Aran had collapsed early the previous night, after the post-mission triage team had declared him surprisingly intact, the debriefing had finished, and he discovered the triage team also didn't want him hanging around seeing how Oddyn and Azura were doing. He'd busied himself with a few small errands around the ship, but before the evening was out, and without any real sense of having been anywhere in between, he found himself collapsing into his bunk and into a sleep from which he woke up remembering nothing but feeling tired.
He had been moving numbly through his morning routine of meditation when he'd heard the cheering outside his door. The story of Hacha's survival was a tonic to the post-campaign military personnel, and Aran heard four jumbled, overexcited versions from three different people before he'd finished processing the first. His features, schooled to serenity, normally didn't stretch farther than a small smile; still, he found himself stuck in a grin that even showed a flash of his teeth.
He knew little of Hacha, but he knew he had been a part of the crew of the Turtle. Having fully donned his robes, the young Padawan rushed to the flight deck and found the ship among the shuttles and squadrons of the fleet, just beginning their final after-action repairs of Bankor. Almost jumping from foot to foot, he pressed the call-button at the base of the ship's ramp. In his excitement, he had forgotten his affected walking staff.