Vancil ignored the confused look Kandria shot his way as the words left his mouth. There was no time to explain anyways. His armoured hand fell down to rest on his lightsaber, which was quickly unholstered. He didn’t ignite it immediately though, and simply left it to rest idly in his hand. Ironically, it was his own hope that halted any immediate action.

Whatever was surrounding them, was doing it in a very methodical way, one which you would not see from wild animals. This left two options in Vancil’s mind. One; Servants of the Banite Sith or at least those under their thrall that were prepared to either kill or capture them. Two, and the one he hoped for the most, was that the ones surrounding them were not related to these new Sith, and were in fact Kavirans.

The first option was the least likely. Kavir was possibly one of the most difficult places to live in, and most certainly one of the most difficult places to control. To conquer Kavir and subjugate it completely would mean one would have to complete two things. To do the impossible and dispel the Storm, and then utterly eradicate the entire native population. While the complete genocide of any other race would have been difficult but feasible, Vancil couldn’t see any of the genocidal methods he knew of working on Kavir.

Because even if someone managed to defeat the Storm, the greatest weapon and defence of Kavir, Kavirans were the most violent and vicious people in the galaxy, beating even the Karkarodons. And while the Storm had resulted in Kavirans being primitive in comparison to the rest of the galaxy, even the Republic at its peak would have been bled dry trying to conquer the planet. From his teachings during his childhood, they had even attempted at one point in the far distant past.

His gaze flicked upwards to the maelstrom that raged so hard, yet seemed so welcoming to him. The Storm was still here. As long as that was here, the Kavirans would be too. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to send a few silent prayers.

The newcomers continued their slow, calculated march, stopping periodically as though to test if they had been noticed. Neither he nor Kandria said a word or moved, simply standing on the lowered hangar ramp, looking over the landscape. From Vancil’s senses, they were quite close now, only a couple dozen feet away. Yet, if one did not have access to the Force, nothing was amiss.

This both impressed and worried Vancil. These were clearly not dangerous but loud Mandalorians. He could handle loud. Loud was simple to beat, you just had to be louder. Quiet was even something he had experience dealing with. An encounter with Republic assassins came to mind. But this? This was silence.

Finally, the movement stopped. His eyes scanned every piece of terrain he could. Nothing. The area was relatively flat, with only a few dips and rises. Still nothing. Finally, a humanoid figure rose seemingly from nothing, a few dozen feet away from the opened hangar.

Whatever they wore, it was quite difficult to pin down. Not because of the distance, which the person was now closing at a steady pace, but rather it was as though it was shifting. Any detail he tried to focus in on sort of…moved. If he looked at them from a general view, he could tell that it was some sort of armour, covering them head to toe. It was probably the colour green, but he wasn’t sure. Nothing could be explained in exacts, not even whether they looked male or female.

The person stopped a few feet away, their helmeted head tilting upwards to look at the Sith and Jedi, “Hail or Breeze?” The voice was clearly male.

Vancil’s heart stopped, and a single tear welled up in his eye as a flood of emotions burst into him, his mind only focusing on the words the person had said. Nothing could change the storm, and nothing could change his people.

“Breeze.” Came out his reply, said in his own native tongue.

The person seemed taken aback, most likely at Vancil’s reply in Kaviran. Regardless, they recovered fast enough, reaching up and taking off their helmet. Beneath it was the face of an old and grizzled man covered in scars, his hair whiter than any Vancil had seen before. Now that the helmet was off, and Vancil had something to reference against, the rest of the armour seemed almost trivial to describe. It was a slightly bulky full-body suit, with sections of segmented plate making up the majority of it. The material was something Vancil had never seen before, looking like both metal and leather at the same time. The helmet was quite minimalist, with only two slits for the eyes and remaining featureless except for a small red sword emblazoned on the side of it. Unfortunately, the colour was still indeterminable, but seemed to be linked to the environments, flowing from a dark to lighter green occasionally.

Well, maybe some things could change.

“You speak, yet you come from the Outer. Are you Garalon?” The man said in a voice that matched his face as well as one would have expected, however a hint of caution had entered his voice, confusing Vancil slightly.

It suddenly came to him though, his memories of his culture returning to the forefront of his mind, “Kandria, you have to do exactly as I say, and nothing more. Take off your mask and put your lightsaber back on your belt.” Vancil said in galactic common as he did just that, his freed black hair waving slightly in the wind.

Kandria hesitated for a moment, and Vancil worried that she would question or refuse him. Thankfully however she soon followed his order, pulling down her mask and hood to reveal her face again. He really could get lost in that face of hers…Vancil brought himself back down to reality and looked back to the old man, who had visibly relaxed. The first thing you were taught on Kavir. If you see someone from a clan not of your own with their face concealed, they mean to fight you.

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Vancil licked his lips and his heart ached despite himself, ”I am Garalonat.”

It hurt to say them. It was admittance to something he had refused to admit, even during his own time period.

The man’s face immediately morphed into one of empathy and pity. A slight bow of his head, “I am sorry for your loss. I am Legane. I offer four warriors to aid in whatever you require.”

