AN : If we hit 400 power stones in 24h, there will be an extra chapter.
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Even among the lax dress code of the Grand Temple, Vos was occasionally frowned at for his choice of attire. He kinda liked it that way. Some called it disrespectful, but he did like needling some of the more orthodox Masters on occasion.
Today wasn't the right time for that, though. Despite himself, Vos had put on his nice, clean traditional brown and tans with the long sleeved robes and a cloak that politely hid his lightsaber from view, like he hadn't been raised from infancy as a killing machine. He'd even made Aayla dress the same, despite her protests. Today just wasn't the right day to thumb his nose at the stuffier Masters, or work up a sweat on the training mat.
They were having a funeral, and it was for a man Vos respected, even though they weren't exactly acquainted.
Sifo had always told the Council the truth, which of course they didn't like. A reformer, some called him. Not one of those naive ones either, the kind who wanted to move the Jedi away from being guardians, but instead turn them all into gardeners so they could all meditate their way to a pointless, self satisfied enlightenment. No, Sifo was someone who understood the real galaxy. Sadly, his calls for a more militarized Order had only fallen on deaf ears.
There was a reason that Vos wore his sleeves bare, and it was simple: He had large, well defined muscles. The obvious physical power was naturally scary, like an instinctive thing that every human and near human race had learned in the course of their natural evolution to be wary of.
They couldn't help their natural response, it was buried under all those sociable layers of the brain that everyone still shared with insects and lizards. Some birds puffed up their feathers, some creatures might try to stand taller and hiss while baring their fangs, and Vos didn't wear sleeves.
Keeping the peace required intimidation. Not too much, but enough that people understood what the consequences of breaking that peace would be.
So yeah, Vos agreed wholeheartedly with Sifo's calls for a more militarized Jedi Order. A lot of Sifo's talk was about history and precedent, and what else did protectors of peace need more than instruments of war? Too many Jedi ignored his warnings, warding off his wisdom with empty, repeated sayings about the lightsaber that could cut both ways. And besides, they were all connected through the force in the end weren't they?
Yeah, well so were the Sith.
Now Sifo was being cremated in a closed casket, having been killed by one. Or so it was being claimed.
Vos could use psychometry. Through the Force he could see into the past of an object, especially if a force user had handled it. With Sifo's lightsaber, Vos had been able to get a fair bit, but only after they got it away from the nexus on Raxus Prime.
Sifo had been attacked by someone using the Dark Side. Not just using it, but absolutely drowning in it, reveling in it. The old Jedi Master was losing the battle until the ship exploded, and then, nothing.
Vos tried using his psychometry on the few plasma reactor fragments they recovered, but no luck there at all. Probably whatever sabotage had been done was carried out by a droid, so no traces in the force. The ship had been almost annihilated by the blast, its pieces scattered into a junkyard, only making it harder to figure out what actually happened.
At least they were now certain this had been an assassination.
With the investigation team there to support her, Master Luminara had delivered her report to the rest of the Jedi Council, and in response they had done what they do best: Nothing.
Luminara had elected to omit Vos's belief Dooku had been involved from her report, so he had decided to voice that view himself. Even if Dooku had an alibi, there were plenty of other Jedi at the New Temple who could have carried out the attack.
That hadn't gone over well. The room had been dead silent, until Yoda quietly asked him to leave.
And now, here they all were at the funeral. Honestly, Vos was surprised he still got an invite
Despite the grim occasion, Vos noticed the obvious different groups among the Jedi attending just from their choice of clothing alone. Everyone had come in their best, and had revealed to everyone the divides between them all by what they considered formal wear.
The Jedi of the Temple on Coruscant, with some outliers, had come dressed in brown and tan robes, symbolizing their connection to the people of the Republic.
Sifo had spent some time with the Green Jedi, and so a delegation had arrived from there dressed in their traditional colors. They were the smallest group, wearing boots cut in that flexible Correllian style that was popular with travelers, and wearing so much gold jewelry that Vos wanted to know how they could fight with all that extra weight.
There were also some Guardians of the Whils present, in unmarked red robes, and even a creepy Teepo Paladin in a face concealing mask and dressed in gray.
The real show stealers were the Jedi from the New Temple on Indinor. They wore black, capes and trousers. Scandalous.
They looked a bit like Dooku, though none of them were exactly wearing his Serenno style, and each had their own small touches, like piercings or cuffs. Standing at the front of them was the Count himself, with his wife and bratty eldest child beside him, all stern faced. You'd think a kid would be more choked up, but no, she was doing her best impression of her dad. Less like her teacher died, and more like she was annoyed that somebody had farted near her with her nose raised up in the air.
Honestly, Vos had to respect the balls on Dooku bringing his whole family here. That had caused some stirrings among the more orthodox Coruscant Jedi. To have a wife and children was against the Code, but at least Ki Adi Mundi left his family at home where they belonged. Here Dooku was, flaunting his disregard for tradition in the dismissive way he always had. If he wasn't pretty sure the man was a murderer, Vos might have respected him for it.
Behind Dooku, there were all the faces of the New Temple, some of which Vos recognised. Arrayed like this, he was noticing how different they looked since he'd seen many of them just a few years ago. No longer did they look like scared, unsure social outcasts, bitter young men and women without a cause. Now they stood straight, with color in their cheeks and a light in their eyes. Even here, at a funeral, they had energy and purpose that Vos never remembered seeing before.
Ky Narec and Asajj Ventress were also around, and it was there that Vos was sure he found the answer to the question posed by the health of the New Temple. Asajj demonstrated Ky's skill as a trainer, and his ability to connect with those under him.
On Coruscant, there were rumblings that the former knight was definitely not ready for the rank of master, but Vos could see his leadership skills. The New Temple, even with only the twenty or so knights present and just two Masters, demonstrated a strong sense of community and unity without even realizing that's what they were doing.
Vos thought it was just like the Council to give those two to Dooku. Asajj and Narec should have been here on Coruscant, strengthening the next generation rather than luring it out to the Force knew where to serve the twelfth Lost Master.
He wasn't a historian, but hadn't at least two separate Sith Empires been founded that way?
"Master, this is a funeral." Aayla murmured to him below her breath, chiding.
Yeah, he knew that. Shifting his gaze to where the neatly arrayed scaffold of oil soaked firewood sat in the center of the courtyard, a closed wooden coffin perched atop it. The blue skies of Coruscant hung overhead, the airspace above the Jedi Temple crowded with speeders. Vos imagined a small child, watching out the back window of a vehicle as the Jedi conducted their service.
This was a funeral for a Jedi. There were no long speeches, nor was there any overt crying. If someone felt grief over a Jedi's passing, they were to meditate on it in their own time. No one even played an instrument.
Vos watched as Yoda slowly hobbled his way to the funeral pyre, before using Sifo's own lightsaber to set the wood ablaze.
The assembled friends of the dead watched as the smoke rose from pyre, disappearing into the sky above the city. The only sound anyone could hear was the crackling of wood, and maybe the rustle of robes as someone nearby shifted their weight. Anyone who had gas was clenching it in, that's for sure.
When the fire burned out, someone would come along to sweep up the ashes and clean away the tiles.
Thus ended the life of a Jedi Master.
…Come to think of it, what Ky been doing for all those years he was missing? Vos' gaze shifted back to the freshly minted master. How could a Jedi ever be trapped on a world without a hyperdrive? Why would he even go there in the first place?
What were the actual chances of finding a random Dathomiri there?
His gaze settled on the Count's padawan, and for a split second there gazes met, a scowl on her lips.
A plan began to formulate in Vos's mind.
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