"The loneliest moment in someone's life is wen they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Nysa was adopted fairly quickly into a Shoda apprenticeship. While she did not want to leave her brother and me behind, she realized that going off-world to learn the ways and cultures of other societies would benefit her more in the long run.

With the Jedi openly knowing of our existence, quite a few Dark Padawans could complete their apprenticeship at the Jedi Temple. Nysa had originally wanted to learn the diplomatic art of being a Jedi, but we heard horror stories of Dark Jedi at the Jedi Temple.

One Shoda came back to us and told us of the segregation of the Dark Jedi: how they were treated like infidels, how they were confined to a specific part of the Temple, how they were punished for doing necessary Dark Jedi things.

After that, Nysa had opted to go to Nal-Hutta, where the slave population severely outnumbered the population of citizens. Nysa wanted to help them as much as she could, knowing that an all-out revolt would result in more dead than alive in the end.

For a few months, she made me teach her some of my native Huttese. Doing so was odd. I felt like the part of me that was the intrigued freed slave was so far behind me that I had put the language to rest as well. I was surprised of how much I could not forget the grotesque, ugly language I had grown up with.

It took a while to explain to Nysa that there were no pleasantries in Huttese. There was no 'please' or 'thank you' or 'may I'. I told her that using Ryl was highly acceptable, and most Huttese speakers could also speak the Twi'lek language, as many of them were, in fact, Twi'lek, and the two languages often derived from each other.

We practiced Ryl, too, the language I had learned my seventh year.

It felt odd to be hugging Nysa goodbye as she stepped onto the ship. "Jee hatkocanh konpa uba. (I will miss you.)" I said. There had rarely been a day in the last half of my life when I had not seen Nysa. Every meal at the mess hall, nearly every training session, every prank we had ever pulled had been together.

"Jee noa-a bata. (I'll be back.)" She said, though the smirk on her face made me confused as to whether it was a promise or a threat.

Nysa hugged her brother tightly, whispering in another language I had never heard. I looked away, allowing the siblings to converse softly in, what I assumed was, their own native language. They so rarely spoke of their homeland that I was confused even as to the planet they had come from.

Nysa then hugged Cressida and Gnana and Yovan, who had all come to see her off. Yovan gave her a sarcastically serious look and signed, "You make no trouble. Be good."

I couldn't help but wonder what Niern would've said if he was still there. He would've been proud of his girlfriend. The two years without him had been hard on her, but she was still strong. She had not grown much taller since Niern's death, but she looked more adult than ever, beautiful and mature.

In truth, Niern probably would've jokingly told Nysa that no hot Twi'lek model better come between them. Then he would've kissed her and smiled sadly as he embraced her, whispering to himself that Nysa was doing great good in the galaxy.

Nysa hugged me one last time. I stared into her golden eyes, trying to understand what she was feeling. I reached out through the Force to read her aura, and what I found was excitement, but also a deep fear of the unknown. She had never met Master Pi-Chen, but he had been quick to adopt her as a Shoda.

"You'll do wonderfully," I said in all seriousness. She held my hands like she did the day she gave me the Lichen scars, and I remembered my promise to be strong for my friends. I sucked in my tears, not letting her see me sadness and fear. "Ten credits says I'll have a better story to tell when you get back."

She chuckled. "I just might take you up on that." I looked at the dark roots in her hair that faded into a beautiful blonde. I was proud of the circular braid I had put in her hair that morning at the mess hall.

Nysa let her hands drop out of mine. As she walked up the ramp of the ship, it began ascending, taking from me my best friend in the galaxy.

Later, I found myself in my room, looking at holoimages of us through the years. My door swung open to reveal a distant Chinelo. He plopped down on my couch comfortably. He had become noticeably more comfortable around us girls after he admitted he was not attracted to us romantically.

He held his hand to his head, like he was so tired he was in pain. "Do you ever miss your brother?"

I nodded earnestly, thinking about Anakin. "He's my brother; of course I do."

"Then why do you never talk to him?" He asked almost accusingly.

I had to think for a moment. "I don't want the reminder of how far away we are from each other."

He nodded, though I wasn't sure if it was upstandingly are an acknowledgement. "Happy birthday, by the way."

My eyes flew open. "How did you know?!"

He smirked. "In My and Nysa's tribe, nineteen is the age where we become adults. The men are expected to take a wife on that day. The women are expected to throw a massive celebration. We have to complete a special ceremony to honor the gods, then to the Jedi, then we make a sacrifice during the hour we were born.

"In other words," he admitted. "I could sort of tell.

"Nysa told you, didn't she?" I asked.

"Yes." He admitted. "And I'm glad she did." He looked me straight in the eye.

I had told Nysa what day I was born on with the promise that she wouldn't tell anyone else. Though, it was sort of nice to be recognized.

"She also told me to 'far cin nia', which is a simple way of telling me to make sure you're included." Chinelo chuckled. "You've been the sort of friend to Nysa that most people can only hope for. Because of that, I often have trouble remembering that you are not related to us by blood. But know that you are as much family to us as we are to each other."

I smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate it." It still feels odd to think of the man I had watched grow up with me sitting across from me and telling me that I was family. Never again was I quite so accepted, not even by my own family.