The battle was won, but as seemed increasingly likely as the Clone Wars dragged into their third year, it had not been without great losses. He had seen clone troopers fall all around him–had felt their signatures in the Force suddenly disappear as blaster fire ripped through them–and somehow he had pressed on. Somehow, they had pushed the enemy back, and the day was won. Thinking about the death and destruction all around him, though, nothing much felt like victory to him anymore.
Nerra was sitting alone in the mobile medcenter as night fell, having been persistent in only allowing the blaster burn on his shoulder to be treated after the vast majority of the injured troopers had received attention first. He knew he would have to make his way back to the command center soon to make his report to the Council, but as he began to slowly stand, he was taken aback by a voice that seemed to come from…nowhere?
“Talk to me.”
It couldn’t be her…no, he had felt her death in the Force months ago. He had known it was her with time, and he still grieved for her loss to this day, no matter how hard he had tried tolet go.
“…Chyla? Is that you?” He asked, his voice shaky and quiet as he tried to find the source of hers.
She was neither here nor there. She was neither dead nor alive; neither breathing or with still lungs. Her body had ceased to function, but her soul still lived on through the Force, not quite fully absorbed in death, but just barely tangible enough to still witness the galaxy destroy itself in a war.
And see the self-destruction of her mentor and first friend.
She hadn’t always been able to reach him, but yet again, he was always more reserved than her. He was the Jedi she could not recognize in herself; he was attached in that he cared about her, but like the Knight he was, he let her go when he needed. Chyla expected him to grieve over her death, as much as it made her soul ache for him, but not--not like this.
“It’s not your fault, Nerra,” she spoke, wishing desperately that she could have appeared as herself, her true self, to him. Brought him some type of certainty---some closure. The ghost eased closer to his signature in the Force, watching him freeze in fear.
“It’s not your fault I died.”
