On the Bones of the Fallen

Continued from 'Transition'....

The wind snatched at the edge of Tarek's cloak as he looked down on the remains of the Jedi Order.

The empty and abandoned hull of a freighter lay like the forgotten bones of a colossal beast, its carcass picked clean by scavengers. The planet had begun to reclaim the land that had once been cleared to make way for a settlement, plants rising like green mold up the walls of abandoned, fire-scorched buildings. At his approach, low-bellied creatures slithered away into the longer grasses at the edge of the clearing. If he closed his eyes, Tarek could see the Jedi fleeing with as much dignity. He could smell the smoke and feel the heat of the flames and hear the witches of Dathomir laughing, delighting in being set upon their foes.

Tarek had only been a boy then, but he'd taken a knife to the throat of a Padawan, painted his war-bands with the ruby red blood that gurgled from the gash. He had felt his fathers will, a hand at his back. In the stillness, he stretched his senses outwards, feeling for the presence of any life - for even a shadow, however slim and unlikely, of Darth Callidus... but there was none.

Mist hung thick over the landscape.

He was alone. Ossus was dead, now and forever.