Sylvana made her quiet way back to her bunk. Wordlessly she hopped up into it, and pulled one disc out from the bag to put into the datapad that she'd been given, originally, by Fate.
"Well?" her brother's voice floated up from the bunk beneath.
"It's taken care of," was her simple reply.
"Cool," was all he responded. He could tell by the absent tone in her voice that she wasn't in the mood for talking. But that was fine, neither was he.
Sylvana scooted back and leaned against the wall while she began looking over the files. Her datapad automatically translated the Aurebesh to roman letters, though she noticed the 'foreign' lettering on the disc jackets to be more familiar to her when she slipped the disc in. Perhaps some of her memories that had been unlocked held comprehension for the Aurebesh, though she was certain it would only be on a child's level.
That stray thought disconcerted her.
It also drove her to distraction.
She didn't get much reading done, as her mind began to wander down long untrod paths, overgrown from disuse. She felt that many of the nuances of her hidden life would be kept in the shadows for a long time, until she was able to put them down in their proper place in the unfinished puzzle of her memory.
She tried her best to skip over the most recent of her, until now, hidden memories - the ones that were only too raw and present in her mind. Memories that had, until now, been kept alive in nightmares for so very long. Memories that she had, somehow, believed to be real even when common sense showed them to be impossible. Now, she knew they were real. They were actual memories. They were her own horror story.
Shaking her head, she tried to study the medical information. The use of different instruments of which she'd never heard of, nor seen, yet might be called upon to use at any given time.
Not happening.
Her mind turned to times she and her twin brother had hidden in the halls long after they should have been asleep, listening to their parents and kin speak of them. Especially present was a memory of a night not too very long after they'd first come to the hidden island.
Voices floated through the large ornate doorways to the hallway beyond, empty but for two children crouched behind an orichalcum statue not quite flush against the wall. A little girl, her long blue and silverwhite streaked hair unbound about her shoulders, and a little boy, his red and gold streaked hair shaggy about his face, tried to listen silently in the darkness. Neither, then, understood the importance of the overheard words.
"You will have to be especially careful with Sellcùron's training, Father," they heard their mother say. It wasn't until the boy nudged his sister that she realised they were talking about her. She still wasn't used to being called by, what until now had been, her middle name.
"Why is that?" another voice answered, their newmet Granfather's accent working through the heavy words of Basic. Though the language was well known among these people, it was not spoken often enough to become comfortable. The children knew it was mostly for their Father's sake that they did so, as he had not learned their Mother's language as yet. Neither had they. It was fortunate they chose to speak in Basic this night, for otherwise the eavesdropping would have been useless.
"She is the sort we would call a berserker," was her mother's reply.
The little girl looked to her twin brother. What is that? she asked in sign.
He shook his head and shrugged. He was just as confused about the meaning of the new word as she had been.
Their exchange lasted only moments, but they could tell they'd missed their chance to deduce an explanation as their Grandfather spoke, "... that will enable her to learn the skills, but not call upon them without supervision until she is older, and perhaps more in control."
The siblings looked at each other in confusion once again, then felt hands grasp their tunic collars. The two were turned around to see the tall Elenari woman in whose care they had been placed. She clucked her tongue and shook her head at them. "Long past beddown time for the little royals," she chided them in Basic as she turned them about and took their small hands in hers. "Come let us see if we cannot find the way back to your chambers, hm?"
The twins looked at each other and sighed - whatever it was going on, they would find out soon enough.
Sylvana pondered this memory. Why it had come to the forefront just now was a near mystery. She now knew what the term "berserker" meant - though why she was said to be one was confusing to her. She wasn't especially strong, and she'd never been in an actual battle to come under the frenzy of blood-lust. She had a fiery temper, that she knew, but she kept it under control....
For the most part. She recalled many times in recent past that her anger took hold of her in a way that seemed to control her actions, causing a slight amnesiac quality to her memory of what happened between the rush of rage, and herself lying on her bed... or more oftentimes in a tree. Exhausted. The most recent memory bearing her time in a lower Coruscant alleyway.
But... weren't berserkers supposed to be uncontrollable, except for perhaps one or two people who could actually talk them down? A perfect stranger had stayed her hand then. She couldn't be a berserker - she simply had a bad temper.
Only my brothers could calm me down... the thought came unbid to her mind. But Arrek was barely conscious, and Salmar... he was dead!
She whimpered as she shook her head to herself. That one thought of her twin brother had sent her mind reeling at an incredible speed to the last time she had seen him. Covered in blood, lying naked and terribly still as snow began to fall on his body. She threw down her datapad into the small bag and fell prone upon her bunk, hugging her pillow to herself as she shut her eyes tightly against the tears of grief threatening to flow anew.
The final few weeks of her newly regained memory flew through her mind over and again as she tried desperately to settle them into a singular pattern and dismiss them as over. Every once in a while an older memory, one from lessons learned among the Elenari, would pop itself up, only to be drowned beneath the misery and sorrow threatening to forever envelop her mind.
A bluish glow surrounding her hands held above a rapidly disappearing cut and bruise.... Whips falling swiftly, beating down upon her back, tearing at her flesh.... The world around her seemingly seen through a dark glass.... Being stripped of weaponry and clothing, her diadem thrown to the ground as she struggled.... Another glow, shot with miniature lightning, forming a small sphere in her hand, which she threw at a target.... A heavy blow... blinding pain... sharp things tearing at her flesh... taunting words growled in her bleeding ears.... Fear... pain... hopelessness....
Memories like these, and more, swirled hauntingly in her mind as they tried to straighten themselves into some sort of order. Emotionally exhausted beyond herself, Sylvana fell to a haunted, comatose like sleep; while her mind busily worked to repair itself from its long-forgotten damage.