A pair of figures moved in velvet darkness, perfect quiet broken only the sounds of breath, the placement of feet, the slap of skin on cloth. Both moved with liquid, flawless grace, every motion balanced precisely where and how they wanted. The taller figure, lean and long-limbed, snaked an arm through the dark, her long, strong fingers closing into a grip on the smaller figure's shoulder. She shifted her feet, a brace against the ground solid as rock-old trees, felt the muscles in her legs and stomach flex to drive her partner off-balance and to the mat-covered floor. As she did, she felt her partner move, an almost-boneless twist, their entire body snapping away like a minnow between grasping fingers. Suddenly her hands were holding nothing but air, her balance gone, her other arm flying to the side to steady herself but too late, too late. Small, strong hands wrapped around her wrist, her shoulder, bent her forward, drove her to take a step that caught on something unyielding and immovable and then her entire body lifted free of the ground for a terrible, breathless second.

When she landed, Seris made an explosive sound as the air drove out of her in a sudden, painful rush, her head ringing as her skull cracked against the thin mat. She lost track of her surroundings for a moment while she pulled in a coughing, gasping breath, one arm raised toward where she thought her partner was, her hand in a gesture of submission. Slowly, the world returned to her, flows of energy and will marking rooms, doors, walls, carved signs and painted directions. Seris pulled in another breath, less shaky now but not completely without pain and turned her head, her attention falling on the architect of her most recent misfortune. The girl, no more than fifteen, blazed in the Force, her presence filling the space near her with coruscating fire. Seris saw her smile, small flares of emotion flickering around and within her, satisfaction but still tinged with worry. The girl took a step forward, offered a hand. Seris groaned, closed her eyes for a moment, then swallowed down her pride and slapped her own hand into the girl's strong grip, pulled herself to her feet.

"You're getting better," came another voice from the far end of the room, "Both of you."

Seris made a noise somewhere between a grunt of pain and a murmur of acknowledgement, one hand brushing the front of her shirt, the other pressed against the small of her back.

"I think that will do for now," the voice said, "Bring the lights up, please."

Seris felt the room's lamps come on, a gentle change in the ambient flow of energy around her - though nothing that altered the sharpness of her perceptions. When pressed, she had once described the sensation of light and dark like the feeling of walking from a cool room into a warm one, though, of course, not precisely. She turned to watch the girl as she reached up, pulled away her blindfold, large eyes blinking in the sudden brightness. Behind her, with a presence comforting and reassuring as a sun-warmed boulder in a favourite stream, an older Zabrak man stood, gently pleased.

"Are you all right?" The girl said, turning to look at Seris, still massaging her lower back.

"I will be," Seris said, "My pride, on the other hand, has seen better days."

"You went best-of-three with our little Tarin here," the Zabrak man said, walking forward to clap the girl on her shoulders, "I'd say you should be quite pleased with yourself. Your form was nearly perfect, you just made an error of timing and judgement. Besides, she'll be wearing that bruise you gave her for a week, if I'm not mistaken."

The girl, Tarin, rubbed her jaw with a thumb and winced, "I keep forgetting how fast you are. People outside the Order almost never move so quickly."

Seris grinned, "Well, that's something at least," she said, and let her hands fall to her side with a groan, "Day after tomorrow, the same time?"

Tarin nodded and bent in a small bow, her robes rustling while she made her way out of the small sparring chamber. Her Master, still smiling, made a slightly deeper bow and followed, his own steps making small creaking sounds on the mat. Seris turned to watch them go, saw the way they left wakes and eddies in the Force that took quite some time to completely disappear. Alone now, she let out another gusty sigh, stretched her arms over her head, winced again at a lance of discomfort through her back, and made her own way back out into the Temple proper.

As she walked, she relaxed the way she always did, the Temple's energies, students, masters, philosophers and thinkers lending serenity and harmony to the Force all about her. Her arms swung easily at her side, and she returned the nods and greetings of people she passed - almost all either Jedi or those training to become Knights of the Republic. Everywhere she looked, Seris saw brilliance and strength, fierceness  and nobility. Even after a decade of working and, occasionally, living in the Temple, Seris had yet to get used to the feeling, and she felt glad of that. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was, she felt, something that should be humbling and awesome, something that [i]should[/i] give visitors pause. Not out of malice or menace, but out of simple recognition of the thousand generations of the Jedi Order, and their service to the Republic.

But as Seris made her way to the Archives, something else touched the world, like a symphony with one instrument out of tune. A sensation that made her twitch and grated on her awareness, something she couldn't ignore. She quickened her pace, breaking into at first a jog, then a full run, her long legs eating up distance with surprising speed, every stride taking her closer and closer to the Archives. All the while, that sensation built in her mind, resolving from formless dread to needle-hot, inescapable worry.

Her boots skidded around the corner as she pounded into the Archives, racing between Knights and Archivists, making her way back to the office she'd borrowed. Her maps were there, the control keys to her ship, everything important and portable, neatly packed into a leather bag that she suddenly was certain she would need. As she ran, cool Archives air flowing over her face, Seris heard a pair familiar voices, each murmuring in the kind of alarmed intensity she felt pounding through her own heart.

Seris stopped, using a tall shelf to arrest her forward motion and peered in at a familiar pair - a blue-skinned Twi'lek girl and her dark-haired companion. She listened for a moment, her skin glistening with sweat, her breath coming in long, even pulls.

"You two, you can't [i]back up[/i] the Archives - there's too much here," she said, then shook her head, clearing thoughts away, "Besides, the Vaults are as secure as anywhere on this planet. You two need to let the Archivists worry about what's going on in here and go find your Masters - something bad is coming, or...or might already be here. You can't afford to waste time like this, now go!" Seris flung one arm to the side, pointing at the Archives entrances. All around, other voices murmured, a ripple of foreboding flickering through the air.

Seris pulled herself around, pushed off with one leg, resumed her run toward her office, her boots thumping against ancient stone and plasteel. She felt the concern in the air now, passing from person to person like lightning following a path to earth. An eternity later, she came around another corner, bouncing hard off the wall, and spun into her office, the door barely sliding open fast enough to let her through. Seris moved quickly, not quite panicked, gathering papers, a datapad, a pen, other odds and ends, sliding each into her bag, thick leather making soft sounds in the Archive's quiet. After several long moments, Seris tossed her jacket on, then pulled the bag over her head, cinching the strap tight across her body.

For the first time in her life, she wished she had a weapon.

She looked around the small room for a moment, thoughts chasing one another through her head - there would be other initiates and learners in the Archives, sent here by Masters who needed a moment of peace, or who thought the study would do their charges good. Still, they couldnt' be oblivious to the miasma creeping through the Temple, the foreboding touching almost every mind. Seris stood for a moment, briefly unsure - what if she were having some kind of nervous breakdown? Still...better safe than sorry. She leaned over the desk, tapped the comm console on, entered a holonet address.

"Keran?" Seris said into the screen, her voice shaky, "Keran, it's me. I don't know when you're going to get this, but something's happening on Coruscant. I don't know what, but I'm at the Temple and...something feels wrong, like something terrible is coming. I...I hope you're not on your way here, but if you are, stop somewhere. Don't come here. I know this sounds really vague but I don't know what else to say and...I think something's going to go wrong. We can't both be here if that happens. Please. I'll let you know if I find anything more out, or...well. I love you, Keran. I hope I'll see you soon."

She slapped the communicator panel off, snugged her bag tighter against her body, and took a deep, slow breath, tried to let calm fill her mind. If something was coming, being alone would be dangerous. She turned, and broke into a run, heading toward another of the Archives' exits, this one closer to the Council Chambers.