A small, sad smile came onto Vancil’s face. Kaviran was a difficult language to translate into galactic common. He had spent a decade on learning to speak common. And frankly some of the translations for the words in Kaviran were near impossible messes. Garalon, roughly, meant; ‘One who has been lost and returned to the embrace once again’. Translated out of that jargon, it essentially boiled down to ‘Someone who has left Kavir but came back’. Garalonat meant something different, and infinitely sadder. It was a combination of two words, Garalon, and Kalonat. Kalonat referred to someone who was the last of their clan but had given in to bleakness and had no present intention of reviving it.

It wasn’t as simple as mushing the two together however. Garalonat, approximately and as cleanly as could be translated meant; ‘One who has lost all, and who desires to put to rest all’. Essentially, Vancil had lost everything, and even considered himself lost of the Storm’s embrace. Now, this was not anything new. He had been Garalonat before his transportation to this new era, but had stubbornly ignored it, busying himself with fighting in a war. Because admittance of Garalonat was the end. If one admitted to being Garalonat, then they lost the one thing they had left; their denial.

Vancil bowed his head as well, as a show of respect and acknowledgement of his empathy, “I seek Storm Petals. I need only the location of an orchard and a guarantee of safety for my ship.”

Legane shook his head quickly, “It is of no trouble, and I’ll be damned if I let my partner claim I lack honour.” A hint of an edge entered his voice, and Vancil understood that there would be no way around it.

The man wasn’t finished however, as his gaze turned judgemental before it flicked to Kandria, who glanced between the two of them occasionally, “She does not understand us.”

Vancil’s eyes narrowed and he stepped slightly in front of Kandria in a defensive manner, “That does not matter. She is with me.”

That clearly irked Legane to a degree but his expression soon smoothed out, and he gestured for the rest to rise up. They all did so, taking off their helmets and bowing their heads in respect, clearly having heard the conversation. He then pointed at four, who silently approached. Three males, and one female, all scarred and with the signature black hair of a still young Kaviran.

“These four will serve you well, Garalonat.” He said, a hint of pride entering his voice. To serve a Garalonat was something to be respected after all.

“My name is Vancil.” Came his own reply towards the four warriors.

Each of them bowed slightly deeper, but didn’t say another word. To tell someone your name as a Garalonat was another honour, as when you lose everything your name is the thing you should protect most. Legane, as old as he was, fully understood the significance of this, straightening and puffing his chest out. Without another word he spun on his heel and started barking out orders to the remaining warriors, pulling them all together and marching in a line to what was likely the direction of their clan home.

Once they were out of sight Vancil turned his head towards Kandria, speaking in galactic common once again, “We got an escort. They’ll lead us to the Storm Petals.”

Kandria blinked a few times rapidly, as though broken from some sort of spell, “Hey uh, could you mind not doing that again? Whatever you were saying…messed with my brain or something.”

She held a hand to her head and turned her gaze downwards to the metal floor. Vancil had heard of this before. The Kaviran language was not one to be taken lightly, for it was as violent as its users. No one was really sure the exact reason why, with theories ranging from the Force to the Storm itself being imbued within the language, but was absolutely sure was that if one had never heard it before, it hurt them in some unexplainable way.

Nodding in slight concern he looked to the four who still bowed and remained silent, “Do any of you speak galactic common?”

Silence reigned once again before one of the males raised his hand, speaking slowly and nervously, “I can…Raging Hurricane.”

Vancil turned to the rest, “From now on you are not to speak Kaviran while Kandria here is in earshot.”

Vancil didn’t wait for any response. He knew they would follow his requests. “Take us to the nearest orchard.” He said to the male.

The man nodded and turned on his heel, the others following suit and forming a ring of protection around Vancil and Kandria, who Vancil now gently coaxed along, much to her own confusion.

“Wait, what? Orchard? What does Raging Hurricane mean?” She sputtered out, yet didn’t falter in walking beside him. That was what made him like her more. She might be quite stubborn, but it wasn’t to the point of disruption.

“We are going to an orchard to find a Storm Petal. These people are guarding and guiding us on our way there. Raging Hurricane is my name when you translate it into galactic common.” Came his own quickfire answers.

She clearly didn’t expect such clear concise answers and fell silent, her mouth opening and closing like a bronze fish. This bewildered feeling remained in her all the way until they reached their destination, which was about a kilometre away. The orchard which lay before them was quite the sight to behold, a long field of silver flowers that were so numerous you could have mistaken it for a long field of silver grass.

Kandria, unfortunately, didn’t appreciate the sights. Instead, she asked the worst thing you could possibly have asked. Something that would’ve been bad in the wider galaxy, but was infinitely worse on Kavir. Because on Kavir, something was absolutely listening to you.

“Wait, wait, wait, guard us?” She asked, halting his steps with a gentle had on his shoulder, “Why would they need to guard us?”

Vancil’s head whipped around to Kandria, his eyes widened in horror. His gaze zoomed upwards to the Storm before shooting down to the now trembling ground.

His expression darkened as he scowled at Kandria, “You just had to say it, didn’t you?”