Reflection and parallels

Thrawn sat in Astra’s quarters, the journal still open on her bed. The words she had written lingered in his mind, echoing a sentiment he had once buried deep within himself. For all her youth and humanity, Astra’s struggles were not unfamiliar to him. In fact, they were painfully close to his own.

He closed the journal gently and leaned back, his crimson gaze falling on the room’s subtle personal touches. The holo of her parents caught his eye—a snapshot of a life lost too soon. For a moment, he allowed himself to remember the halls of the Mitth household on Csilla, cold and vast despite being filled with people. He had been young, perhaps not much older than Astra was now, when the weight of expectation first pressed on his shoulders.

There had been no journals for him to pour his thoughts into, no droid companion to offer comfort. He had only the silent, unyielding gaze of the Mitth elders and the certainty that failure would mean not only personal disgrace but dishonor for his entire family. He had excelled, of course, because failure was unthinkable. But he had also learned the cost of living as a symbol, rather than as a person.

He stared at the holo of Astra’s parents again. “You are stronger than I was,” he murmured softly, though the room was empty. “You still hold onto the pieces of yourself.”