronikos had tried to cook. All of them together, laughing, idle chatter, complaints.
It’s the sound of home.
This ship had become his home, more so than Csilla had ever been, more so than the Sith academy or dark council chambers could ever hope to be.
And yet, here now, on Odessen
His home is empty once again, cold, silent.
It fills his heart with an ache so strong he cant keep standing, so he slides to the floor, back pressed against the wall of the engine room Ashara had spent so much time tinkering around in, and with his knees pulled up to his chest, forehead resting on them, he lets himself mourn.
He mourns for the five years he’s lost in the blink of an eye, the five years in which he’s lost everything
Everything that made this place home--
Everything that gave him security, freedom, hope
Xalek, Ashara, Andronikos, Zash, Talos, Khem---
Gone.
If anyone feels the wave of misery, of heartbreak, of true, overwhelming loss, within the force on Odessen that day, they choose not to bring it up when the Commander returns, hood pulled low and an aura of grim determination about him.
Someday, his ship will be home again, and no one will get in the way of that.