Main Hall, Almas Academy, Almas
Adrian lowered the trunk to the stone floor, allowing it to hit with a dull thud. It echoed faintly throughout the still hallways, reverberating off the elaborately paneled walls and vaunted ceilings. For centuries, hundreds of Jedi had paced these halls, lived in these rooms, practiced and honed their latent Force abilities, forged relationships, and met challenges. Several decades after it had been abandoned by the Order, Adrian could still feel their Force imprints, as if the Jedi still stood beside him; he had half-expected some rogue Jedi to pop up as he entered the Academy.
Instead, a quartet of lifeless Paladin II Droids had flanked either side of the grand entryway, silent and steadfast guardians of the Academy. Taking turbolifts and walking around the vacant hallways, he had encountered several other of the battle droids; all immobile like the first set. He would have wondered if they were off, save that he was certain that the droid’s photoreceptors had been tracking him as he moved. While the droids had received new orders not to harm him, Kitty, or Swenson, Adrian had been a little uneasy with their presence, wondering what would happen if there was a glitch, or one of them didn’t meet the parameters encoded in their droid brains. He had shaken the thought away and carried his belongings to this room, feeling pulled to it by some unknown force. Adrian shook his head.
“What am I doing here?” asked the Susevfian.
Sheer silence answered him, as if to mock him.
Shaking his head, the man reached down to a small trunk. The white chest had seemed perfectly generic at a casual glance. Looking closer though, one could tell that the old-fashioned lock was only ornamentation. There was no physical way to open the trunk. Adrian bent over to place his hand on it. A slight jingle emanated from the inside, and the trunk’s lid sprung open via a set of springs. Weird. I guess Mom wasn’t quite so normal after all. This definitely points to something being out of place. The first thing Ravenna saw was old clothing, seemingly haphazardly crunched into the chest. Adrian smirked. Wouldn’t it be such a joke if it was just this? No, it would actually be my luck. He fished his hands into it and withdrew an old night robe. Frowning, he tossed it aside. He continued to dig it out, gradually picking up the pace of his efforts. Frustration flowed through his veins, pulsed through his thousands of arteries. Please no. Mother…His hand felt something solid, smooth, and cold. Underneath the layers of mismatched clothes, his hands gingerly slid over the angular surfaces. His fingers probed down farther the sides until they felt the glassy surface replaced by more clothes. Adrian’s hand curled up at the base of the object, gripping it tightly. He ripped the object free from the layers of clothing and exposed it to the room’s harsh, artificial light.
It was a black pyramid with a base slightly larger than Adrian’s palm. Over the dark crystal, strips of embellished golden metal lined the edges and the base. Exquisite hieroglyphics and ancient writing sprawled over the faces of the object. He narrowed his eyes at the object, his left hand rubbing against one of the faces.
A hologram of a woman slowly emerged from the apex. Golden, form-fitting plate armor completely covered her slim body. She wore a metal mask which could have been a copy of her own face. A grey cloak strapped to her armor's shoulder pads billowed around her. She stared at the man.
“Who are you?”
Adrian blinked. “I am Adrian Ravenna.”
“Any relation to Adriette or Marcus Ravenna?” questioned the Visage.
“They were my parents,” replied the Confederate agent quietly, “who are you?”
“The Saarai-kaar; the sole master of the Jensaarai of Susevfi,” stated the visage, hesitating, “tell me, how far are you in your apprenticeship?”
Adrian shook his head. “I am no apprentice.”
The figure shook her head. “The son of Jensaarai at this age without any training? I sense a connection to the Force within you. Though it is weak, sporadic, undeveloped. Tell me, why have you not been trained?”
“I do not know why,” replied the agent, “I believe my mother took us away from the Order on Susevfi shortly after I was born; shortly after my father was killed.”
The holographic stood still, her cloak continuing to billow in the unfelt wind.
“I see. Have you decided to start the undertaking of becoming Jensaarai?”
Adrian hesitated. “I do not even know who the Jensaarai are. How can you expect me to make that choice?”
“I do not,” replied the visage dryly, “if you were to rush into this choice, you would be foolish, and I would certainly vanish until you were ready to understand that error. We Jensaarai are the Hidden Followers of the Truth. Some would call us another sect of the Jedi, another Force-user group. But we are more than that. We are what the Jedi should have been.
To become a Jensaarai is not a decision to be made lightly. It will not be learning a set of skills or techniques. It is not a step to power or glory. It is a way of life. To become one of us, you must give up your personal desires, your passions, and your freedoms for the cause of the greater good of the galaxy. Our galaxy is continually in turmoil, the innocent and righteous are always under assault from the darkside, they always need protectors. We are those protectors. It is a life of service, not power. It is a life of sacrifice, not gain. It is a life of self-improvement in humility, not one of lording powers over others. Tell me, Adrian, what do you desire most from me, and I will grant it.”
Adrian curled in his lower lip for a brief second. “There are so many things. But what I desire most is wisdom. Wisdom to help others, wisdom to protect, wisdom to heal.”
The Saarai-kaar nodded. “That pleases me. I will grant you that and more, in due time. But we must start with the basics. These will be simple exercises, apprentice, but it would befit you to discover and heed the lessons behind them well…”
